Treasure Salvaged from the Ruins

My New Nikon S9100 catches Sachin Tendulkar as he essays a perfect forward defensive push off James Anderson at Edgbaston.

As the wickets fell one by one on the fourth morning at Edgbaston, an English spectator behind me observed that it would probably be over before tea. One of those who had travelled all the way from Oxford to enjoy a full day of Test Cricket. 

"Tea?" I exclaimed. "I wonder if this will go on till lunch."

"Well, the master is still there," replied the gentleman.

As  he walked back after the unfortunate run out, people stood up in an impromptu standing ovation. "Well played mate, you deserved a hundred today," shouted an English supporter.

At Trent Bridge
Clockwise from Left Top:

Beside the fence, Inside the playing area, Sitting in Sachin Tendulkar's favoured chair in the visiting team pavilion, with Trent Bridge expert Alan Odell and world renowned cricket historian Peter Wynne-Thomas in the Trent Bridge Library, Alan pointing out W.G. Grace's bat.




When I was in Trent Bridge, an elderly Nottingham lady came up to me and asked, "Were you here when India played the second test match?"
I answered that I had come to England after that test was over. 
Her eyes became dreamy as she recounted, " The entire stadium stood up to applaud Sachin. The absolute master. And what a wonderful man."

Sachin Tendulkar, even in defeat, remains a master - a treasure - in the eyes of the actual fans of the game. The connoisseurs who flock to the ground to watch the men in white, to hear the sound of willow striking the leather - a visual and aural delight not drowned by the blaring assault on senses called twenty twenty.

There is not a single article that paints him in bad light in media having its origins beyond the boundaries of of his homeland - a nation that has supposedly made cricket their own game. 

Are we really the ones who can claim to be passionate about cricket? 

Soccer Net Working

(A football post for a change - this also available in the July 2011 issue of Scroll online magazine.)


After Barack Obama completed his landmark march to the White House in 2008, few questioned his right to the most powerful position in the world. The punch-line identifying him echoed “Yes We Can” all around, and the populace overwhelmingly agreed.


Analysts at Edelman Research put the campaign leading up to his victory under the microscope and are of the opinion that he won by “Converting everyday people into engaged and empowered volunteers, donors, advocates – through social networks, email advocacy, text messaging and online video.”


Indeed, his run to the Oval office was perhaps the broadest use of the social media for social change – leveraging on its key channel MyBarackObama.com – a more focused version of Facebook. It was not only a platform where his followers could keep a tab on the development of the campaign, it was also a place where they could connect, interact and collaborate.  It did not only capture the attention of people, but enabled them to team up as activists. With this, the presidential candidate was able to garner 5 million supporters on fifteen different social networks. By November 2008, Obama had close to 2.5 million Facebook supporters, out-performing Republican opponent John McCain by nearly four times. On Twitter he had more than 115000 followers, more than 23 times that of McCain. People spent 14 million hours watching campaign related Obama videos on YouTube, with more than 50 million viewers. The wonder of YouTube stems from people not having to be forced to watch the action whenever Television channels decided to beam it. They could log in at their own convenience and click a button to follow the proceedings.
Obama, thus, did not only paint the American political history in hitherto unknown shades, he also ensured that political campaigns would never be the same again. Activism was mobilised online, with a prominent central hub which grew more and more powerful as more and more connections passed through it.
Very few high stake elections will henceforth be fought without a decisive battle, even war, carried out in the virtual world of social networks. 


A common room where one can reach millions of connected individuals, Social Networks are the recently discovered gold mines of the seekers of high office.
However, what did this very tribe of ambitious men and women do in the days prior to the Web 2.0 revolution? Did they try to hitch themselves to some other popular frenzy which gathered together hundreds of thousands of potential votes?
They have always done it. From traditional media to the silver screen, no popular vista of modern life has been spared political colouring.
That brings us to the one phenomenon of the modern world, the paramount passion of the greatest cross-section of the world population. The hundreds of millions who throng to the stadium-temple, are glued to television sets for a vision of their gods or listen to the transistor for the description of their feats oblivious to all else. Their idols descend on the turf, and blaze the flanks through the magic of their invaluably insured feet, firing the imagination of countless many, using their divine skills to guard one their citadel and to put a round checked ball through the three straight posts into the net of the opposition.

1978 - Kempes for Argentina

For ninety minutes, or a series of ninety such minutes during a high profile tournament, the football fan ceases to be a distinct individual whom life weighs down with mundane problems. While the pagan mass lasts, the fan is many. Along with his brother worshippers, he shares the conviction that they are the best, the adversaries are cheats, all referees are crooked. He seldom says “My team plays today.” It is always “We play today.” He is certain that as the twelfth player he wills the winds to propel the ball into and away from the posts when opportunities and dangers present themselves. He is a molecule of the soccer swarm, one of the many specks that create the summation of souls that rise and fall with the fortunes of the team. An entity that is connected by one singular target – known fittingly as the Goal.  Linked by the allegiance to the abstract concept of a team, the devotion to one hero, and the unifying passion for the beautiful game.

