Cricket...as I never knew it

After a (too) long hiatus, I have resolved (again) to write more frequently. As most great revolutions started with one single act of injustice against one individual or a group (Gandhi, Rosa Parks etc) thus a single act of incomprehensible savagery has triggered my return here. Not that I am laying any claim to triggering a revolution or anything even remotely momentous.

This event I talk about is my 2nd real T 20 cricket experience "live" in 2 years. Or rather the first time really in a T20 cricket match that I tried to watch the 3 hours as a purely cricketing event. It is hard to express what I felt then and what still lingers strongly. I walked into a stadium which had screaming, kicking fans...all 50 thousand of them. But something was wrong...where there should have been teams warming up and fans eagerly looking through binoculars seeking out their heroes or where little kids were encouraged to shout out players' names hence attracting time for a quick photo op, there was Jamelia, Shaggy and Chaka Khan along with a few shaolin monks and dancers all doing their bit with much gusto. Even for a cricketing opening ceremony saying this was unprecedented is an understatement.

But that's not what got my attention...I was at IPL 1 and saw the opening and appreciated the efforts to bring some glamour to the game. This time as I looked around my enclosure and neighbouring spectator stands what slowly but surely dawned on me was that it was in fact THIS, the singers, dancers pyrotechnics, laser shows, shaolin monks, scantily clad cheerleaders, pulsating music and (if you were rich enough or had the right connections) the free flowing Scotch and food that were the actual reasons for most people to be present here. There were no children wandering the boundary in search of that autograph, there were no big screens with player stats, win loss records, clips from previous games being shown, no player profiles whatsoever, there was not one and I mean one single pair of binoculars in the entire section where I sat. That was astounding to me! Was this the same enclosure, the same cricket stadium that I had sat in a few years ago and seen the birth of one of Cricket's greatest sons when Michael Clarke scored a flawless hundred on debut? Was this the same ground where I had witnessed what is easily my most intense sporting experience when India beat Pakistan in a world cup quarter final? Were these the same people with whom I had discussed so many aspects of the game with although we were perfect strangers a few hours before? And that was where the answer lay...they weren't the same people. Cricket had moved on...as I looked around me again with more understanding I realised the change in the demographic that had happened almost overnight:

There were no boys sitting next to their parents where Dad was exhorting the talents of this or that player...there were no groups of youngish kids huddled together pointing "look that's Duminy! What a shot he hit that day!" or "There's Steyn warming up...shit what speed!"...there were no cricket girls! When I mean cricket girls I mean the spunky, flag waving, face painted laughing knowledgeable or semi knowledgeable girl who tolerated cricket, had at least 1 major cricket crush (usually the most unusual of players like Dan Vettori) and would never miss a live cricket match in Bangalore...screaming her lungs out everytime she got a glimpse of Dan. Gone. Poof...just like that. Replaced instead by sleek things who'd stepped of the escalator that churns out sleek mink things everywhere. No shouting and cheering and face painting for these girls. Hmph.

No future Sachins in the crowd...no cricket girls either.

As I sat there and the opening ceremony finished...a most bizarre thing happened. I had walked in late and just about managed to find a seat in my enclosure...not a very good seat too. I thought to myself damn...now I'm stuck here because its T20 and there isn't a break either when people will wander away for beers or lunch or dinner. But yet again I overestimated the reasons for which people now come to cricket matches: as soon as Shaggy completed his traipsing on the Chinnaswamy turf and the monks somersaulted their way out and the umpires slowly, tentatively began walking towards the pitch...the people in my stand started walking out! Admittedly I was in a fairly posh-ish stand but surely didn't people see that these were the best seats in the house? And that they were soon going to see the likes of Dale Steyn and JP Duminy and LRPL Taylor slug it out? Nope. The stand was half empty and remained like that for the rest of the match.

By the time the umpires got onto the field, I began to notice other incredulous goings on: there were WWE style strobe lights around the stadium which began flashing and an M C of sorts who was wired up to speakers right around the ground began with a reverberating "LET US WELCOME THE UMPIRES"...I was bemused...when did we start welcoming umpires? But this was just the start of the most recent corrosive influence...the M C continued this insanity by naming each player on either side. That's when another folly occurred...each time the name of the opposing team from South Africa was called out there was a loud round of boos that resounded around the stadium...I was appalled. What had happened to my mild mannered, appreciative Bangalore cricket fan? The M C made it a point to completely ruin any viewing experience by even making announcements IN BETWEEN THE OVER! Now if you have ever watched cricket you will know that there's a lot of things that go on between overs but while those 6 balls are being bowled the music stays off, there are no announcements and the crowd is glued to the action or is getting themselves beer outside. But the brains behind t 20 feel this is not enough. The MC announced every boundary and six that was hit with "OH WHAT A FOUR!...CAN WE CLAP FOR THAT?!" and so on and so forth...I was deflated.

Adding to this sacking of the game, everytime a wicket fell or a boundary was hit, the speakers were put on full blast...you could barely get yourself to think let alone discuss the four or share views on the wicket with your neighbour. Alas that's when I realised fully that this sport was either for those who didn't think too much anyway or the administrators are now trying to get you to think less with the beer and scantily clad cheerleaders and bombastic M Cs.

Owing to all these factors, I could barely follow and enjoy the sheer beauty of JP Duminy's 99 not out that took his team home. It was a savage assault on bowlers but still a thing of terrible beauty not to be ignored by purists and commoners alike.

