Sweet dreams are made of these....

 There's a reason why some of the best victories, even in the longer format, are termed as flukes, because the same results remain elusive given the same set of situations and conditions at any other points of time. When Bangladesh scored its first ever victory over Australia in a world cup game, and Kenya repeated the same antics against West Indies, and similar such David Goliath upsets happened throughout history, the cricketing world acknowledged such glorious uncertainties as a part and parcel of the game, that too in the shorter format, and that those wins are credited more to the fantastical nature of the sport itself than to the teams themselves that actually pull the proverbial rabbits off the magical hats. 

"On their day" is a phrase that is often used in sport, when a not so brilliant sportsman turns in an amazing performance on a day and the commentators (condescendingly) build him up with that phrase for all his future arrivals at the crease... "on his day, he can be quite a handful", "on his day, he can turn the fortunes of his town on his own". That itself indicates how "his days" are so few and far between. In any given sport, on his day, any player of a reasonable repute can achieve the near impossible. And unfortunately that performance becomes the yardstick he would be adjudged his subsequent assignments against, allowing the faint flicker of his career to sustain on the prospect of an encore. It is reasonable to assume that he can seldom come close to it again, leave alone topping it. That is why Bangladesh's record against the Aussies in the shorter format remains steadfast on that solitary win, Kenya has never put past the Windies (even in its current form) again. 

That flukes can occur even in test matches is also a known fact, when a lowly ranked team invites an upper crust one to its soil, rigs the conditions in its favor (usually with rank turner pitches), loads up its roster with tweakers of all ilk and inflicts crushing loss upon the unwitting opponent. It gets filed under a different kind of fluke, where the win is accorded to the inhospitable conditions and the inability of the tourists to quickly get acclimatized to it. "The house always wins", goes a gambling saying, meaning, on a protracted timeline, there is no beating someone with deep pockets full of rich resources. In Test cricket, and more in a test series, that saying really rings true, for, even if the stronger side is mauled by a stroke of misfortune in a test, the chances that it is going to quickly rebound and reclaim its place in the sun are much more. But what of a series, where flukes happen thrice in a row, the house doesn't always win, with everyone in the team, the 11 of them, having his own "on his day" moment, and 11 days combined somehow wrests the series from the iron grip of traditional favorites? Is it still a fluke? Nope, it becomes an "Arc".

Arcs in a test series are so rare, and even more are ones that offer a 180 degree transformation. Arcs are what make stories interesting and exciting. If pundits presage the proceedings, and the plot moves along the same predicted lines with victory inevitably beckoning upon the pre-destined, it might make the case for the conventional wisdom but it might not make an interesting story. But, sometimes, through some inexplicable tear in the fabric of time, a team that is beaten down and counted out suddenly rises and does the unthinkable, run by run, wicket by wicket, session by session, day after day, test after test and week after week, then the story is considered to have a strong arc, with the once vanquished turning into the eventual victor, riding on the dormant valor, latent courage and hidden talent. That's about it. That is the extent of the story. The story completes at the end of the arc. 

The just concluded series had that perfect arc, where the underdog, and a beaten one at that, rises through the ashes, and triumphs in the end against all odds. Sports movies and documentaries would die (and kill) for such kind of resurgence stories. Though India produced a similar result a couple of decades ago, that time also against an even mightier Australians, in 2001, that it happened at home on turning tracks in favorable conditions in front of a raucous home crowds and more importantly with a team that was packed with record holders and hall of famers, would take sheen a bit away as against the current win in a polar opposite way - on foreign soil, in hostile conditions, overcoming  mental, physical, medical and psychological barriers, and all that with a side that could be regarded at best as warm-up act to the original headliners - all making a very strong case for the coveted title "THE GREATEST EVER", in the Indian context. 

While the first world cup win in 1983 was just as stupefying (and electrifying) with a ragtag band of merry men riding their good fortunes on the back of strong performances all the way to the pinnacle of glory, it was still in limited overs, even when up against formidable sides and impossible odds. The arduous task of having to pull off those kind of limited over heroics session after session over 5 days and then over 3 tests, coming off a career worst performance, with an even ragger-tag band of wide eyed men, many of whom were making their bones in the longer format for the first time, is the stuff fairytales are made of. It doesn't happen often, in fact, it almost never happens. And the kicker is, like it is with a fluke, impossible to recreate it again.

Can this be a transformative moment for the team, to take the leap from being strong side to being an outright invincible one? Hard to say, as there is no preparing for such moments, wins as these just happen and when they do, they are to be savored, and never to be wished for again. Can this be a teachable moment otherwise? May be, of courage and conviction, of grit and gumption, of belief and motivation. "The game" doesn't get to keep the credit for series as these, "the spirit" does.

Zen in one

 

His steely gaze on a dead-panned face gave nothing away. His celebrations were almost always muted and his achievements, at least to himself, were mere milestones in the journey, not the destinations themselves. Whenever a bowler had an upper hand over him with a brutish delivery to his helmet or to his body, he simply absorbed the pain, giving nothing back to the bowler in terms of any satisfaction, simply returning the animal glare with an equally emotionless gaze. Coming down the order after celebrated record holders at the top, he still made his mark down below grafting, and calculating his innings, never throwing away his wicket even when the situation was hopeless. 'Talent' is a word not often associated with him, yet when he finally hung up his boots, the word didn't mean much to his career. What simply mattered was how many wins has he singlehandedly delivered, with whatever style he had, and how much he squeezed out his limited 'talent' in the long run. Yes Sir! Steve Waugh was no slouch, even in that celebrated Australian team that steamrolled the world for well over a decade.

Frustration reigned supreme to the opposition whenever he was at the crease, and more, whenever he was on a song. It was not so much his hitting abilities (which were indeed remarkable) as his street-smarts that employed those hitting abilities to the hilt, only when needed. He didn't hit every ball in the air, trying to clear the ground, only to hear the death rattle behind the following delivery carried away by the adrenaline. In fact, he took the heroics away from his game until the last delivery of the game has been bowled. And the rest of the times, he was content taking breathtaking singles, derring-do doubles and impossible threes, to drive the opposition captain insane and the opposition audience insane. His mantra was pretty simple, take the game down the last over, the last ball, and see who blinks first! He won many a game putting use that simple principle in a variety of situations and more times than often, he came up all trumps! He remained the last hope even in dire situations and his rescue acts from those hopeless situations were etched in memories and histories! Yes Sir! the mere mention of the name 'Javed Miandad' would strike terror in opposition's (especially, Indian) minds and it took an entire (cricketing) generation to erase the painful memory of the last ball six win!

The world watched in envious admiration of his (limited over) cricketing skills. His ability to pace the innings, gradually build it to a crescendo and then deliver the coup de grace, all with very limited risks all throughout, were a treat to watch. And not enough can be said of his running between the wickets! When paired with the right partner, he could milk the bowling without any hard hits to the boundaries, relying on his instinct to judge the speed of the pickup and throw and trusting his ability to make it to the other end with time to spare. The opposition could barely relax with him at the crease unable to decide between guarding the boundaries or stopping the lightning quick runs. Whether he came up the order, upon the fall of quick wickets, or came late, when only a few overs remained, he made sure his stint mattered, and his average of 50+ right till his last name stood a proud testament of it. Yes Sir! Michael Bevan was a rare combination of discipline and swashbuckle, who played within himself

And for well over a decade, India was privileged to have the amazing abilities of those 3 players rolled in one across all the formats, climbing to the top of the charts in the individual categories, on the back of his guts, wits and hits.

