How TV `set' the prize tone

THIS one is for Sachin Tendulkar, as the Michael Schumacher of Indian Cricket, to sort out.

RAJU BHARATAN

THIS one is for Sachin Tendulkar, as the Michael Schumacher of Indian Cricket, to sort out. The jazzy car that Sir Richard Hadlee won 17 years ago, as the super achiever, how did his Rectangular Swing Arm manage to keep it in one piece? Believe it or not, Sachin, John Wright was the hapless go-between in determining how hard a bargain `Sir Rich' should be driving, in this Test case, with his team. For the prevailing norm in the New Zealand side ran contrary to the settled practice in the Indian team by then. In Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi's Indian team, any prize bagged in kind was the winner's for keeps. Only the award that came in as cash was to be equally distributed among the 15 Indian cricketers playing the Test. No such `kind' distinction in the New Zealand team — right up to the time Richard Hadlee touched the 300 Test wickets' mark. With skipper Allan Border's scalp (on Friday, February 21, 1986) in the Wellington Test vs Australia. The snazzy car, televiewed, that Richard Hadlee picked up for that 300-feat became a sentimentally prized possession in that pace ace's eyes. For the 300 Test wickets' touchstone ensured that Richard Hadlee remained well ahead of Kapil Dev in the pace race to the wicket gate. Also, the car prize placed Richard Hadlee in a position `envisioning' enough, after 61 Test appearances for New Zealand, to Third Eye Dennis Lillee's record 355 wickets (in 70 matches) for Australia.

Here's the new-ball rub! New Zealand captain Jeremy Vernon Coney was quite emphatic that the February 1986 marked price of the `Hadleefted' car had to be proportionately split among the 15 players of his team. Jeremy Coney asked his deputy, our own John Wright, to make the point crystal clear to Richard Hadlee. Whereupon New Zealand's Sultan of Swing sought a day's grace in communicating his free-wheeling decision to the team management. Actually. Richard Hadlee had already concluded that the car — seeing him in top gear to overtake Dennis Lillee — was too close to the heart to share (spare part by spare part) with the rest of the team! Richard Hadlee's arbit decision to sit tight in the chauffeur's seat so upset Jeremy Coney that he stopped talking to his only match-swinging bowler! All onfield communication between Coney and Hadlee, from that sensitive point, came to be relayed through his deputy, John Wright, as middleman! Our Man John still managed to see that Richard Hadlee continued to perform at his wicket-seizing zenith for New Zealand. The same way John Wright today contrives to hold the bat-balance even between Sourav and Rahul, on the one hand, and Super Sachin on the other.

John Geoffrey Wright is nothing if not the picture of tact. If Greg Chappell's name is aired as Sourav's bouncer saviour in Australia, the John Wright technique is to keep his ear open but his mouth shut. The idea simply is to wait for Greg Chappell to blow it through an ill-timed e-mail to the Big Brotherly Ian. An Ian Chappell whose heart is ever in his mouth. After that, it is becomingly left to Sourav Ganguly to tell the world that Coach John Wright happens to be a good enough opening bat to be able himself to attend to the Indian captain's and the team's Aussie bouncer problems at the crease! Only our Cricket Board, wallowing in wealth, could think of bringing, into the National Academy picture, a Kangaroo heavyweight like Greg Chappell. Mistaking John Wright for a Kiwi lightweight in such a setting — teamwork and all that.

Maybe Jeremy Coney had a decimal point when he said that, in the matter of Kiwi team "car fare'', they had to go Dutch. Should the maxim not have been the same, in the case of the Indian outfit, when the guidelines came to be drawn up for how any prize the team won, in cash or kind, should get to be shared? How did such prize sharing happen in the first place? Cast your mind back to the 1969-70 Test series at home between Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi's India and Bill Lawry's Australia. The business of prize money's being offered had just about begun in our cricket at the time. Spring chicken feed it still was. Skipper Tiger Pataudi, in any event, was just not interested. Tiger was only too happy to leave the matter to be determined by his `Jitya' deputy, Ajit Laxman Wadekar.

Here is where `Jitya' caught his Tiger skipper off guard. Ajit Wadekar (in narrating the trend of late-1969 events) revealed to me that he had always sensed a certain heartburn, in fellow Indian players, about the winner's keeping it all in a team game. "Jitya wants a change in the way we split it,'' Tiger Pataudi casually informed the team meeting. Tiger himself never had played the game for the prize. Thus what Ajit Wadekar, as Tiger's deputy, now proposed went, just like that. It was agreed that any prize going, in kind, would be kept by the winner. While each player (in the 15 chosen) would get an equal share (no matter who came to be named Man of the Match or whatever) if the award happened to be in cash.

