The touring cricket circus

Two things unite the people of this country — war and cricket. Experts on war are few and far between. But experts on cricket? Well, there are at least 160 million in Pakistan who believe they know more about the game than the selectors. And then, of course, one mustn’t forget the specialists on television, who have turned the art of commentary into a science. Almost every day before, after and, at times, during a match, thousands of viewers are riveted to the screen as the quartet exudes a mixture of clairvoyance, intricate analysis and homespun metaphysics. Viewers are known to hang on to every word, as if it had been uttered by the oracle at Delphi. The commercials have also been extremely helpful. At last the poor bloke, who has been suffering from acute dermatitis, has now finally discovered the world’s number one anti-dandruff shampoo, and that there are bakers in Karachi who won’t approach the oven unless they can dance to the salsa.

But cricket is no longer what it used to be. The game has changed beyond recognition. When this writer was at boarding school in India, there were no One-Day Internationals or Twenty20s. Just Test cricket. Fast bowlers were often under the impression that they were supposed to maim the batsmen; and if anybody had ever suggested that batsmen should wear helmets with grills and other padded armour like elbow pads, he would have been regarded as a sissy and sent to Woodstock in Mussoorie. The umpire’s decision was final. He was the high court, Supreme Court and Privy Council in a match. By Gad, if he had known that one day his decision would be subject to a challenge by referral, one wonders what would have been his reaction. In those days, the TV viewer was also spared the kind of statistical trivia that pops up in every match.

The country is now gearing up for Pakistan’s next match (which will be over by the time this is printed), and this writer is wondering just how Mukul Kesavan of Delhi will handle it. His last piece on “Afridi’s Glorious Rabble” is a landmark in cricket journalism. Here are a few extracts: “Watching Pakistan win at the Premadasa on Saturday, I realised that this team isn’t a touring cricket side; it’s a traveling theatre troupe, a lunatic repertory company. Tickets to Pakistan matches ought to cost double: Afridi’s little army creates more drama in a single powerplay than most sides manage in a whole tournament. Imagine an Indian team made up mostly of Sreesanths and you have an inkling of the theatrical potential of this brilliant gang of drama queens.”

“And it wasn’t only Afridi who was writing this script. His wicket keeper Kamran Akmal first charged down the pitch and managed to run-out Mohammad Hafeez, then charged down the pitch and had himself stumped. He had done exactly this in the previous match against Kenya, so his claim to being the Cups Kamikaze King was now undisputed… There’s nothing in sport more gloriously weird than Shoaib in action … so powerful is the presence of this ageing prima donna … I counted at least three dropped catches, two fluffed stumpings and countless missed run-out chances when the Sri Lankans were batting. Everyone contributed: Younis Khan dropped one, Abdur Rehman put down a sitter. This Pakistan team is an equal opportunity firm. Yet they won.”

Published in The Express Tribune, March 24^th, 2011.