From the outward, probably the only thing that qualifies Dhoni as Indian was his passport alone, and everything else, his abilities, attitude and, most importantly, his demeanor belied his Indian-ness. Being 'Indian' is raring for the opportunity to repay the opposition player's antics of a topless celebration of a victory and when it presented itself, launching into an equally over-the-top bare-chested thumping from the players' balcony. Indian-ness is the about the flag waving, card carrying patriotism. Indian-ness is starting off with an "agar tu ne maa ke doodh piya" emotion, and ending with a "bharat maa ki jai" flourish, enroute a "kasam paida karne wale ki" challenge. And it is definitely an evolutionary anomaly that Dhoni's genes hopped over this part of the Indian-ness and moved along with the usual nonchalance. By removing emotion from his repertoire, he developed the much needed detachment that allowed him to look at the game, his included, and come up with a cold calculation to a situation, even if that meant retiring mid stream in a test series and handing over the reins to a more abled person. Looking back, it was not his ability that dictated his attitude, it is the other way around. 'Know Thyself' was his mantra and never was it more evident than when he opted for safe (and boring) draws with an aging bowling line-up than trying to go for the kill and chase the impossible. Control is the keyword in his operational style, concentrating on elements that could be controlled and bettered, while not bothering about the rest. And with things that could be controlled, he practically toyed with them - bowlers, tactics, grounds, angles, hits, targets - leaving no stone unturned. While his limited over record lorded over the longer format stats, it should be remembered that a great part of his test career, as a captain, coincided with the transition of the aging stars who could only be hidden and covered-for so much on the field. But come the colored jerseys time, when he could his pick his team, study the batsmen, plan his attack and read the game down to the last ball, the records speak for themselves. In all these, he relied on just two - emotion and control, keep one in check and the other in hand.

And then there's Dhoni, the wicket keeper. Criticized during his early days for lacking the proper technique of be a conventional keeper, and even offered advices to hand over the gloves and play as a traditional batsman, by the time he hung up his boots, he ended up as the third best overall (in the shorter format), and when it came to stumpings and run outs, he had his own showreel to boot. Lifting his right leg to block the cut shot, removing the right glove off the last ball of the match to effect a run out, diversionary tactics, sleight of hands, no-look shy at the stumps, Dhoni's compilation of getitng the batsmen out from behind in a dizzying variety of ways flout the same conventions, traditions and textbook tactics that he was found wanting right from his early days.

Dhoni defies definitions. His style doesn't adhere to any standards. He didn't let emotion dictate his game. In fact, he didn't let anyone get bigger than the game, and that included even himself. And his announcement(s) of retirement, mirroring his career, subject only to cold logic, is proof enough. In all his ways and means, he is the first foreign-minded India-born player, with a mindset that is alien to the native land. Can there be another Dhoni? Surely, if only someone can be taught to think past himself, run like the wind, clear the ground at will, read the game like a textbook, absorb all the pressure like a dry sponge, guide his players from behind and lead the team from front, all the while keeping his emotions in the bottom drawer, sure, there can be another Dhoni!

The Old World Order

Isn't it just antithetical at the end running contrary to the well laid plans, that a tournament that has opened up the floodgates on the run flow, straitjacketing the bowler in the worst ways possible, be eventually decided on superior bowling performances? It made sense too. All teams being equal (in their abilities to clear the in-field, which even the Associate nations were able to do with considerable ease against the Member nations), the one that finally lifted the cup pulled away from the others by its explosive and exhaustive fire power in the bowling department. It is quite ironic that even after all the changes that lopsidedly tilted the scales in favor the batsmen, matches are won and cups are lifted riding the back of the age old maxim - bowlers win matches. Did the cricket council shoot itself in the foot here by wanting the make the games more exciting (read, boundaries and sixers) that it essentially created an all or no deal for its batsmen who can now only hit out or get out with no third, fail safe option? Save for the 2011 edition that was decided on which team kept on firing its batting cannons till the end, every other edition of the cup was an even contest between the bat and the ball, sometimes more in favor of the latter, which is how it is supposed to be in the first place. If there is one key takeaway from the current edition that can be rolled into the future plans for subsequent conquests, it is that the teams better stock up their bowling plans much more than bulking up the already fattened bats, for it becomes a tall task to lay claims on the top prize relying on offence alone (listening SA?)

As much as DeVilliers cried from the rooftops over and over again to everyone who was listening that they indeed had the lineup in the tournament (almost implying that they 'deserve' the cup more than the others), it was amply clear that it was the eventual champions that had it all, with batting firmed up and anchored by Smith, and bowling rallying around Starc and the fielding...well, just about everyone that made the roster on the game day. The surprising aspect is this team has no named superstars, yet the ease with which they blew away their opponents in the group stage belied their below the radar individual ratings. But for the stumble against the Kiwis during the group stage, even which they made a match of defending a paltry score, the Aussie engine chugged along with little to no hitches at all. This is particularly impressive of a team that got the boot in the quarters in the previous edition, went through a lot of personnel changes and yet found it stride back in less than a couple of years to crawl back to the top of all tables. The talent cupboard that laid bare post the retirement of the greats now seem to runneth over, which talks about the strength and the resilience of the Aussie system that keeps churning out strong players that quickly turn from impressive to menacing to downright fearsome in a short period of time. So this crown is as much a for the players who have persevered till the end, as much as it an ode to their setup that created such causation. So Hail to both the Kings and the KingMakers!

India's creditable run in the tournament was a surprise to everyone (save for the tall talking Ravi Shastri). This is a team that was down and out, done and dusted till a few days before the start of the campaign and yet found the hunger and the anger to devour every team in its path, before it finally met its match in the penultimate bout. All of a sudden, the lines, lengths and the discipline that were largely found wanting in the run up to the cup suddenly made an appearance in the armory. Added to that a consistent batting display by the top order and a fielding unit that even surpassed the best ever that took the field for India, saw it coast through the final four with no perceptible weakness. What is interesting this time around was that no one discipline had to double down on its own, the batting didn't have to get colossal every single time to cover for the lack of penetration of its bowling, nor the bowling had to quickly get into a containment mindset than go all out attacking not able to count upon its fielding brethren. Even more than in 2011, this edition saw India finally achieve the near perfect harmony among its playing units....that is, until it found itself on the collision course with the juggernaut. In the end, India was just beaten by a better team, not a team that simply played better on that day. When faced up against such an adversary, the odds are much worse counting on the other's failure on that day than relying on one's own strength to come good on the same.

And likewise with the Kiwis, India's doppelganger in the opposite pool, which relied more on the momentum to tide them over than on their own depth (not to mention, the baffling one sided nature of their grounds). Like all other teams (honorable exceptions: Aus and Ind, sometimes) Kiwis relied a tad too much on their explosive batting to come good on every single occasion...and it almost did, except when in the final, the Aussie attack was too planned, probing and predatory to the Kiwis' liking, which once again emphasized that teams with great bowling attacks tend to trump almost every time sides with phenomenal batting attacks. Speaking of batting records, the tournament saw orgies of run-fests, more so when the opponents lacked any toe-crushers or wily-curlers. Records were breached and created almost every other day, courtesy the mace-like bats and ICC's hare brained idea of not allowing the ropes to be manned by more people, rapidly ensuring that ODI batting turn into a regular T20 slug fest, just as meaningless, just as boring and just as inconsequential. When the supposedly best bowler in the trade, Steyn, gets taken to the cleaners with relative ease, even by wild card entrants, that's quite an indictment on ICC's policy of not just tying the bowler's hands behind their backs, but blindfolding them in the process for good measure.

And that's why the current Aussie victory is not just a celebration of the current moment, but an important statement for the future strategy and survival of the game, for this is a team that refuses to be bullied by the batsmen, or get bogged down the by the rules, or beaten down by the restrictions or cowered into submission by the policies. This team forces the opponents to win the traditional way - survive, build and accumulate - than through the nouveau technique of taking chances every single ball by trying to merely clear the in-field and let the ICC deposit the run in the batsmen's accounts. This win is a slap in the face of such coddling measures. And in claiming the top prize yet again and continuing to be a dominant force for well over a couple of decades, Aussies can pride themselves of not just rebuilding a champion side in record time, but in doing so they have created something that would seal their legacy in the history books - a dynasty. Like the Windies of the 70's and 80's, the Aussie team, system and setup will be looked up to in awe and admiration for achieving the kind of consistency and domination that all teams across all sports dare only dream of. And the icing is, they have done all of this in the old fashioned way - containing runs and taking wickets. Well, welcome back, it's good having you again!

