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Should I stop watching cricket?
I WAS born in Madras. Never mind the year, just suffice it to say the city was called Madras in those days. I played cricket (rather indifferently) for my league team and my college. Notwithstanding my dubious cricketing ability, I am certain about one thing. I am an unabashed cricket lover. I watched a lot of cricket in my early years at the Corporation stadium and at Chepauk. My friends and I would park ourselves throughout the night on the pavement outside Chepauk, waiting for the gates to be opened, to watch a five-day test match! This was the famed "M" stand pronounced "em" by us. And one had the privilege of rubbing shoulders with "self-appointed experts" from Triplicane who could have given Lala Amarnath a run for his money. Their expertise on topics would vary: "why Underwood should bowl over the wicket?", "The advantages of playing in the V", "Why Worrel was a better captain than Sobers?", "Australian umpires" and "Why can't we produce faster wickets?" (sounds familiar?). We followed the Ashes, the English County Championship, Cricket in the Windies. All through the radio I probably heard the voices of Alan McVilgray, Brian Johnston and Trevor Bailey more than the voices of my parents and teachers put together. Jack Fingleton's columns in The Hindu were my Bible. I had read more of E.W. Swanton, Neville Cardus and John Arlott than macro Economics or developmental Economics. Not surprisingly I just scraped through my post-graduation, more a function of the munificence of the examiner than any special effort on my part.
Let me disengage myself from the past however nostalgic and move to the present, even if today lacks the romance of yesteryears. Do I have it in me to be a cricket lover? Let me also quickly clarify. I am not a die-hard traditionalist who scoffs at "pajama cricket" or "lights". I believe that "big boys play at night". And I have watched test and one-day cricket from 1982 when television really made its entry into this country. I watch cricket 365 days a year and follow every cricket game under the sun or moon. I read every cricket column in English newspapers and visit every cricket website. My TV set has picture-in-picture, so that I can watch ESPN and Star Sports simultaneously. I was one of the (unfortunate) 40,000 Indians who went to watch the cricket World Cup in 1999 and also one of the fortunate Indians who went to South Africa recently to watch India beat England and thrash Pakistan.
So what's the problem? I was travelling with a band of cricket mad enthusiasts to South Africa, none of whom I knew before. And yet, cricket mad though they were, they seemed somehow different and made me write this. The first point of difference is the appearance itself. Today's Indian supporter wears Indian blue, carries a flag (that's part of his cabin baggage) and wears paint! Sometimes he foxes you because in the middle of an over, he starts singing the national anthem! And then, there is the other set of Indians who represent "Ram's Cricket Club" in Crawley in the U.K. resplendent in kurta, pajama, Congress caps, the tricolour and British accents! They call themselves the "beery army" in contrast to the "barmy army". Good fun you say. Yes and the worrying thing about the new spectator is that his entire match revolves around the TV camera that is shooting the match. He stands up, sometimes even on the chair to get its attention, even in the middle of the over. He is more worried about the trajectory of the camera than the trajectory of Harbajan's delivery. He expects a six in every over and is always shouting. He leads chants of "Ganapati bappa moria" and looks to Nana Patekar to approve the shout. In fact, his attention seems to be on the balcony and less on the middle. Once in a while, he remembers his native state and shouts "Jai Maharashtra". In doesn't matter to him that we are in Johannesburg. He soundly boos Waqar Younis when he comes to the microphone, so that no one can hear a word. After all, why should anyone want to listen to the Pakistan captain speak? He has a tremendous voice and never stops shouting during the day.
He seems to be India-centric in his cricket passion. When Sarawan was playing his heroic innings after a head injury, the group of cricket fans was fighting with the caterer over the cold chapattis. When Bichel and Bevan were making history, they were walking the malls and shopping till they dropped. And here they behaved like their South African counterparts who stopped watching cricket after that fateful night of rain at Johannesburg. Does today's cricket fan watch only India or his home country as the case may be? Will we become like the U.S. citizen who knows and cares only about his country and his state? Was the cricket lover of the 1960s and 1970s different? More refined? More knowledgable? And less noisy?
And yet it would be unfair not to recognise the raw passion that this game commands. On my flight to South Africa were three couples on their honeymoon, flags, paints et al. I was completely stumped. But what bowled me over was a quiet gentleman who was having breakfast. I sat next to him and smiled at him. But was disappointed not to get a response. A minute later his friend came carrying his breakfast plate and said the jam was to his right. Yes, my friend was blind and had come all the way to South Africa with his friend to experience World Cup cricket. My eyes misted. The game will always be greater than the players and spectators even. Why should I let a few loudmouths separate me from my life?
RAMANUJAM SRIDHAR
Ramanujam Sridhar is CEO, brand-comm. E-mail him at Sridhar@brand-comm.com
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