Borges

Before the coming of the internet, was there a better way to target a substantial mass of humanity than setting sights on the soccer fans?


Like God, soccer inspires devotion among believers and distrust among intellectuals.


In London 1902, Rudyard Kipling trivialised soccer and those who contended their souls with “the muddied oafs at the goals”. Seventy six years later, Jorge Luis Borges gave a lecture on the subject of immortality at the same hour when his native Argentina was playing its first game in the 1978 World Cup, a trophy ultimately they won through the brilliance of Mario Kempes and others.


Conservative intellectuals deride the game through their staunch belief that soccer-worship leads people to think with their feet, which is the only way they can think, fulfilling their dreams with primitive ecstasy, with animal celebration overtaking human reason. And, leftist intellectuals denigrate the sport because it castrates masses with cheap entertainment, derails their revolutionary ardour. The spread of soccer is an imperialist trick to keep oppressed peoples in an eternal childhood, unable to grow up.
However, the mass appeal and the congregation of millions of connected people always made soccer very much a population goldmine to be tapped, much like social networks of today.


During the summer of 1916, in the midst of the Great War, an English captain named Neville launched a military attack by kicking a ball. Leaping out from behind a parapet which was serving as his cover, he chased the ball toward the German trenches. His regiment, hesitant at first, followed the leader. The captain was blasted by the gunfire, but England conquered that no-man’s land and celebrated the victory as the first of British soccer on front lines. Signs of galvanising power of the game was indisputable.

Berlusconi with Kaka and the rest of AC Milan

The saga continues to very modern times. Silvio Berlusconi, whom The Economisthailed  as the man who screwed an entire country, was the owner of AC Milan when he won the 1994 Italian elections with chants ofForza Italia from the stadiums. He had promised to save Italy the same way that he had saved Milan’s all time champion football superteam, and voters forgot that several of his own companies were on the very verge of ruin.
In between Neville and Berlusconi, there have been plenty of connection between soccer and politics. Politicians and dictators have frequently exploited fans by creating a link of identity, and activists have forged new ways of spreading their cause by aiming for goals other than the one under the crossbar.
In 1934 and 1938, Italy won the World Cup in the name of the fatherland and Mussolini. The players started and finished each game by saluting the crowd with their right arms outstretched, giving three cheers for Italy. That way, Mussolini’s  personal end with severed gonads seem to prove that in the end the ball game is a great leveller.

Italian Salute in the 30s

For the Nazis, soccer was a matter of the state. A monument in Ukraine still commemorates the players of the 1942 Dynamo Kiev team, shot to death in their jerseys because of committing the insane crime of defeating Hitler’s squad in a local stadium, in spite of warnings – “If you win, you die.”
So, we have some splendid examples of activism through soccer as well.


In 1934, while Bolivia and Paraguay were fighting the bloody war of Chaco, disputing a pathetic piece of deserted land, the Paraguayan Red Cross formed a team which travelled across Argentina and Uruguay, playing exhibition matches, raising enough money to attend to the wounded of both the armies.

Franco on the field

Later, in 1937, when General Franco, with the help of the other two stalwart leaders in this narrative, Hitler and Mussolini, was busy bombing the Spanish Republic to smithereens, a Basque team was playing matches in Europe, and Barcelona had crossed the Atlantic to entertain crowds in USA and Mexico. The Basque government had sent the Euzkadi team to publicise their cause and raise funds for defense. Barcelona’s president had already fallen to Franco’s bullets. Both these teams embodied democracy under siege.
The Franco dictatorship, however, found an unbeatable travelling embassy under the name Real Madrid. Winning four Spanish Leagues in a row, five European Cups and one Intercontinental, the team charmed spectators everywhere. Jose Solis, one of the political honchos of the regime, voiced his gratitude in 1959 saying, “Thanks to you, people who used to hate us now understand us.” Soccer network was manipulated by the dictators as well.
Censorship of soccer activism has also taken place. Most of the players of Barcelona and Basque, after their heroic games in the face of invasion, could not come back to Spain. After the Republic was defeated, FIFA declared them to be in rebellion and threatened them with permanent suspension. Some of them managed to find positions in Latin American teams.

Puskas

In 1950, when the Hungarian star Kubala – later a member of the all conquering Real Madrid – formed a national team in exile, it earned him a two year suspension from FIFA. When other Real Madrid stars – Puskas, Czibor and Kocsis among them – played for another Hungarian team in exile after Soviet tanks had crushed the uprising at the end of 1956, FIFA suspended them for over a year.
When in 1958, in the midst of the war of independence, Algeria formed a soccer team, it had in its line up players of the calibre of Makhloufi, Ben Tifour and others who were professionals in France. Blockaded by the colonial power, Algeria only managed to play against Morocco. The obliging opponent was promptly kicked out by FIFA for playing a renegade and unauthorised national side. The association also banned the Algerian team, while the French soccer league blacklisted the players, preventing them from returning to professional league. However, when Algeria won independence, the French had no alternative but to call up the players who delighted the fans.