Let the heads roll

Carpets are rolled, trumpets are blared, bugles are sounded. The carnival is in the town. And everyone is just where they want to be. Aussies are comfortably sitting atop the throne with the Kiwis and Proteans very much in the contention for the crown. The rest, happy to start off with the tag of "also ran"s hoping for some last minute miracle allowing them to sneak into proprietary club of Champions. This is a strange edition of World Cup where one bad day at office, post the inconsequential first round, would knock even the mighty off their perch and a good streak for a team is having 3 better days in a trot to claim the Cup. Obviously business reasons helped shape the format of the competition, ensuring that viewership powerhouses stay in the game for as long as their team's fortunes boil over. Though the curtain raiser is on Feb. 14th, it isn't until a total one month after when the real knockout fun starts, and as said, 3 good days is the road to victory.

Strangely, the defending champions look in no position to defend the title. And all the talk about "Won't give it back" can come true only if the team sneaks away from the continent in the middle of the night with the cup without informing its hosts. All other options do not appear promising. Whatever BCCI has planned getting the team ready for the tournament by planning a long tour to down under, so that the team has a good couple of months getting acclimatized to the conditions, seem to be in vain. Even after the long tour, playing in a variety of conditions, Indians do not look a settled bunch. They look tired, jaded and uninspired. The so called 140kmph hurlers who were supposed to terrorize opposition into abject submission appeared as little more than cannon fodder on fast and bouncy pitches, dispatched behind the boundary rope faster than their run-ups. Which goes on to prove that there is lot more to bowling than mere spraying. None of the bowlers created any impact in the Test or ODI series (and some of them were played on juicy pitches), with the batsman shouldering majority of the burden of seeing the team off to safety on a majority of occasions. Interestingly, none of the lead-up series to the prior world cups saw the Indians emerge as a confident bunch willing to take any opposition head on. But then, in 4 of those earlier editions, 2 resulted in appearances in the final and a couple, in forgettable outings. It cannot get more theoretical probability than that. Toss a coin 4 times, and count the chances - 2 heads and 2 tails. If this is indeed a conscious game plan of the Indians to not raise expectations of its fans and keep the opposition under a false sense of comfort before they unleash their latent potential when and where it actually mattered, then, Bravo!, they have everyone fooled, they are right where they want to be - written off and not be counted at all!

The larger of the two hosts are on a high, their gameplans are working out, all the cylinders seem to firing at just the right time, the couple of months of practice time testing out various options and combinations all pointing to culminating into a stability that all teams hope to achieve before the beginning of such high profile tournament. The Aussies are spoiled for choice right now. If the only reason there are trying to rush in their reasonably fit captain into the side is loyalty, that talks about the starter & bench strengths of the team capable and confident of carrying an injured member in a world cup without a second thought. The only thing that can go against the Aussies has nothing to do with their performances, it could be the pressure of living up to the high expectations in front of their home crowds. Bowling, batting and fielding, they got it all, now only if they can hold their nerve and not get too excited by looking too far into the tournament, the cup is theirs to claim and carry. The only other team that can possibly stop the victory march of the Aussies is their little brother, the Kiwis, who are on a dream run of their own, peaking at just the right time. Time immemorial, New Zealand has been the slaughterhouse of visiting teams, with barely a team or two in top form able to break the stranglehold of the Kiwis in their own back yard. Statistically, home ground advantage has always rested with the Kiwis, and now with all their departments well oiled and positioned to knock out anyone - the mighty and the minnows - it wouldn't be a surprise to find the neighbors battling it out for the top prize in the finals, and the better man (on the day) lift the cup. It is that close a call between the Aussies and the Kiwis and the only thing that can tip it in the Kiwis' favor is the home crowd pressure in the finals to be played in Australia. Other than that, deciding the eventual winner in the Super Over might be the just thing that can happen on the Finals day.

Talking about poetic justice, South Africans once again start the tournament as the team with the best chance but with the worst luck. Time after time, they find a reason to let others walk away with the glory, while they retire into the sunset unable to figure out how a team that has it all always ends up with a nought. Proteans problem is more in between the ears, than it is with the pitch or the performances. They seem to want more, they seem to try more, and at the final hurdle, they stumble because of that same desperation. Save for the time when weather robbed them of their rightful chance in 1992 and that other time in 1999 when Allan Donald ran like a duck to pave the way for a decade worth of Aussie domination, South Africans chose sympathy every time over victory with their inexplicable batting collapses in key contests, earning a well deserved "awwww...." from all. The current team doesn't appear as strong and as formidable as the previous ones, with the batting looking a little wobbly. But then again, that is the vulnerability that helps teams win world cups. Impregnability and formidability might be good going in, but when the chips are all down, and the gameplan is shot beyond recognition, it is that unpredictability/vulnerability that usually comes to the rescue. And hopefully that chink in their current armor might turn out to be their trump card, after all!

As the quote in Gita 'Where ever there is Krishna, and where ever there is Arjuna, there is victory", where ever there is unpredictability, vulnerability, volatility, instability, there is Pakistan waiting in the wings, raring to prove everyone wrong. What can one say about Pakistan that can be counted for something? They can plunge to unseen depths in the shallowest of contests, yet they can rise beyond everyone's expectations in undeclared moments. They have the talent, yet they lack the discipline, they have the power, yet they are wayward on control, they have the potential, yet a bit short on temperament, they can soar to the skies, and they can bite the dust with the same ease. With Pakistan, it is never about the potential, it is all about the possibilities. In victory and defeat, they never cease to amaze.

England and Srilanka are the only teams without an X-factor, they come as advertised. Their batsmen all have the skills and their bowlers, the necessary firepower. But the only thing that pulls them down on foreign soils is their predictability. They aren't ruthless like the Aussies, nor commanding, like the South Africans, nor maverick like Pakistan, nor imposing like the Kiwis (in their own back yard). Aussies, Kiwis and Proteas are a shoo-in for the 3 semifinal spots, with the lone spot up for grabs among the subcontinental teams and the English. Sure, the West Indians would like to have a say in the shape of the final 4. Even for a one day, they need to have a lot of good 'one days' to be able to decide that, and with their present form, making it past the last 8 would be a long shot's best case.

If there could be a theme for the 2015 edition, then it would be a battle between the predictable and the volatile. If ODI prides itself more on upsets and uprisings than ruthlessness and hegemony, the battle lines are drawn up clearly between the warring sides. It is just a matter of holding the breath and hoping for a surprise.

About a Boy

It is only fitting that Tendulkar is born in a land where the lines that separate legends, myths, fairy tales, facts and histories have long blurred to the point that one passes off as the other with little sense of disbelief and incredulity. It appears only fair that Tendulkar is from the region where the elevation of man to myth to idol to God can happen all in a single lifetime. It is probably deserving that he hails from a culture that has a personalized God customized for every event and occasion, with each God invested with the requisite powers and reigned with right amount of defects and faults. In the land of countless deities, idols, Gods, swamis, babas and Gurus, finding a place for him in that pantheon of elevated and extraordinary is not a tough task. And to think that all of that is because of his cricket is only telling half the story. It was a confluence of events and factors that contributed to the transformation of plain admiration of a talent to true worship of his name. At the turn of the 80's when the country was stretching its limbs and finding its feet into becoming the economic powerhouse (at least, in the game) that it is now, when the team was getting pounded by all and sundry, except on its tailor made pitches, when the credibility of the side was mired in a spate of scandals, rose a cherub with a squeaky voice and squeakier clean image, standing up to the mighty and the ferocious, eager to showcase his prodigious talent on bigger and better stages. And then the system took over from there - guarding him fiercely from unwanted influences, guiding him through every step of his away outside of the playing field, the cabal of administrators, commentators, marketing professionals nurtured this once in a lifetime talent with a kind of attention, dedication and devotion reserved probably to messiahs and incarnations. And Sachin repaid the faith reposed in him, maintaining till the end the dignity, the humility, the humbleness and the reservedness that endeared him to the elders, the aggression, the accumulation, the domination and the subjugation that won him the hearts and minds of the youngsters. Discipline might probably mean cutting out the cover drive completely while amassing a mammoth score of 241, however much induced, lured and enticed by loose deliveries outside the off. But there has to be a much stronger word than 'Discipline' to describe the unwavering from the path of dull, normal and boring in all of the 24 years and remain steadfast to the cause of cricket. Not playing a cover drive, many can repeat the feat at that level, to not throw his enormous weight around for over a couple of decades, history has yet to checkmate Sachin's move.

