Complicating cricket

Anil Kumble-V. GANESAN

Modern cricket has added more than a few complexities to its elementary nature. It has become more of a mind game, writes Frank Tyson.

I am never surprised by the torturous twists and turns of fortune taken in the course of a close game of cricket — nor the suddenness with which these changes of tack occur. Once, I recall, an English county side forced its opponents to follow-on, 200 runs in arrears, only to lose the match by a substantial number of runs before the end of the day! “It’s a funny game,” as more than one person was moved to comment. When one gets down to basics, howev er, cricket is a simple game. Dr. Johnson described it in his dictionary as a “sport wherein a ball is driven with a stick”. But recently I have come to look on such a definition as an over-simplification. It seems to me that modern cricket has added more than a few complexities to its elementary nature. It has become more of a mind game.

One of its skills now includes what the former Australian skipper, Steve Waugh, dubbed “the mental disintegration” of the opposition. Others called it “sledging” or verbally distracting opponents to the extent that they find concentration difficult to achieve. Players are coached in such cerebral qualities as positive thinking, visualisation, mental rehearsal, self-esteem, team bonding, positive reinforcement and fine focussing concentration.

At the highest level, some elite players cling to the concept that Test cricket is 40% a mind game and only 60% the physical mastery of skills encompassed by the biomechanics of batting, bowling, wicketkeeping and fielding.

On the negative side of mental or “inner” cricket there is a body of opinion within the Test cricket community which believes that “sledging” is part and parcel of the international game and perfectly acceptable to the lower grades of cricket. On November 6, in the columns of the “Australian” newspaper, Ricky Ponting, the Aussie skipper, after two Tests marred by the Gambhir-Watson physical clash, euphemistically claimed that there had not been unacceptable levels of what he described as “banter “on the field during the drawn Third Test — otherwise he would have heard about it from the umpires as the game went on.

The Gambhir-Watson incident was the forearm-shoulder clash between the two players which lead to the banning of the Indian opener for the Nagpur Test — after his match-winning double century! Ponting continued: “Match referee, Chris Broad, made it very clear to the players that there is an acceptable level of “banter” on the field between the players and he is happy for that to be the case.” Ponting thought that such on-field barracking was part and parcel of international sport, not just cricket.

The retiring Indian captain, Anil Kumble, disagreed with his Aussie counterpart, pointing out that blasphemous comments are offensive to most Asians, a point of view which Englishman Broad robustly accepted. Australia sought to justify its players’ oaths by claiming that Gambhir was provoked only because there was inordinate verbal provocation from some of the Indian players — a view substantiated by the appeals judge, South African Justice Albie Sachs.

Two wrongs however do not make a right — not in my book. What really does get up my nose is the commercialisation of cricket which seems to be becoming more and more an acrimonious fight for prize money, no holds barred; and less and less a friendly game between two highly skilled teams in a demanding setting. As cricket becomes more and more a sophisticated, well promoted and rewarding game, so it becomes more and more an ugly spectacle, unveiling all the nasty aspects of a cricketer’s make-up. What makes sledging all the more unpalatable is the fact that such surreptitious tactics are immoral.

I recall from my studies of modern French literature that the philosopher Paul Claudel held the thought to be as evil and as unacceptable as the deed itself. Thus, under note 5 of Law 42 of cricket any fieldsman wilfully attempting to distract or obstruct either batsman, by word or action, after the striker has received the ball is in the wrong. And according to Claudel’s lights, the fieldsman has violated Law 42. He will also have contravened the Spirit of Cricket — Big Time — as laid down in the Preamble to the Laws of Cricket.

I am weary of opening my morning newspaper, and turning to the sports page in the expectation of reading an account of a brilliant Test innings or a splendid bowling performance. Oh for an analysis of how Matthew Hayden got out caught at square-leg off the top-edge trying to sweep a delivery which pitched 30 centimetres wide of the off-stump! Did the opener have good shot selection?

And I do not wish to know when a ball goes for four or bowls a batsman! I have eyes and can see the obvious! But I would like to hear television and radio commentators explain the bowling, batting and team tactics of the players. How did the fielding side pressurise the batsmen — at the opportune time? And how happy I would be to receive a description and explanation of the technique or biomechanics of Harbhajan’s off-spin: and the aesthetic quality of Sachin Tendulkar’s back foot drive. I rejoice at the emergence of youthful “quickies” such as Sharma or Australia’s Siddle.

I fail to see the cricketing value of Twenty20 franchises — I much prefer my appreciation of the concentration needed to compile Gautam Gambhir’s 200 and the perseverance required by Anil Kumble to collect his 600 Test wickets. Personally, I was not a “Headline” cricketer. I did not seek fame and fortune through success in the sport. Rather did I belong to the Parnassian school of Test players: the men who play the game for the sake of the game itself: the bowler who enjoyed the process of taking wickets rather than the number of wickets which he took.

I once asked Sir Don Bradman if I could write an article on what motivating force impelled him on occasions to bat beyond the 300 mark. He replied in typical self-sufficiency vein, ‘Why should I give you permission when I can write it myself?” So we still do not know what motivated Bradman to bat for day after day. And Bradman has gone. It would be a pity to lose another motivational opportunity. Just for a handful of silver. I can only hope that we have not made cricket too much of a mind game and a Twenty20 entertainment. For me it remains “a game in which a ball is driven with a stick!”