With the coming of social networking and the commercialisation of the game, the goal of political propaganda can be achieved through other strategies for man to man collaboration. The referee may not continue to be the only whistle blower in the universal game that is played out. 


However, the parallels are striking, and there are lessons to be learnt, if only to prevent foul play and penalties leading to undesirable sudden deaths.

The Best Seller: The FunAsia Interview - the complete script

FunAsia Interview - the complete script: "Here is the complete script of the interview with FunAsia Radio 700 AM on 6th April. A special thanks to Sarveshi, the gracious and charming host.
Although we discussed my novels and other topics such as Aikido, the last part of the interview is about the World Cup, Cricket, Sachin Tendulkar and this blog!"

Joining in from Baden, Switzerland

Sarveshi - the gracious host

Was Sachin right in praising Dhoni? - A Statistical Analysis

In the late nineteenth century, English artist Frank Barraud inherited a lovable fox terrier called Nipper from his late brother Mark. This dog, now immortal through the painting made by his new master, started and heart wrenchingly moved towards the newly invented gramophone whenever Mark’s voice rang out of it. After Frank committed this touching scene on canvas, it became the logo of The Gramophone Company, and the popularity of the image made them change the company’s name to His Master’s Voice.

 Times have changed. In a pathetic, pitiable parallel following the World Cup, The Master voiced an opinion in public and all the modern nippers – the media mongrels –turned their stink-whiffing noses and poison tipped pens in his direction.

The statement was simple enough. Sachin Tendulkar went on record saying that Dhoni was the best captain he had played under.  About someone who has led India to triumph in the limited overs World Cup, the Twenty-twenty World Cup and to the top of the World Test ranking, the pronouncement should not be very debatable.

But, India is a different type of nation altogether. With a billion eyeballs on the sport, there are a million opinions about everything. A view aired by someone respected the world over as a statesman of the game is sure to be splashed on tabloids and comedy shows masquerading as sports channels and analysed with the most grotesque arguments ever. 

The reaction was predictable, with every major, minor and insignificant personality in obscurest connection with the game voicing his opinion about it. The most ridiculous perhaps was the stance of the glorified tabloids of Bengal which also call themselves newspapers.

Lokendra Pratap Sahi, a veteran, experienced journalist, hastened to produce an article on the front page comparing success statistics of captains Sachin played under, while harping on the fact that Sourav still remained the most successful test captain and had started the trend of winning overseas with regularity.  In his laughable analysis, he manipulated the data with the crudeness of a one year old fiddling with play-dough. Win-Loss ratio, till a while back the only statistic used since it showed Sourav in the best possible light was dispensed with. Understandably so, since Dhoni’s W/L ratio now reads 4.67 compared to Sourav’s
1.61. Instead, a football league type of scoring was used which awarded one point to draws, thus bringing down the difference between captaincy records.
Additionally, rather shrewdly, only matches featuring Sachin were considered, since that took away one win each from Dhoni and Dravid while taking 3 wins and 3 losses away from Sourav, making him look better in the percentage figures.

In the One Day Internationals, the Bengali journalists have never used the Win Loss ratio, although it makes even more sense. This is simply because Mohammed Azharuddin has been ahead of Ganguly in that aspect, regardless of the virtual reality we are fed by the media.

It was a desperate attempt to fit the USP built around the local icon in the overhauled landscape of Dhoni’s exploits along with The Master’s pronouncements. It is quite evident from the article that the newspaper would have been happier if India had failed to reach the finals after 2003, so that the regional halo could be polished to sparkling glory at the expense of the success of the cricket team.

The public responded by agreeing that Dhoni was at best a lucky captain, wins coming by no merit other than strokes of good fortune.

Unfortunately, that is what irrational cricket fanaticism has turned into.

Sourav Ganguly himself was the first to admit of Dhoni’s remarkable feats, acknowledging him as the best skipper in an interview to the Times of India. However, Lokendra Pratap Sahi brought his immense experience into the field, salvaging the situation by taking another interview on the eve of the IPL, coaxing the southpaw to say that it was not possible to compare eras.

It is quite obnoxious, but Indian journalism finds it more lucrative to feed on the public fascination for larger than life icons and personality cults rather than steady improvement of the team.
In simple terms, Sourav started the transformation into a winning side, his work was carried forward by Dravid and Kumble, and now has been taken to an unprecedented level of excellence under Dhoni. But, truth is hardly likely to sell papers.