His talent - the scores, the runs, the performances on the field - is not what that made Sachin the phenomenon, he turned into. It is what transpired, quite paradoxically, outside the cricket stadia. India fell in love with the little lad who was in the early throes of teendom, when he was featured in a little segment on a Sunday morning cricket show hosted by then recently retired cricketer. Sipping hot tea off a tiny stainless steel glass, he, in all his wide eyed naivete, proclaimed, quite innocently, that he didn't mind facing the likes of Marshall, Walsh and Ambrose, because "the ball comes righT onTo the baT" (stressing on all the "T"s with his guttural might). It was love at first sight. It had all the trappings of a teenage love story - the innocence, the charm, the attraction and the optimism for the future that lay ahead. Though the relationship had its ups and downs, the nation more or less stood behind its man, riding the crests and roughing out the crests together. And whenever the relationship hit the rough patches on the long road, it served well that the country never forgot why it fell in love with Sachin in the first place, emerging out of the many crises that popped up more and more frequently in the later stages, more faithful and more devoted. It is an ultimate tribute of undying loyalty, endless love that can ever be showered on a sportsperson, by a nation that never fell out of love with a dimunitive lad who never grew out of his boyish charm. Even the Bard could not had penned a better love fest.

The two yard sticks that size up the stature of a great career are how long and how well the career served the team, as against the team carrying the career, and second, how does it measure up against other superlative talents that took to bat during and before. Every great career has a familiar trajectory - the bell curve - along which it unfolds. The gradual rise to the top, the stay at the perch above and slow climb down. During both the climbing up and down periods, the team supports him through the establishing and the eventual struggling periods, which the talent repays in kind (sometimes manifold) during his stay at the top. No career, no matter how talented or blessed, is an exception to this, and neither was Sachin. During his rise, the administrators and the fans, in a rare show of unity, extended a long rope to him, allowing him the time and space to breathe and bloom. The fact that he didn't hit his stride till the 80th one day before he hit his first century attests to the faith and patience, that would not have otherwise been extended to any other player. And the only reason for it appears to be the need and the longing for a true hero, in those dire times. In all fairness, the two stars that shone brightly till then, Sunil and Kapil, were never "heroes" in the truest sense of the word, that the entire nation rallied around blindly. Sure, on their days, they won matches single-handedly for the team, but in Sachin, the nation found an intoxicating cocktail of Kapil's aggression and Sunil's classicism, coupled with the innocence and humility that happily coexisted with the hunger and the talent - the stuff that "heroes" are made of. Add to the fact, the team, when he joined the proceedings, was ragtag bunch of aging stars and unrealized talent, getting beaten black and blue by teams that mattered. Sachin's arrival was a fresh breath of air to a rudderless team with broken sails. Here was a lamb among lions, David among Goliaths, a true boy among men. There could not be a better underdog story. It was as much as the prodigy of his talent as it was the desperation of the times.

The stay at the top was a sight to be beheld. Every cricketer, particularly the batsmen (only because they got more chances and more time on the field), at the peak of their prowess seem to be operating in a different zone altogether, unperturbed by the commotion all around and unburdened by the weight of expectations, where runs seem to be piling up without a great degree of difficulty, when the hand-eye coordination seem to be fine tuned to the purest precision, and the performances seem to be appearing as an art form unto themselves. Huffing and puffing, the fast bowler fumes in from the 30 yard circle intent upon exacting a pound of flesh or at least an ounce of blood from the puny figure staring him in the eye from across the 22 yards. The ball thunders down as though the clouds opened and hell fell over, rushing in to crush the toes and topple him over into humiliated submission. However the ball lands just a few centimeters short of the intended spot and what should have been a perfect yorker turns into a full length ball. Then the magic begins. With the head perfectly still, and the eyes, that had been following the ball all the way across, sufficiently lit up, and the body in perfect balance as Vinci's Vetruvian Man, the bat comes down in a silky motion and meets the ball just as it is about to rise up and cause damage. The momentum of the bat transferring its kinetic energy to the speeding ball causes it make a complete halt for a fraction of a millisecond and reverse its direction right before speeding away to the sight screen boundary, blowing a fleeting kiss to the wickets across, as it hurries through the outfield with great expediency. Text book, Straight Drive. It was Newton and Beethoven at their harmonic and symphonic best, an exhilarating mix of classicism of art and dynamism of science, amounting to a feast to the eyes and pleasure to the senses. Straight drive, they say, is the benchmark by which a batsman is judged, and Sachin never lost it till his last innings.

Aside from the straight drive, the square cut, with the ball climbing upon him and Sachin rising alongside it, balancing his entire weight on a few toes and slicing the ball across its rotating axis to cause it to race to the boundary, is another virtuoso performance. Front foot, back foot, drive, cut, pull, hook, delicate, hard, precise and strong - his quiver had an answer for every situation, as he is known to be virtually faultless with nary a creak in his technique. Bowlers could not intimidate him and the opposition merely stepped back and allowed him to make a mistake, than forcing upon him their will ('We'll let him have his hundred" - Steve Waugh, opening comments on a bilateral series, post Desert Storm). The one cornerstone that Sachin built his career upon and the one keystone that sustained his career all along was balance. This has been Sachin's strength. He never talked down any opposition, never sledged or intimidated, was never casual or loose, and balance - of the mind, and the body, on the field and off it - played a huge part in it. Warne once mentioned that they never sledged Sachin, for they found the harder they came at him, the stronger his resolve, to stay at the crease, got. His stoic nature while under the helmet could also be borne out of the fact that he discontinued his formal education, never going past high school, that automatically bred reservedness and a certain kind of steeliness which allowed his bat to do the talking for him, replying in runs, sledging in centuries, and trading tirades in fifties. It was this period during most of the 90s and early 00s that garnered the idol worship for him that was hitherto unseen on the global stage. While the wickets fell around him, he valiantly stood between the opposition and its march towards victory; while the rest of the order crumbled on what looked like minefields, he reveled on the same to mistake them for featherbeds. The gulf between him and his compatriots was so vast and wide, that with him, and him alone, swung the fortunes of his team. And this single handed, and single minded performances for well over half his career earned him a privilege that no other sportsperson in any other game was rewarded with - a tenure.

And then, the descent. When the wick glows bright and strong, it would appear as though it would go on forever and the mere thought that it would eventually burn out its potential and exhaust itself seems inconceivable at that moment. Light fades into darkness, seasons change and careers end. It is nature's law and Sachin's invincibility in the 90s was no exception. However the descent was not a direct way down. It stalled and spurted in phases, only to pick up steam and chug nice along right after each of those breaks, it stuttered and stumbled in other instances, picking up second wind and sailing away smoothly to safety yet again. Sure, every career would run into a ditch every so often. But in a 24 year span, if about 1/4ths of it was downtime, over 6 years of staggered non-productivity was bound to earn the boot for any other mortal. Yet Sachin was given the wide berth to bat himself back into limelight, without the looming fear of being shown the door. On his day, Dravid won matches for his country, both in the short and long forms. It was even remarkable that Dravid had to go against his play, change his style to suit the quicker format and excel at the same game that he once was decreed (and derided) as unfit for. Yet, Dravid's lone dip in his ODI career saw him out of the side for good. And the reason quoted on his pink slip - too old. Dravid had no option but to swallow the injustice and look on as Sachin failed for matches and years together without making a significant contribution and still remained very much part of the team's strategy and its long time future. What could explain that?

Ganguly was the captain that India never had - abrasive, combative, winning, and more importantly, winning aboard, and consistently at that. His aggression rubbed off on the team and taught it ways of locking horns, meeting eyes, and matching slurs, all the while, backing the talk up with performances. He spotted talent, picked the horses and ran the courses, earning him their fierce loyalty. He was the as close an Imran Khan that India could ever lay its hands on. Yet he became more and more a non-playing captain in the final stages of his career, finding it hard to justify his place in the side as a player, particularly when the younger brigade was knocking hard at his doorstep. With the lone dip came the swift marching orders. K.Srikanth's stint as a captain (coincidentally Sachin's debut tour to Pakistan) met a similar fate of him losing his place in the side even after a noteworthy draw against a stronger opposition in their backyard. Their noteworthy performances as captains never came to their rescue, when their careers fell on the chopping block. Needless to say that Sachin never suffered similar fate. His lull in the performance as a captain earned him sympathies, instead, from all quarters. He was never stripped off his captained, he was only relieved of it. Why the double standard?