What amazes me is that our greasy Cricket Board let our players so divide and cool. Happily for the team, the then Board President, Zal Irani (after whom the Cup is named), was a magnanimous soul. Zal Irani, in fact, it was who, unwittingly, paved the way for the Vijay Merchant casting vote to Brabourne Stadium-tilt the scale in favour of Ajit Wadekar against Tiger Pataudi. Zal Irani and Vijay Merchant (the latter in Calcutta on private Hindoosthan Mills business) met in the lobby of the Great Eastern Hotel during September 1968. On was our Cricket Board's AGM right then. In that context, Vijay Merchant chivvied Zal Irani, in typical Parsi Gujarati, about the Board President's being where he was (in the hotel lobby) instead of loftily presiding over the AGM. Whereupon Zal Irani pinned down Vijay Merchant. "Easy to talk, Vijay, when you're holding no position of responsibility!'' came back Zal Irani. "Tell me, right now, Vijay, are you prepared to become Chairman of Selectors'' Taken aback, Vijay Merchant tried to wriggle out by observing: "But, Zalbhai, the Board's voting pattern is ranged against you. How could you even think of installing your own Chairman of Selectors in such a set-up?''

``That's my problem!'' shot back Zal Irani. "You just tell me, Vijay, are you prepared to take up the Chief of Selectors' job? Straightway accept my offer, don't excuse yourself saying your business just doesn't leave you with the time. I myself am no less busy with my business. Yet we have all to find the time for the welfare of Indian cricket. You're still welcome to say No, of course. But, having so refused, never ever again dare make fun of my Cricket Board, Vijay. Indeed, you forfeit the right to do so if you shirk the responsibility now.''

Thus was Vijay Merchant caught with his classical left foot in front of a straight one. Like Richard Hadlee, Vijay asked for 24 hours' time, seeking to drive away and think about it. How the Moving Finger writes! But for that chance meeting with Zal Irani in the Calcutta hotel lobby, there would have been no Vijay Merchant. No casting vote. No Ajit Wadekar as captain. Only Tiger Pataudi continuing to hold royal sway. Indeed, the first major step Vijay Merchant took, as Chairman of Selectors, was summarily to jettison Tiger's long-time rival vice-captain, Chandu Borde — for those three September-October 1969 Tests vs Graham Dowling's "lowly'' New Zealand. Thus was the opening created for elevating Ajit Wadekar as India's vice-captain in that home series. Before that, Vijay Merchant had put the cat among the stool pigeons by bringing in Hanumant Singh, as Rest of India captain, for the Irani Cup play-off during November 1968, against Ajit Wadekar's Bombay, at the Brabourne Stadium. Where — before — the man leading Rest of India would have been M.L. Jaisimha almost by divine right. For Tiger Pataudi customarily to turn out under that stylist's South Zonal command. When Hanumant Singh, as the prince of politeness, said he felt he was not cut out for the task, the course was clear for Ajit Wadekar to be promoted as Tiger Pataudi's vice-captain.

As Tiger Pataudi's neo-deputy did Ajit originate the idea of all prizes, in cash, being shared by the Indian team members. The cone crunch came with the November 1969 third Test at the Kotla. It was Ajit Wadekar's willow-in-hand 91 (here at the Kotla) that saw Tiger Pataudi's India, against all odds, win the third Test by 7 wickets. Prestigiously to square the series, 1-1, vs Bill Lawry's Australia. Let us have it in Ajit Wadekar's own words how the "prize'' issue (that this landmark win under Tiger Pataudi raised) was sorted out for the money-sharing pattern to evolve in the Indian team: "All Delhi was agog at India having (at 181 for 3) levelled the series 1-1, after as many as 32 wickets (19 of them to our star spinners) fell in the first three days of Kotla play,'' noted Wadekar. "Naturally it was a moment of high team spirit as we smashingly won through. For, apart from the Man of the Match award that I clinched with my unbeaten 91 — an award working out to nearly a lakh of rupees as more than one sponsor, those days, joined the "pool'' — there was an enviable JK Television set in the kitty. Add to that a spot collection of nearly Rs. 70,000 — by way of money spontaneously given by a Delhi public overwhelmed by the spectacle of India beating Australia — and we had, roughly, Rs. 1,65,000 in hand.''

``This was the delicate point at which Tiger chose to remind me about whole-heartedly implementing my already accepted team suggestion of evenly distributing all prize money!'' went on Wadekar. " ``In that heady moment of achievement, I was game, so that it was unanimously determined that the entire Rs. 1,65,000, in cash, would be split among the 15 members of the Indian team. This while, rather fulfillingly, I kept the JK Television set — all to myself. It seemed a fair deal, no hard feelings about Tiger shrewdly holding me to my word. After all, I still had my own television set for the whole family to sit down and watch Chhaya Geet. You well know how much such a TV set meant those days. Thus, from that instant in which we won the Delhi Test (towards end-1969), it was decided, by a show of hands, that all money flowing in as cash would be equally distributed. While anything won in kind would be kept by the player so awarded,'' wound up Ajit.

Today, from Rs 11,000 to each Indian player for winning that 1969 Kotla Test vs Australia, it is Rs. 22 lakhs (from the total pool of logo money) plus Rs 20 lakhs (as share of prize money) to Ajit Agarkar for one, Sanjay Bangar for another, not to mention Parthiv Patel. For not being viewed in any one of our 11 matches during the World Cup! Even Ajit Wadekar could not be too sure that this exactly is what he meant when, upon taking over as manager, he told the Indian team: "Just you go there and perform, then see the money flow!''