Now, coming back to the Master’s remarks, the statement has been criticised by the media and public alike. When Sachin walked out to bat for the first time as a fifteen year old against Imran Khan and Wasim Akram, no one in the cricketing or journalistic or fan world could contemplate even halfway towards 33000 runs and 99 centuries in international cricket. A mind that believes such feats are possible and actually makes them happen is not bound by the parameters of the normal. It is difficult to gauge it with the yardsticks used to judge politicians and corporate clowns.

However, many deduced the supposed motivations for Sachin to make the statement.  There are again multiple opinions, and some of them range from ingratiating himself to the current skipper to mutual back scratching.

I am not here to judge the claims, however ridiculously far-fetched they seem even by the lenient, liberal standards of conspiracy theory. I would rather take a fact-based look at things.  Looking at the statistics, Sachin does not need to appease any captain for a place in the team. At this stage of his career, scoring more prolifically than ever even by a Tendulkarian standard, teams are more in dire need to coax him to continue.
To me it seems more believable that Sachin said whatever he did because he thought it was true, something which seems quite radical in the cacophony that echoes around Indian public figures.

 One critic pointed out that Sachin with all his experience should have known that the press would stir this up into a major discussion point, and should have avoided making the statement. Whereas, it baffles me why singling out a particular captain as the best would give rise to controversy, especially when backed by figures, there is some truth in the statement.

In a country of millions of cricket ‘lovers’, any statement by the Master will create a division. Even if he answers in the affirmative when asked whether he has normal bowel movements is likely to break the hearts of thousands of constipated followers of the game. So, it definitely seems that the best solution for the little master is to take a vow of silence for the rest of his life apart from one or two statements about it not having been possible without the fans.

So, let us not try a moral judgement of the master’s words in a country where even morality may be polarised. Instead let us see how correct the master was with statistical verification.

As in a previous article in which I compare  the fab five batsmen of Indian cricket, I will be using hard core statistics. Again, there won’t be a tabular representation of data pretending to be statistical analysis as one is used to from Cricinfo. 

The idea will be to compare the proportions of success and failure of different captains and to judge whether one has a better record than the other in statistically significant terms. What that means is testing the hypothesis that there is no difference between the records of two captains, and finding the probability (p-value) of the results being as they are if the two captains were equal in their achievements. A very low
p-value will indicate that the hypothesis can be rejected and there is indeed statistically significant difference between the success ratios of the two captains. This means that it is very unlikely for such different success ratios to be a result of fluke or chance.

In technical terms, proportions are compared, and a Z-test is carried out to arrive at a test statistic which
corresponds to a p-value. If the p-value is less than a very small value, we reject the claim that the proportions are equal. 

India’s historical record in test cricket still leaves a lot to be desired. The Win-Loss ratio still stands at 109 to
139. The fact that they are ranked one in the world stems obviously from exceptional performance after 2000, the time Sourav took the reins.

So, let us test whether there has been statistically significant change in India’s record since 2000.

From the table it is pretty clear that there has indeed been a significant change in the fortunes of Indian cricket since 2000, and the credit needs to go to all the players and captains who have played the game since the turn of the century. Transformation is a gradual process and I would like to state my opinion that Sourav did start the process that sees fruition now.

However, the scavenging reaction of the scribes makes me go ahead further and compare the records of different captains who have led the sides in this century. Was Sachin Tendulkar statistically correct in his evaluation of Dhoni?

Let us explore the question. The captains we will consider are Sourav, Dravid and Dhoni. We will not talk about Anil Kumble because he led India in just 14 tests and does not satisfy the statistically significant sample size to be evaluated.

First, let us try to see whether there is a significant difference in the results of the team while Sourav was at the helm and thereafter.

From figures, there is no significant difference between the results of Sourav’s captaincy and others in the
post-Sourav era.

Now, let us do the same analysis for Dhoni.

So, at this stage, Dhoni definitely stands head and shoulders above the rest as far as results are concerned. In fact, the probability of his being a lucky captain, as alleged by many ‘fans’, is 2.3%.
In any scientific analysis, it will be considered significant. With the analysis performed only for test matches played after 2000, this is remarkable because it shows Dhoni shines brighter than the rest even in the most luminous period of Indian cricket.

Having done the analysis for the individual captains, let us do a pair-wise comparison of the three major captains of the 2000s to see whether there is a significant difference between their captaincy records or not. 

And the final comparison everyone will be waiting for with anticipation and bated breath.

From these results, it is quite evident that while there is nothing to distinguish between the captaincy records of

Sourav, Dravid from the each other, Dhoni’s success record is currently significantly better than everyone else. The difference is more striking if we remove the minnows  from the equation (outliers in statistical terms). He comes out better than the rest in the most stringent of statistical tests.