The reason was simple, Sachin was their boy. He was the son of the soil, the chosen one. The Tendulkars might have had first claims on him before he took to cricket. The moment he took to the national stage, he belonged to the nation. Which father would banish his beloved son to ignominy when his otherwise stellar standards falter a bit? Which mother would not give her blessed son the solace of her warm embrace, when the bundle of her joy was unraveling in front of her eyes? Sachin has grown up and lived his life in front of the eyes of the nation. It is the nation that has never grown old with (of) him. In a true Peter Pan fashion, every time he took the field, they never could get past and put behind the boyish exuberance that once launched Qadir's offerings into astral territories. Sachin has grown up, got married, and begot children of his own. But the nation always looked at him as the same 13 year old who once sipped hot tea from a steaming glass in front of the national television audience, enunciated every syllable with the force of the straight drive, and (foolishly/confidently) proclaimed that he never minded the blinding pace of the dreaded West Indian pace battery. Sachin had fallen down, scraped his knees and elbows a few times, and survived a few bruises, fared below par on many occasions, but in the eyes of the nation that donned the role of surrogate parents, he could not fail, he could do no wrong, he deserved all the time he needed to pull himself up and climb up the horse and ride away into glory, however many times it took. Fair? Just? Impartial? Ask any parent those questions and pat would come the reply - Doesn't Matter. And that's exactly what happened - squelching the voice of the minority that cried of preferential treatment, the nation didn't care whether the team performed or not, as long as Sachin clawed back into form. Win or loss be damned, Sachin was back among runs! 

In the end, what did Sachin mean to the country - its favorite son, its close sibling, its apt pupil and its stern mentor? To each his own, but the common factor among all those different roles was one who never forgot his roots and manners. As said before, the phenomenon of Sachin has little to do with his cricket!

Champions Trophy - Bend around the circle

The euphoria, after winning the world cup settled all too quickly in a spate of drubbings and close calls, home and abroad, lending credence to the oft levelled allegation about the Indian Team that it is all flash and not whole lot of shine. The success at the world’s biggest stage has gone to their heads, rued and rubbed fans and critics, as the failures  that followed right after did not befit the title of world champions. They were white washes, around and across and the small or so consolation victories that came in between did nothing to right the records or raise the morale. Like the lightning that always shares space with thunders, bitter defeats always bring with them that inseparable component of team sport – infighting. Statements were flying all around, strategies in team meetings getting leaked to the press, seniors in the team miffed at being sidelined and ignored, and in some cases, getting unceremoniously dropped. This was the lead up to the mini world cup where only the top teams competed for a coveted title that was reported to be making a last appearance. The side were still world champions, but started off the campaign as rank outsiders, with pundits and punters giving them slim to none chances of making to the next level after the group stages. And then something happened and the pixie dust got sprinkled on the team as whatever they touched turned into pure gold. They routed their oppositions, dropping their guard not once during the entire tournament. And when they finally revalidated their claims of being titular heads, the pronouncements were unanimous -  the team deserved to raise the cup and make a toast, despite its history, and despite all the bad blood. For the few weeks of the tournament the team functioned as a well oiled unit and the result wasn’t only richly rewarding, it was truly deserving. The year was 1985.

It is eerie how echo of the past rung so loud and clear down to the backdrop, dynamics and finally the execution. Like before, the team was composed of not so super stars, save for a one here and there, but of grunt hogs and war horses, who didn’t mind spilling sweat and blood, just for a little extra. Like before, the bowling which appears to be the weakest link, and dominated by not so dominant and penetrating outfit, suited up to the task and kept it simple – not too much experimentation, not too many variations, put the ball in the right areas and step back to allow the opposition implode. The fact that Jadeja topped the list of bowlers was indicative enough of the strategy or even the lack of it. Like before, it was the openers who provided a rock solid start up on which the team built its fortunes. T(h)rusting  Rohit Sharma to see of the new ball was a master stroke by the team’s think tank. For one who is prodigiously licentious for shunning responsibility throughout much of his career, handing him the reins of his club team during IPL seems to have done a world of good in terms of approaching the game with a new found respect and the steady shoulders and a cool head played perfect foil to the moustache-twirling swashbuckling style of his opening partner. As before, fielding was the biggest revelation. For a team that was known to hide its slow legs on boundary ropes, it was heartening to see faster and stronger limbs prowling the perimeter and attacking the ball like predators pouncing on their prey. If matches were broken up by key swing moments, the fielding unit (which is probably the first time this phrase is used in the Indian context) was right there grabbing opportunities and effecting changes, instead of merely reacting and responding to the unfolding proceedings. Like in 1985, this was the only time the team saw itself through the other end without ever dropping a match including the practice bouts. If everything during the two week tournament could be isolated for a moment, ignoring the inconsistent form, the drubbings abroad, and the congenital reluctance and resistance towards pace and bounce, this Indian team showed the extent of its excellence in every possible discipline.

Despite the dream run, can one go for as to call this team as a face of future in limited overs? The jury is still out of the question and if the team were to repeat its heroics Down Under in 2015, it has to develop not just an obsessive habit of winning, but also do so with a kind of ruthlessness and nonchalance exuded by West Indies of the ‘80s and the Australians of the ‘90s and the noughts. This attitude is guaranteed to instill a sense of insecurity in the opposition, where no score is safe from being chased down and no total is too low to be defended, because this is exactly what the Indians have done on both sides of the spectrum in those two weeks. Regale, you must, after the hard fought victories, but relax you must not, for, as Frost cautions ‘....miles to go before you sleep.’

IPL - All in the game

The audience braving the sun and the crowds makes it way slowly through the turnstiles and stifling security and finally through the wide gates into the auditorium. After finding their seats, wading through the sea of legs of all sizes, dispensing apologies and acknowledgements wherever necessary, they finally settle in with their choice of refreshments and wait for the action to unfold in front of their eyes. They have come here to be regaled and entertained and to take it all in in a communal atmosphere. They cry and laugh, they clap and cheer, they boss and hiss. The anxious moments are reflected in the hills of nails gathered at their footsteps and the tensions, in their soaked handkerchiefs. At the end of the show, after the opposition is vanquished and the victor emerges triumphantly, it was time and money well spent for them, or in 'desi', it is 'paisa vasool'. It doesn't matter if the show they have just witnessed is completely scripted - the hero doesn't actually fly, the villain is not actually killed, and the songs, dialogues, fights - pre-planned and completely choreographed. Yet the audience doesn't mind the wool being pulled over their eyes. In fact, that's the fun part, allowing themselves to be tricked into believing that what was happening in front of their eyes was truly what those fictitious characters are really undergoing in those fantastic situations. Because the word 'entertainment' drowns it all, soaking up all the criticism being leveled against it for being too outlandish and far-fetched. As long as people were being entertained, who cares what's being played out there? Real or not real, scripted or otherwise, who cares, it is fun. So what's all this hullabaloo around the IPL tamasha, that positioned itself as purely entertainment, being now held for not confirming to the real world ethics and standards?

For all its inspirational moments and purposes, sports had always had a tough time being relevant to every day life - the news of a tainted minister whips up a lot more outrage than a doping sportsman, a well intentioned policy has a far reaching impact than a world cup win. Erase sports completely out of human existence and the world around doesn't change much, as it has little to no effect on the march of generations. So to whom is sports important - to the ones playing it and the ones managing it. That's it, the circle of relevance and the sphere of influence ends around just these two entities. And for the rest, it is merely a distraction, sometimes a welcome one and at times, not so. So, first things first, don't make the betting and fixing scandal into something that has the potential to rock the foundations of the civilized society to the core. It is merely an entertainment that has soured for the time being. Give it a little time and slack for the show to be rejigged and retooled and it'll be back in no time entertaining its audience causing them to cry and laugh, clap and….

