How Indians have ruined cricket — I

One of the disappointing things about the World Cup was that it was played in the subcontinent.

It is thought that India loves cricket. This is incorrect. India loves India. Cricket gives us the opportunity to express this affection. The local cricket match in India is unattended. Even World Cup matches featuring two other sides will be played without spectators, no matter what the calibre of the players. This is unlike World Cup football, or American football and basketball. What attracts Indian spectators isn’t cricket, the sport, in that sense.

Let us observe the pattern of crowd behaviour.

Indian spectators express themselves physically, through dancing, screaming and jumping about. This is done communally, in groups often including middle-aged men. It is done emotionally, with strong facial expressions. Sunil Gavaskar says he was amazed to first play at Lord’s 40 years ago because of the way the audience applauded. It was, he said, always three claps. Clap-clap-clap — silence. But that is why cricket is an English sport. We behave like a WWF audience. Strange things excite us. Calcuttans set their stands alight at the end of every match, a Neanderthal fascination with fire.

In the European nations (England, Australia, South Africa, New Zealand), spectator behaviour is more individual. Where communication is visual, it is not through facial expression, but fancy dress.

Instead of screaming, expression is through the written word: Banners.

In India, signs are held up which are either obvious or embarrassingly banal. A decade ago, they were also poorly spelled. These days they’re not, because advertisers hand out printed ones. This defeats the purpose of spectator banners; and that is spontaneity. There is never real humour, which can only come when we are able to laugh at ourselves.

In February 1993, South Africa was chasing 208 against Pakistan at Durban. From 158 for 1, they were all out for 198, five of them clean-bowled by the great Waqar Younis.

As his yorkers were bringing doom to the last few, a South African held up a large sheet on which she had scrawled ‘Waqar the springbok faqar’. So clever, I remember it 18 years later. Indians write rubbish.

Foreign commentators often say that the crowd in Chennai is ‘knowledgeable’. In saying this they mean that they don’t go off on bump balls, like the crowd does elsewhere in India.

One unique thing is how Indian spectators are silent when the other team scores. On television, it’s as if the screen has gone mute. It’s not about enjoying a sport and appreciating the ability of professionals to play it. It’s about nationalism, which in India is narrow and zero-sum. If they score even a little victory; a boundary, our tumescence droops. The Bengali thinks he’s different, but this is untrue. Imminent defeat against the Lankans in 1996’s World Cup resulted in Calcuttans rioting in Eden Gardens, and, as Indians tend to do, damaging the property that they could barely afford.

The Indian team is overrated because our fierce nationalism inflates its capacity. This has been amplified recently because of our economic power. Ten years ago, opponents thought little of us, and rightly. Against the quality team, India’s record is to fold. We regularly get a thrashing from Australia (won 36, lost 61), old enemy Pakistan (46: 69) and newcomers South Africa (24: 40). Even West Indies, 25 years in decline, have a superior record (38: 54).

Usually, Indians are happy to win the skirmish and lose the battle. This is because national honour is often safeguarded by the hero. The astute Ian Chappell noticed that Indians were content if Sachin Tendulkar scored his 100, even if India then lost. In Australia this would never happen, he said, and it would be seen as defeat, which it is. Since his audience telegraphs this, the Indian cricketer plays for himself much more than players of other sides. An analysis of Sachin’s scoring pattern between 90 and 100 will be interesting.

The other thing that separates the Indian audience from the European is the level of security.

Years ago, David Gower speculated on why Indians flung things at fielders on the boundary. The intent wasn’t to hurt, he said generously, just to distract, “Though there were one or two good arms out there.”

Why do we throw things? It’s difficult for others to follow our manner of forcibly inserting ourselves into the action through such simian behaviour.

The Indian is deeply prejudiced against Africans, and Black players have always been targeted (some will be offended by this sweeping allegation. I am open to the idea that the Indian is an equal-opportunity vandal). A bottle hit Vasbert Drakes at Rajkot in 2002, ending the match there. That was the third time in a week that West Indians were attacked in India, the other two places being Jamshedpur and Nagpur. This sort of thing has now stopped. Why? Because Indian spectators are watched over like inmates.

On all Indian grounds, a wire mesh now separates players from the unpredictable Indian audience. This is shameful, but passes unnoticed in our culture. In Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, West Indies and England, this isn’t needed.

The policing here is excessive, but necessary. Geoffrey Boycott was upset after his sandwiches were confiscated by security in Delhi earlier in the tournament. I sympathise with him for being forced to eat the crew’s Mughlai lunch. Sir Geoffrey is working class and sees no appeal in the exotic. I think a bit of racial profiling is fine, and we should be firm only with Indians.

Published in The Express Tribune, April 03^rd, 2011.