These figures do clearly indicate that whatever be the complicated ethical or moral question, from pure factual point of view, Sachin Tendulkar has judged the delivery to a perfection. For someone who has  played more international cricket than anyone in the history of the game, it is natural to be correct in evaluation.

However, we take nothing away from Sourav Ganguly’s achievements. He started India’s re-emergence, with test wins in foreign soils of West Indies, England and Australia. He combined with Rahul Dravid to win a series in Pakistan.

Dravid continued from where he left off by winning a series in England and West Indies and a test match in South Africa. 

Kumble, in his brief tenure, ensured that the legacy continued by battling unsporting Aussies and winning a test in Perth.

After that Dhoni ensured that Indians top the test rankings, square a series in South Africa, win a series in New Zealand  and triumph in the World Cup.

Each one of them sterling contributors to the history of Indian cricket.

And I am sure every one of them wishes that soon either Dhoni himself or his successor will better the record by winning a series in South Africa, conquering new peaks in the cricketing world. These are the people who bring glory to Indian cricket, and do that in spite of the scavenging scribes who crawl beneath their strides, to make a living out of the semblance of dirt that they leave in their wake.

And while on the subject of conquering  peaks, let me end the piece by doing the same analysis with someone who has conquered all conceivable peaks in the history of the game. How did India’s cricketing fortune change when he entered the scene? Let me quickly share the analysis in the same format.

Does he need to ingratiate himself to captains? Sorry, the numbers do not point to any remote possible statistical significance for not rejecting this hypothesis.

 I will allow the figures to demonstrate the importance of the man, his match-winning capability and his contribution. I suffer under no illusion that his critics will be convinced. The usual reactions will be snide remarks with the underlying theme that matches are not won with calculators. They are not, but as in everything else in the world, the figures left in the wake of events tell a major story if one knows how to interpret them without manipulating them like a one year old with play-dough.

However, the Indian ‘fan’ is more obsessed with icons than figures. I do not even dream of convincing ones with tri-colour painted to their bare bosom, intent on shouting themselves hoarse rather than hearing the crisp sound of the willow on the leather, swaying to the blaring music at every boundary, looking with baffled confusion if ever asked the current score. 

Addendum on 22.03.2012 :
There are some who have written to me wondering where MS Dhoni stands now given the 8 overseas losses (7 in Tests led by him) since the article was written - although some comments speak less of curiosity and more of the fanatism that is associated with some Indian cricketing fables . For them I can point to this article I wrote after the Australian tour.... There is no categorical data analysis, but the simple statistics presented may be useful.

Interview on FunAsia

FunAsia channel will be conducting an interview with me to be aired live at http://funasia.net// - 700AM.


The interview will be aired at 7 PM CST, Tuesday 5th April, which corresponds to 

• midnight GMT, 
• 2:00 AM CET Wednesday 6th April and 
• 5:30 AM IST Wednesday 6th April. 

I will be mainly speaking about my new book - The Best Seller, but cricket and The World Cup 2011 will definitely feature in the discussion.

In case you are interested and awake, please listen in.

Watching Captain Cool in Zurich

Watching the final in an Irish pub,Zurich

In the cricket-agnostic Switzerland, the barbaric land not yet converted into the worship of the willow, I had watched the quarter final and the semi final at a colleague's place. I had seated myself in one particular chair, dressed in one particular suit, following every delivery on livestream, holding my bladder ever since the second innings of the match against the Aussies when Sehwag had skied Watson down the throat of Hussey, while I was blissfully taking a leak.

We started the Big Saturday at my colleague's place, cricketing acumen honed over thirty years of watching advising us against changing our winning combination and field setting.

However, when the Sri Lankan innings was coming to an explosive end, we decided to move to Paddy Riley, an Irish Pub in Central Zurich, which was screening the  Sky Sports telecast on High Definition television.

Cricket fans had gathered from all around the town and some from well beyond it. Maybe some had slipped in from the neighbouring Italy and Germany as well. When it is cricket mixed with India, stirred in the cauldron of the World Cup, anything can happen. The atmosphere was that of the Wankhede in a small microcosm. Only, here we had to cluster around two television sets while the rest showed Football and Rugby. Such is the way of the ignorant Europe, full of people who have never felt the thrill of the sound of bat striking the leather, a ball swinging in late or soaring over the boundary. 

What followed is now history, and will be documented in detail by countless many. 

Captain Cool, a billion feet raised to stomp mercilessly on his head at anything remotely close to failure or even stopping at semi-success, walked into the ground at number five and played an innings which can be best described as ethereal. 

To be unfazed and without any visible emotion in an amphitheatre of simmering tension is an phenomenal feat. The team was in trouble. His every move was being criticised in an increasingly atrocious media. He was struggling with self for elusive batting form. Losing no longer remained as an option within the scary transformation of the virtual national sport from fun to fashion to fatalistic fanaticism. Yet, Mahendra Singh Dhoni stood firm, resembling an immovable iceberg - although not remotely as warm.  