Credibility, or the lack of it, had always been in question since the conception of IPL. After elbowing the rival league out of business by threatening the participating members - players and supporting staff - with suspensions, quarantines and life time bans, and coercing the local boards into cheerleading the BCCI's efforts into founding the new league, and then above all, rigging its own rules to suits its purposes whenever it felt like it and ignoring the most important tenet of a competitive marketplace - conflict of interests - to curry favors to its top brass, it was just a matter of time (and only natural) when its players followed in the footsteps of their employer placing their personal interests before everything else. And add to that, the unholy nexus of mainstream politics and board room machinations, the questionable sources of seed monies for setting up the franchises that went uninvestigated, and the arm twisting of the fellow national boards for quid-pro-quo-ing, right from forcing them to free up their key players to making alterations to their program calendars, karma has come home to roost. The problem with IPL has always been the shocking absence of a strong voice of reason and opposition from within the system that so often keeps the leagues in check from running away with whatever they desired and often served as checks and balances. After having bought off all the key administrators, commentators and players of some repute (in other words, bringing everybody on their payroll), it has successfully squelched off any dissent to its practices or simply started branding anyone who tried to reprimand its highhandedness  as someone suffering from serious pangs of jealousy. In effect, IPL tried having it both ways - whenever international boards and bodies questioned some of its movies, pat came the reply that the tournament was an internal matter that didn't have to bear the scrutiny of international rules and regulations. Yet, it had the gall to turnaround the twist ICC's arm into according it the legitimacy that is offered to ICC sanctioned tours and programs. Have the cake and eat it too?

Money has been the foundation stone and continues to remain the guiding principle of IPL. The unexpected success at the inaugural world championship and the tottering baby steps that ICL took towards running a professional league, had turned the gears in the thinking heads at the board into identifying and realizing the enormous potential of the Indian market and to monetize the peculiar penchant of the typical Indian fan for quick results and instant gratification (which explains the dwindling support for tests and the swelling patronage for both the shorter and the shortest formats). There have been a few benefits too (fall outs of good nature are more like it) because of the league, in that it has secured the financial futures of many a mid tier players who have the skill but not the merit to make it all the way to the top, who would have otherwise languished in the domestic leagues before fading out in oblivion without a secure retirement plan at the ripe old age of 35. But can this sole benefit outweigh the glaring sense of greed that forms the bedrock of IPL? Now the same money is entering the league through an unsanctioned channel (cannot exactly call it illegal as there should be some honor among thieves here, come on!), and there is a moral outrage over the incident??

So finally, what about the true patrons and real payers of the league - the audience and the fans? Well, what about them? Aren't they the only ones with the moral authority and loyalty given right, who can catch these players by the scruff of their necks and demand for some answers -  Why the cheating when there already are lakhs and crores playing the game the right way? But then again, isn't the public having their share of fun, their fill of entertainment, watching the events unfold  on TV with great many twists and turns like a recent blockbuster, all in the comfortable confines of their homes? So, who died? what's the complaint about? Like the fireworks, the cheer girls, the festivities, the music and the fun, let cheating be also thrown in the mix for good measure just to keep the audience guessing, like some whodunnit mystery, all in the name of offering some heart racing and pulse pounding entertainment. So come through the turnstiles, walk up to the seats, settle down with your refreshments, sit down and have fun. And that should the tag line of IPL - 'Just have fun'….doesn't matter how it is coming, as long as it is coming in any shape, size or form.

Play it again, Sam

One of the oft misquoted lines in movie history is the simple one 'Play it again, Sam' (the original quote never had the word 'again') which is about recollecting the good times for old times' sake from the movie 'Casablanca'. The sweet sorrow caused when dying down embers of fond moments flare up for one last time at the slightest hint of good times that had long passed on, are the best there are when it comes to nostalgic pangs. And there is an even cruel twist to ruing about things that were once in the tight grip of the fist, but has since slipped through the cracks of the fingers - if the one that had let go of what probably had been the best thing that ever happened to him never quite recovered from it and continued on a downward spiral ever since, well, that's just the stuff that dramatists live and die for. A book or a movie opens with a protagonist, projecting a tough exterior but inwardly nursing a bruised heart, runs across his lost lady love, now doing quite well for herself. And then ensues the tug of strings when our battered hero guilt trips his once love interest with his noble gestures, making sure that win or lose, the rest of the world is rooting for him. This might probably be how the world views the current West Indian team - a down, but not out, squad who had more than their fare share in the sun, but now could not shake past the clouds of gloom that has been hanging over its head like the sword of Damocles. And that this team, during its halcyon days, never rubbed its opponents, weak or otherwise, the wrong way throwing its mighty weight around, like the Australians during the 90s and 00s, makes its that much harder to rub the current poor form in its face and say 'they had it coming'. It is quite strange that the perverse pleasure in seeing the strong bite the dust in near absent in this case. The world feels sorry for how far they have fallen, but when they rise, in times like these, it is not just them jumping up and down in jubilation, the cricketing fraternity joins them. Misquotation be damned, Play it AGAIN, Sam.

The euphoria behind this Caribbean victory has so little with the actual game itself, though their amazing turnaround while batting, and the stifling choke-hold they put on the opposition while bowling and the superb athleticism while on the field, were no less spectacular. World Championship is still World Championship, even if in a format where Afghanisthan has just as much a chance at humbling Australia on a given day. The fact that the title has yet to see a successful defender says something about the glorious uncertainty of the format. Regardless, runs still have to scored and wickets ought to be taken, and the current Caribbean team, with bits and pieces players rallying around a couple of superstars, has exactly what it is needed in this version to swing the fortunes from one extreme to another, as was witnessed in the final. T20 might be the perfect shot in the arm for the bottom feeders of the game, for this where, when they shine, enough momentum and interest is generated for future generations to take up the sport and try their luck in the longer version. Despite the Championship, West Indies are still a far cry from being counted seriously in the Test version, and to a certain extent, in ODIs. Its batsmen cannot come out the hangover of 'hit hard or perish' approach, its bowlers still majorly depend on the benevolence of the oppostions' stupidity for wickets, and they are pretty unbothering tourists, rarely upsetting the well laid plans of thier hosts. Add to that the team's eternal contractual litigations, players and rulers tussles, temper tantrums, sulkings, sponsors' switcheroos, the islands' infighting, it is amazing that the game hasn't driven its supporters with a huge stick. And this why, however inconsequential in the larger scheme of things, this win is important not just for the team, but for the survival of the game itself in the Caribbean. For it is the festive spirit of its fans and followers that has been resuscitating the near moribund interest in an ailing and failing home team, that has sustained the game for the past decade and half, ever since Paradise was lost.

So beat the drums, toot the horns, break into a jig and groove to the Calypso, it is celebration not just for the islanders but for the rest of the world too. The Lankans would eventually see it, but this is just a token of gratitude for the Carribean fan. Play it again, Sammy.

P.S. Hang on their Kiwis, the carnival might just take a turn to your part of the town pretty soon, for, if anything, T20 is an equal opportunity crowd pleaser.

Wizard of Willow

Try coaching this in academies - take the ball pitched outside off, tad shorter than fuller length, and turn it to either bisect the mid-on-mid-wicket area, or if feeling adventurous, between the mid-wicket-square-leg area. Along the way, make it appear caressed, not forced. Try putting this in instruction manuals - take the ball pitched on good length and gently drive it through the covers region as to appear providing fielding practice to that cordon, but in fact to pierce the formation and saunter to the boundary in the same languid fashion as it was treated. Also, lean into the shot as though it was a defensive one. Shots as these cannot be taught, cannot be coached, cannot be passed down. They simply find their way into the repertoire of the blessed. The Jaisimhas and the Azaharuddins found to had been touched by this 'Lady Delicacy' years before. She has a special liking for this land of the Nawabs, their laid back styles, their lazy and easy lifestyles. Yet this is the same land where artisans dabble in the delectable and artists toy with the ethereal. This is the land of enchantment. How else can one explain the exquisite artwork on pieces of glass in dusty, noisy, crowded streets of Charminar, or the intricate ornamental designs centered around pearls in the busy 'gallis' of the Old City. Or in the numerous coaching camps that spring up in summers in crowded playgrounds all over the town, where the eyes of the little ones decked up in full gear light up when the ball pitches in their comfort zone, and the hands take over and put on a show to the coaches and every one watching around with shots that scream, not of power or some prodigious talent, but one of grace and sheer beauty. This is pure Deccani. This is the 'Hyderabadi gharana'. And VVS is its last maestro.

There is an aura of ease to his style, a style that seems in-born than inculcated. The bat that appears more like a wand his hands, his hunched over stance that strains to tap it a couple of times on the ground before it meets the leather, and the fraction-th of a second that it takes to eke out the exciting out of the ordinary (he might even mutter a 'voila' under his breath at that precise moment when the ball makes a connection with the bat) - he is not a traditional batsman with textbook shots and instruction manuals' maneuvers. This is a wizard at work with the willow, a mark of a magician whose sleight of hand glosses over painstaking effort that he had put behind it, making the act appear casual and natural. 'Of course', he seems to question, 'how else would one play? The ball is begging to be petted and it would rejoice the preferential treatment it receives'. These shots are not traditional, they get filed under 'mystical'. Kind at heart, gentle in gait, a bashful smile on the face, his bats spouts poetry and he scores in verses, in a game that is fast replacing its aesthetics.

While Sachin is all talent, Dravid, all tenacity, Ganguly, determination, VVS is nothing but dramatic. As a batman, he remained a puzzle to the selection team (selectors, coach and captain) during his intial years of his international career, shifted and shuffled all around the top order, until he found his true calling partnering with the less fortunate in batting talent. Right until that carefree moment in Sydney 1999, at the near end of what had been a nightmare tour Down Under, he struggled finding a foothold and identity in a team that was fast filling up with superstars and fast running out of superlative titles. The 167 against the Aussies, the first of many more to come, changed the way both the world and he himself looked at his place and position in the team, when he turned himself into the patron saint of near lost causes, reveling in adverse conditions and must win situations, left to partner with little else but wagging tails. It'll be an interesting statistic to find out who among the renowned in recent history singlehandedly won more matches for their country, and there is no doubt that VVS ranks at the near top. His 40s, 50s and 60s made more difference for the end result than others centuries and doubles. But in a country that is obsessed with its numbers, where a non-Sachin can only be as good as his last century, he found himself constantly on the chopping block, having had to prove himself to the doubting public, who constantly pointed to his slow legs in peace times while conveniently ignoring his deft hands in times of strife.

In India, the euphemism for setting aside players of such ilk, who had no advocates besides their performances, is "fresh blood". After a great run in 2003, both in the longer and shorter formats of the game, he was made to make room for a quota candidate, Dinesh Mongia, for what is every cricketer's ultimate dream, to represent his country in the World Cup. And the reason cited by the selectors for passing over VVS' then great form - "young legs". Younger than what, fresher than what? VVS was 29 then. The quest for fresh blood is fierce amonng probably only two sporting bodies in the whole world - Chinese gymnastics and Indian cricket. While the former has certainly a few golds to show for its over-enthusiasm, India's misplaced obsession for ignoring true talent in favor of the "young legs" is yet to bear a good fruit. VVS' career is constantly interspersed with such moments of dizzying glory and depressing after shocks. A drama, they say, needs to have great conflict to be engaging enough. That way, VVS' career couldn't be more dramatic.

Who has the highest tally of runs and wickets? The answers change every other decade. But who has that silken touch to cajole a swinging away delivery to change its path and dance all its way to the boundary on the opposite end? This chosen list doesn't get overwritten, it merely gets appended. Records are meant to be rewritten, but artistry is forever appreciated. VVS is one such artist among accumulators, from the 'Hyderabadi gharana'.

A Beautiful Mind

The one standout feature in Dravid's batting that separates him from other legends of his era is how intensely personal all his battles are, in that, he plays against himself and the opposition is his own weaknesses and his war is against himself in trying to curb and conquer them. And the concentration, the sweat, the intense focus and the unwavering discipline are his army that he summons without fail for every battle, regardless of the quality of the opposition. Need further proof? Check out the way he reacts when he falls, not for those miracle deliveries that one can do nothing about, but to the regular ones, wayward ones, the 'gimme's, the ones that had no business being rewarded. His reaction is one of furious anger which is nothing but a serious disappointment in himself - how could he had fallen prey to such cheapness after working so hard to master his licentious senses? And that itself is a great indication of how much he demanded from himself as to not allow even a single aberration, given his meticulous and legendary preparation. On the field, while batting, he lives in that single moment of the ball striking the bat, that single delivery that deserves his complete and undivided attention. He is the true son of the soil having internalized the essence of karma theory where the means matter more than the ends. There is never any disdain nor disrespect for even substandard bowling, no casualness nor carefree approach even when on a song. Respect is what he has and shows, towards his method, his preparation, and importantly, the opposition, to mould his method and keep him hungry. And absolute perfection was what he was ultimately aiming for. This end goal fit nicely into his obsession for constant improvement and reinvention to ultimately develop a technique that was complete and self-containing, with just enough room left to evolve further.

His temperament resembles the style of an orthodox spinner, whose chief weapon is one of attrition - no aggression, no talking down, no brow beating, just simple wearing down the opposition into submission. And just as a classical spinner lays his trap carefully slipping in the surprise camouflaging it among ordinariness, Dravid's flourishes are surrounded by what would seem to an untrained eye as sheer tedium. Just as fast bowlers hunt in pairs, Dravid unleashes his twin weapons - attrition, which more often than not ensures, frustration - to grind the opposition out. Attrition, however, demands a great price in patience and concentration, like a sniper who spends more time in watching through the scope than squeezing the trigger. It is unexciting and uneventful for most part, but when the target walks into the cross hairs, the action is swift and ruthless. Being aggressive is easy, being patient takes time and work. This attitude of constantly pushing himself to get out the best in himself reflects in all the challenges he had taken up in his career - muscling his way into the shorter format after being deemed incompetent first, standing up behind the stumps, moving up and down the order to become the ultimate utility player the country ever produced. When cited his slow scoring rate was why he was overlooked from getting picked in the shorter format, he adapted his technique and became more creative, showing his critics that it wasn't his inability why he score slow, rather it was his choice, and when the need arose, switching to a different gear was as easy transferring the liquid contents from one container to the next. And during that 5-6 year period in 2000's, he was virtually unstoppable in either formats.

That he got the shorter end of the stick when his form dipped just once in ODIs and he was immediately set aside in favor of 'youth', was just one of the many injustices meted out to him. When his captain gave him the impossible choice that he can retain a place in the team only if he also doubled the duties as a keeper, he answered the call of duty without any complaint. When other senior players were grumbling and groaning about the positions they were batting at (read, Sachin and Laxman) even when it was felt necessary to spread out the talent from becoming a top-heavy or a bottom-heavy unit, Dravid quietly offered himself to serve as a ballast at any position in any order. And when a certain captain, of all people, pulled himself out of the lineup feigning injury at the sight of the green top, Draivd bravely led the team even when fighting for a lost cause. All these examples illustrate not of some great grit seeped in nobility, ala the Christ figure, who mutely took on the weight of the cross on his shoulders. Rather he reveled at those impossible situations, at the opportunities of being pushed more and more in unanticipated ways in unknown directions. Keep for an entire innings and then pad up to face the first ball? His hand went up in an instant. Drop down in the order, even in his prime, for giving that one final push in the final overs? The man waited his turn. This is not, as is often mistaken, as selflessness, sacrifice or 'taking one for the team'. At the peak of his prowess, he could have had his terms met without any dissent. But betterment was paramount in Dravid's mind, and a keeper-batsman was better than being just a batsman, and if he could shoulder the responsibility of both ends and shepherd his team to safety with the tail enders than playing it safe among his top order peers, even better!

His poker face gave nothing away. His battles were in the space between the two ears than on that 22 yard strip. His motto was 'better than the last'. His modus operandi - pratice maketh the man perfect. Rarely does one come across a cricket player who finds the opposition as an enabler to his ascension. Quite a rare breed, this Dravid is!