That he has led India to a World 20-20 victory, to the number one ranking in Test Cricket, to a World Cup Final; that his win loss ratio is better than any other Indian test captain by several multiples, that never before has India been blessed with a wicket keeper who averages more than 40 in both forms of the game - facts quickly erased from the proverbial time-challenged public memory of all the supposed connoisseurs. His so called blunders were brought under the scanner by millions of FB Status Updates, thousands of newspapers and hundreds of television programmes. 

The six that finished the match answered it all. Along with the ball did disappear all the critics who had snapped at his heels like rabid, stalking hyenas all along the road to the finals. For a while these legions of vilifiers in urgent need of a life of their own will hide in some of their despicable holes before poking their heads out again at the whiff of another champion whom they can tear down with caustic criticism.

Such is the face of cricket followers in the country where the World Cup will remain for the next four years. That is the unfortunate, but undeniable, truth. I will probably write in detail about this phenomenon in some other post.

However, cricket etches itself on the landscape of our society in different ways. Let me enjoy the day of this great victory by recounting a little anecdote depicting how the delightful patterns of the game emerge on every fabric of the society.

As mentioned, we had left for the pub during the final overs of the Sri Lankan innings, leaving our wives and daughters together to hold fort and follow the live-stream on a small laptop. As we watched on the flat screens with drinks in our nervous hands, our partners conspired to win it for India in their own way. 

Minal, my colleague's wife asked my better half to station herself in the same chair in which I had sat unmoving against Australia and Pakistan. An exercise in causal analysis made it clear to them that Sehwag and Sachin had succumbed not because of the Lasith Malinga's slinging swinging deliveries, but because ten month old Meera had been sleeping in the next room. So, she was brought into the playing arena, kept awake with distractions, danced with at boundaries - while my wife, Rumela, sat there very much like me, on my favoured chair, unable to visit one WC in the fear of losing grip on the other. 

Cricket means so much more to us than a game. In the success and failure of our team, life becomes meaningful or otherwise. Every heart of the nation, tied together by the common thread of cricket, throbs in a single resonating thud when India is at the wicket. Be it on the stools of an Irish pub or the wooden chair in front of the computer table at home, in the revolving chair of office or in the driver's seat on the road.  Around the unlimited passion, we develop laughable rituals and superstitions.These underline that it is indeed a religion with one or five day long festivities marking our calendars in red, the rest of our lives revolving around these milestones, reshaping itself to fit around the schedule. For when it is cricket, life stops still.

And, somewhere down the line, we forget that the gods we create are mortal, with frailties and faults that are very human. More and more frequently we get caught up in the morbid mix of corporate hoopla, national fervour, Cassius like abhorrence at the success of another,  fanaticism disguised as sports following and linking our own dreams and hopes to the team. In this entrapment, we take away the option of failure from the heroes that we worship, leaving them to battle opponents and fate while bearing the burden of our expectations.

As so happens in fundamentalism, we have lost ethics and humanity in the potholes of religion. We have forgotten that the true spirit of sportsmanship lies in enjoying the game and being equally gracious in victory and defeat. Thus, by creating the gods, we end up more and more subjecting them to pressure that is inhuman - the same dead-weight of a billion hopes that  Sachin Tendulkar has been carrying on his shoulder each time he has walked out to bat in the last twenty one years. When Virat Kohli said "Tendulkar has carried the burden of the nation for 21 years, it was time we carried him," it touched thousands of hearts because it summarised a phenomenal career. I hope the exceptionally mature words of the youngster will help fans realise what it is to play under expectations and the respect the true ambassadors of the nation should be rendered.

With the last six, Mahendra Singh Dhoni may have stroked his way into a new realm for the Indian team. I bow to his way of staying unmoved under the relentless scrutiny of a nation of supposed fans, for playing one of the greatest innings under unprecedented pressure. But, I wait to see what this is going to do to the expectation levels that the team has to play around.

Fans, Fanatics, Finance and Fate in Indian Cricket

This post is also available at the Scroll website

Eyes focused, two fingers and thumb on the seam, lithe, lively and lethal, Brett Lee
charged in to bowl. A crucial card played by Ricky Ponting, which held the fortunes of the fiercely competitive teams in tantalizingly fine balance.  74 runs remained to be scored off 76 balls, a large proportion of which were to be bowled by the brilliant Brett Lee and the miserly Michel Johnson. Shaun Tait, erratic yet effective in patches, waited in the wings. It was as close as a quarter final could possibly get. The din was unbelievable in Ahmedabad.

M.S. Dhoni had negotiated a couple of dot balls, not very convincingly. Pressure was
mounting. The ball from Lee was short, outside the off-stump, whistling through the air, crying to be hit. The eyes of the Indian captain lit up and he went for the cut. He connected fiercely. Eyes turned towards the vacant point boundary.