Business as usual - Ind vs Aus vs SL - Triangular Series - 2012

2008 was an aberration, a disruption of normal service. Till then, irrespective of the team's superlative and horrendous performance in the longer format, Indian team fared pretty consistently playing up either as the perennial runners-up or quorum filler making a quick exit in ALL the triangular contests held down under dating all the back to the 80s. Even during the '04 series when the team was considered to be at its strongest best, it somehow couldn't land the sucker punch on the Aussies, thereby merely adding up one more notch on what had been a consistent string of crushing defeats. All that changed in '08 though. Again, the league matches leading up to those two epoch finals (at least, from the Indian perspective) proceeded in the same fashion as its predecessors in the previous visits - a victory here and there, but never a momentum building drive that could topple the Aussies from their high chairs. And so, in the finals, when Indians registered back to back victories in the finals on the shoulders of consistent batting, miserly bowling and sharp fielding, it was complete bolt from the blue that even they themselves found it hard to believe. And the post victory celebrations, the laps around the stadiums and the chest-beating and -thumping that followed, as though the country had won the World Cup, showed how much those wins meant for them, even if they were just a couple. One could even say that winning the first series ever in Australia was the crowning achievement for the team's ODI unit that could rank along side the World Cup victories, which made the team to be taken seriously even when leaving the comfortable confines of home turfs. And then 2012 happened. After a brief interruption in the regular schedule, normalcy was restored and business was back being the usual.

There are somethings that people in India can set their clocks to, aside from the natural periodic phenomena. Like the sighting of the Haley comet, these two events happen with amazing regularity, the first one every 4 years after the Olympics, and the second every three years, after the trip from Australia (as said above, 2008 was an exception and hence excluded from the following consideration). And in both cases, the arguments haven't changed much through all these generations dating back to decades. In Olympics, after the Indian contingent returns empty handed (save for some herculean individual efforts here and there), all the chatter media gets to work piling on the same complaint in the same complaint box about how a country boasting of a billion people remain so barren all this time, when countries, more impoverished and less populated than ours, casually pass us up on the final medals tally. The second argument is just as exasperating, futile and tiresome, and this one involves pace and bounce. How many more times and in how many more ways can the richest board in the world be beaten up for its lackadaisical attitude towards sporting wickets, whenever the team returns from overseas tours long-faced and empty handed, like a kid who managed nothing but noughts on his progress report. While the paucity of performance can be justified to a certain extent, in Olympics, what with the weak infrastructure and lack of seriousness towards sports at the grass root level, or the scarcity of private sponsorship for less glamorous sports and institutional apathy towards nurturing talent, cricket has no where to hide. It has the money, it has the resources, it has the men - players, administrators, coaches. What it lacks is the concern and the commitment to overcome the deficiencies, which plays into the commonly held view that the administrators either don't know anything about the game or don't care anything about the game, as long as the sponsorship money flows in and the coffers get filled up.

What is surprising is the solution is so simple that all it takes is just a couple of juicy tracks to mirror the conditions abroad to have the team work on its technique and iron out any obvious shortcomings. That's it, nothing more. No foreign coaches, no computer aided technology, no motivation lessons, no visualization exercises. Just one bloody pitch where the ball can dictate terms to the bat. Until such is laid down, the sights of batsmen hopping up and down like cats on hot coals, the tentative pokes and jabs and miscalculated leaves along the Green Mile, falling head over heels over the chin music continue to frustrate its loyal legions, troubling the scorers the least in the process and provide fodder to the talking heads and writing hands. To borrow a line from a presidential campaign - don't expect different results with the same failed strategies, or in simple breaking-up jargon - It's not you, it's me!

Vote of thanks - Ind vs Aus - Test Cricket

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In the end, it is not so much about the end score than it is about a conclusive end of an era, an era wherein the stars shone bright and the display thereof was dazzling. It had to come an end, one way or another, one time or another. And when the last of the fireworks dies out, and all that is left is the stoic silence in the stillness of the dark, the momentary sadness and disappointment would soon be replaced with a deep sense of gratitude for a job of enthralling so well done. Yes, it could have lasted a little longer, it, could have sparkled a little brighter, and yes, it could have a given a chance for one last hurrah. Even then, the fading out act wouldn't be a moment of merriment. The sorrow and gloom would still be there, but that's only for the affection for a career well served and well entertained. It is only sad that not everyone can ride into the sunset with honor held high. In the modern era of the game, it only happened with Gavaskar, Imran and Steve W. Out of hundreds, just three. The rest slipped away into the shadows, some on their own volition, and some, shown the way. In a career full of ups and down, the one last goal becomes one of choosing the moment to hang up the boots, not records and milestones. And who wouldn't wish for that high moment to bookend a lenghty career well lived? When sports persons eventually become the senior citizenry of their game and retirement awaits them around the corner, do what the Australian crowd does at every entrance and exit of Sachin, no matter the runs against his name that day - just stand up and applaud, and not rue at the last chances that were missed out or slipped away. In short, Thank you Dravid, Thank you VVS.

The one aspect that made an ocean of difference between the two sides was the ability to bowl consistently in the channel. Both teams had similar speeds, similar firepower and similar tricks in the bag. But only one team hurled along the imaginary dotted line a little away from the off stick more number of times and the results rewarded that discipline. Plain and simple. In that Bermuda Triangle in the corridor of uncertainty, many a batman met his ultimate demise, and till date, there was no technique invented counter the innocuous 'just outside the offs stump' delivery. Even for a team studded with marauders who plundered runs all around the globe tormenting every sort of bowler, the David-esque hurl that whizzes by carting a passing glance at the off stump is guaranteed to bring it to its knees. It didn't matter if the bowler had a reputation or not, as long as, as a team, they bowled with a dogged determination to hit the same line ball after ball, and as the results show, it merely took 20 balls hit at similar lines and lengths to hit paydirt. Again, this is not spreading those 20 good balls over a span of 200-250 overs as the Indians did, but tightening up with 70-100 overs to almost double the chances. There no magic balls here, no real unplayable ones that bowlers conjure up from who-knows-where once in a while, this is just coaching level cricket, where the overlords thunder at the minions to keep bowling in the same channel from dawn till dusk, In sticking to the basics, Aussies cashes in on their strong work ethic, and in trying to do too much in every single delivery, Indians provided more opportunities for the opposition to score freely than they created chances for themselves patiently waiting for that 'magic ball' to happen.

When does a simple warning bell become a siren blare indicating the impending doom? Guess, a struggle to tide over a weaker side (WI) on home soil should have peaked some ears, or the total annihilation in England should have given some administrator somewhere some sleepless nights and some serious heartburn. Now there is no escaping from the fact that the rot has turned truly systemic and the only way to stem it and start on the road to recovery quickly is by making the hard decision of excising the infected part and let the system adapt, even if slowly, to the new configuration. Decline or not, the administrators should have taken a decision to mix up the line up with old and new so as to allow the new to blossom under the watchful eyes of the old. That would have meant benching/rotating the players on a periodic basis which could have served the dual purpose of keeping the tired legs fresh for any call of duty and exposing the new brood to the harsh realities of the game. It is indeed mind boggling (and quite characteristic) that for a team suffering from a brittle backbone (middle order), the powers that be waited for last flicker to burn out in one final blaze of glory than plan the retirement of the geriatric greats in a phased out manner. Aging is natural, no matter the talent or the genius, and there is no point finding fault with the slowing down of instincts and reflexes. But the near sightedness of not noticing the bumpy ride up ahead and planning accordingly is what is criminal. Blame not the players, sack the planners.

When the game started looking elsewhere for inspiration in other sports for improving its own technique in, say, fielding, throwing or running, it should have picked up a tip or two in player management too. No other professional sport would bet this beg on a team that is a great has-been without preparing a second line of defense to back up the front line up at the first sign of trouble. Unfortunately, that was meant to be and the results are there to show conforming to the law of nature. Letting go is really hard, both for the players and the planners, but the least that the latter could do is at least give the players a chance for a fond and a fitting farewell. And that means, giving them an advance notice (even if it is behind closed doors), not an unceremonious boot, of the transition plan and let the players choose their moment of exits. If anything, the Australian debacle had served the purpose of making the inevitable choice a bit of easier on the seniors, and the Aussie bowlers have to be thanked for making the decision on behalf of the administrators, What they say is indeed true, every dark cloud has a silver lining.