However, Michael Clarke from backward point leapt to his right and held on to the blinding white flash streaking past him. The thousands of raucous voices were muted simultaneously as if with a magic remote. In deathly silence, the skipper trudged back to the pavilion.

And now we take our eyes off the ground and look at the parallel universe of the
internet. 

What followed in the game is history, documented graphically and oft. The sterling show of pluck by two left handers, some moments of smiling fate and some audacious stroke play, have been replayed and written about in the print, electronic and audiovisual media in an avalanche of information so representative of the times. So, let us get back to the moment of the captain’s dismissal and how it affected the Internet.

FaceBook and Twitter went on a hypercritical overdrive. In the past one had to foray into the fields and become one amongst the tens of thousands in the stands to get to know the weird working of the minds of the hordes of fickle fans who consider themselves to be the cognoscenti.  Today, thanks to the modern thought conglomeration made possible by Social Networking, packets of fanaticism can trace their irrational paths at the speed approaching that of light, and splatter contents across walls at the other side of the world.

“A$$hole Dhoni ... must have got a signal from the bookies that it was time to get out.”

“MSD bats only in ads nowadays.”

These are largely benign examples of some of the seething eruptions of men who had been let down by the Indian captain while they expended their sweat and blood for the Indian cause in cubicles and revolving chairs of their offices, or holding expensive Styrofoam glasses of Barista coffee or with mugs of beer in their reclining sofa sets at home.

If Raina and Yuvaraj had not managed the impossible of keeping their cool even as thousands of the i-Phone and laptop owning supposed cream of the populace were letting off their steam in the vitriolic virtual space, Captain Cool of the recent past would have ended up as Captain Calamity. 

And now let us look back at the dismissal. Short of length, outside the offs-stump, no one in the square boundary. Six inches on either side, an infinitesimally late reaction by Michael Clarke, or a marginally less agile fielder in the position, and the ball would have rebounded into the ground after thudding into the advertisement boards. Forty thousand people would be on their feet in the ground, splashing the stands with euphoric sound waves. And the thought connections across the virtual network would have resonated with different sentiments altogether.

Forget a hitherto un-thought of batting average in both tests and One Day Internationals by an Indian wicketkeeper. Forget the win loss ratio in tests which is currently almost three times better than any other Indian captain. The image of the man, and the reaction of his fan following, hinges on chance outcomes, six inches this way or that – and it determines the course of lives and histories.

 The cyberspace was similarly congested with caustic criticism when he bowled Ashish Nehra, which allowed South Africa to snick and clobber their way to a close win in the first round. The wisdom or the lack of it of not bowling Harbhajan was brought out by every arm chair critic who had ever glimpsed, even if not grabbed, a tennis ball during gully cricket. Indians are never too tolerant of those amassing money through endorsement of products, and the captain bore the brunt of the heartbreaks of those who had sweated away for seven hours glued to the television screen, half burnt cigarettes in hand and feet up on the settee.  If Peterson’s inside edge off the first ball had clipped the leg stump instead of sneaking to the fine boundary, it would have been another masterstroke of the ever unfazed skipper.

Contrast this with the heady summer of 2007, when the Captain Cool image was embossed with the loving warmth of a nation as India edged out their arch rivals in the final of the inaugural 20-20 World Cup in South Africa. When the Indians returned from the victorious mission in the most farcical of cricketing formats, television channels queued up to capture the homecoming images of the heroes, with a respectable English News Channel providing enlightening status updates to the viewers with snippets such as, “Dhoni’s brother has just taken the dog out for a walk.”

In the last over, supposedly India and Dhoni had been cool as a cucumber and had outwitted Misbah ul Haq to pip Pakistan by five runs.  If we recall the last over, it had been bowled by the weak link of that day – Joginder Sharma. And if Misbah had not tried that peculiar scoop which went down the throat of Sreesanth, or if he had played it one yard either way, the bottom line would have been entirely different. The craze for T20 may have been less inane and insane. The Milton Friedman like free market in the game –transforming the face of cricket by putting players up for auction and filling grounds with cheerleaders, Bollywood stars and Lalit Modis – may have been delayed or dampened.

Cricket is intricately woven into the social texture of the sub-continent, and much more importantly in the financial fabric. The corporations swoop in to make mega bucks out of the madness that can be approximated as love for the game even as the passion tends towards the psychological limits of obsession.  However, right from the first seed that had been sown three decades ago resulting in the money plant of the current day, the fan following has been dictated by the roll of fortune’s dice.

In 1983, when a bunch of rather unheralded Indians took on the might of the West Indies, everything proceeded as per regular laws of nature before chance played its part, changing the Indian way of life forever. 

Selectorial blunders, so typical in Indian cricket, were carried out to predictable perfection, gaping bloomers  that are now projected as strategic brilliance. Kirti Azad featured in the final, bowling all of 3 overs and lasting three balls before playing an attractive hook off Michael Holding into the giant palms of Joel Garner. Ravi Shastri, the Champion of Champions in the next big tournament India won, had to sit it out in the dressing room. Yashpal Sharma poked around three quarters of an hour for 11, negotiating the greatest ever fast bowling quartet before falling to the bland offspin of Larry Gomes. He had been preferred as the two drop batsman ahead of Dilip Vengsarkar – that too at Lords, a ground where the colonel could score centuries at will.   

It went more or less according to sure-fire script as long as the Indians batted. The four pronged pace attack had the batsmen hopping. Mohinder Amarnath played a steadying innings of 26, consuming 80 balls in the process – a statistic that has sunk into the oblivion of euphoria and time. Sandeep Patil, Kapil Dev and the rest could not manage too many. The Indians managed just 183.

However, those were the days before the love of cricket and the financial impetus had turned
fans into fire-breathing fanatics. Cell phones had not been invented. Internet was in the incubator of the United States Military. Speculating endorsers had not made business plans based on the results of tournaments. Above all, no one expected the Indians to win. Hence, the players could concentrate on the game as they changed and went out to field.

Madan Lal, Roger Binny and Mohinder Amarnath were now asked to team up with Kapil Dev and do to Greenidge, Haynes, Richards, Gomes and Llyod what Roberts, Garner, Holding and Marshall had done to the Yashpal Sharmas and Kirti Azads. It was now that two chance occurrences changed the face of India forever. Balwinder Singh Sandhu, a decent, hard working, eminently harmless medium pacer, useful but less than threatening in English conditions, attempted an outswinger which somehow eluded his intentions and almost all existing physical laws to come back and hit the stumps as Gordon Greenidge shouldered arms.

In walked Vivian Richards, eager to end the match in a hurry, with enough time to adjust his stroke twice before blazing the turf with boundaries off Madan Lal. Having raced to 33 off 26 balls he shaped to pull a trademark tardy Madan delivery from the off stump into the wide open spaces of the on-side. Ninety nine times out of hundred, the great man would have ended the stroke with nonchalant gum chewing, once in a while wondering whether he should ask the bowler to fetch it from the stands. On this day, however, he top-edged. And Kapil Dev ran and ran and ran from widish mid-on as time  stopped still and the world watched in disbelief, and pouched the ball inches from the fence.

In retrospect, it can be deduced to have been a trap. However, a minute difference in timing would have had it soar for six. Some days things happen for you and some days they don’t. On that day, the two unusual wickets sent back Greenidge and Richards. Mohinder Amarnath started looking unplayable. West Indies were all out for 140.

While a lot of Indian fans – remarkably many of them newly converted – deigned to disagree that the outcome had been a fluke, Clive Llyod scoffed under his bushy moustache. West  Indies toured India that winter and steamrolled over them winning the six test series 3-0 and all five of the one day internationals. 

However, the elements of chance had conspired and succeeded, thus creating a following for the game which brings out the unmatched Indian parameters of numbers and irrationality.
Latching on to this lucky stroke, the game went through a gradual upheaval from the mid eighties, and with the coming of globalisation, Sachin Tendulkar and his cronies, it has reached the level of madness that allows corporations to milk millions from this melting pot of mania.

Make no mistake. The Indian team had sweated it out and won that day with some excellent cricket and commitment. The 1983 team had introduced victory as a possible alternative in the rather morose history of the sport. The willow and the leather soon catapulted into the status of the national sport, displacing the official hockey sticks and plastic balls. By the turn of the century, it had become a religion, with its own pantheon of worshipped gods, cults and myths. However, eyes cannot be closed to the workings of the hand of fate.

When music blares every time there is a boundary, wicket or any other regular or irregular pause in the game, when stars descend from the Bollywood firmament and swing their hips to the rhythm of the fortunes of the home team, when frenzied fans are perpetually a step away from letting the champagne flow or setting fire to effigies, it is easy to be swayed by emotions. It is difficult to remember that the gods are man-made and have human limitations.

Commercialised as it is, cricket is not clockwork but a sport. And as in any other human endeavour, much depends on chance. On being a fraction of a second early or late into the timing, on playing it a yard to the right or the left, on the odd bounce, on landing on the seam, on the gusts of winds and the cloud cover in the skies.

The perturbing paradox remains – if consciousness about chance factors defy the monumental odds and grow amongst the populace, if rationality rules and therefore emotional extremism dies against the steely coldness of logic, will that good for the game?  Will that be good for the corporations who profess commitment to the game by eking out franchising deals? What will that mean for the talented individuals earning with the sweat of their brow?

If allegations of match fixing does not flow as packets of frustration through the fibre-optic cables from millions as soon as M.S. Dhoni departs, will it be good for his claims as a successful modern day cricketer?