All in all, I am staggered by what a few people, big companies and lots of TV money have managed to make of cricket. How do I describe the feeling, as a 15 year old, of seeing Steve Waugh practice in the nets, of seeing Azhar playing those trade mark flicks, of Michael Clarke and Mark Waugh...of Sachin Sachin and more Sachin. All in whites...sometimes in coloured clothing. But always it was about the cricket. And only the cricket. From almost the first day that I began watching and playing this game there was a saying that was bandied about "no one is greater than the game"...it seems now that a few people have figured out how to finally defeat the game itself. Simply stop playing it and it will go away. I was always undecided on whether t 20 and all that goes with it would be positive or negative. Now I believe that if this is the road then I will probably walk backwards...keeping this new entity in sight until I can but always moving farther away from it. Cricket has been one of the purest things I've ever known and I won't let a bunch of corporations, agents, brands and hustlers make me buy, in it's place, something which really is a vial of processed, genetically modified, chemically enhanced sludge just because it has a bright label with instructions on how I can mainline it easily.

Goodnight and God bless.

Warnie

This one is just too good not to put up here. Enjoy and Warnie...take a bow! :-)

SK Warne's Match Day Diary from Adelaide!

SK Warne Match Report 2nd Ashes Test

Day 5 of the Second Test.

We're 1 nil up and if I was playing for England today I would be thinking... slow and steady lads, slow and steady.

But I'm not thank god and his son Jesus Christ, I'm Australian, and I've woken up with a horn that a dog couldn't chew - not sure if it's because I can't wait to get that cherry in my hand and get stuck into the soap dodgers... or if it hasn't gone down since phone s.ex with Rianna Ponting last night. Anyway, there's no one in my room to stick it in, and no time to get on the text messages - best jump in the David Gower, work up a nice lather and give the cleaner some work to do on the tiles.

Hot breakfast this morning, quite by accident. Put the lit end of the ciggie into my gob while changing hands to down an Iced Coffee. Pup Clarke thought it was a hell of a joke until I told him I used his p00fy white skivvy to mop up after a phone conversation with his sister last night.

All the boys are full of beans this morning at brekky. Pigeon was telling everyone the odds he'd got for us to win this morning, and how he's whacked all the money he won on McGilla not being selected, straight on us. P.rick could have shared his bookie with me. I happen to think we'll get up today too. Particularly with the team they've got on the park. Giles couldn't turn a steak into $hit. Jones couldn't keep a farking secret. "Bell end" wouldn't know what I was chucking at him. In fact, Kay Pee and that bloke with the stupid name that doesn't usually get a game are their only hope.

Arrive at the ground and while the rest of them are keen to get into the nets for a warm up, I've got plans to test out the Adelaide sewage system by sending one of the biggest t.urds Adelaide has ever seen into it. I'm only 15 minutes into this fine little session, not even up the centrefold spread yet, when I hear a muffled voice talking about the history of test cricket and how if you look back, the chances of Australia getting a win are so remote it's not worth considering, and how England just need to go steady, nothing silly needs to be done, a draw here will do just fine with 3 tests still to go, maybe we can wear down an ageing aussie side... then, along with that monster t.rd I was talking about, the penny dropped... I'm in the wrong farking change room, and I'm listening to Freddy Flinstone give his "inspiring" pre-match speech.... note to self, NEVER complain about Punter's speeches again.

So with the knowledge that we now had the game in the bag, out we trot to the centre. I've grabbed the new ball and told Punter "I'll sort this lot out"… Punter's told me to pull my stupid head in and wait till I'm told.... this is what happens when you give a short man from Tasmania a bit of authority, he tries to make you pay for all the inbreeding jokes ever created.

Still, I'll bide my time, we've got all day. 10 minutes into session 1 and Punter can't even look at me when he throws me the pill... of course, I let him know he's made the first good call for the game, and asked him to trot down to fine leg please… even he laughed at that one while jogging to first slip.

An hour or so later and I'm well on the way to completely stripping away any sense of pride the "Unwashed" have built up in the past 4 days. Strauss was easy - nice catch by Mr. Cricket by the way (this bloke is so good to me I almost feel guilty about pegging his new girlfriend). Bell "end" run out by me (even when getting run out this poor ba$tard has my name next to his in the wicket column). Kay Pee - I enjoyed this one, certainly wiped the stupid smile from his south african dial. Giles - from one spinner to one that isn't, this was a forgettable one..... and then Hoggard, felt sorry for this poor p.rick - I've never seen anyone this ugly before, I can see why he grows that hair.

So that's that... we had 168 to knock off in the final session, which was always going to happen. 2-0 to us, Punter named man of the match, but we all know I deserved it.

Beers will flow in our rooms, tears will flow in theirs. The Ashes are back, and thank god they didn't have them for long enough for anyone to realise!

Love to your missus

SK Warne.

Mommy Mommy he called me a Monkey!

Incredibly, Ricky Ponting's Australians, at their self righteous worst went crying first to Blind Benson and then, ostensibly wiping tears from their eyes went to match referee Mike Procter, all the time pointing a finger at Harbhajan Singh.

If one were to recreate the conversation between the grieving Aussies and Procter:

Ricky Ponting, " Uncle Mike Uncle Mike!"

MP: Yes yes my poor child ricky...what happened? Why are you crying? And why is Andrew so sad?

RP: That sonafabit*h Bhajji ...the basta*d, he had the nerve to call Andrew something racist!

MP: What?? A brown guy insulting another coloured guy in a white team with a racist remark?? How can that ever happen? Its an insult to mankind! What exactly did he say?

RP: Umm...well he's a dirty basta*d you see uncle so we don't get too close to him but I think he called dear sweet mild mannered andrew here a monkey"

MP: What??! How dare he? Lets make sure never does it again. Do you have any proof he said that?

RP: yes yes Haydos here is also sure he heard something racist too. That's proof enough isn't it? The word of 3 Australians against 1 Indian? And I would suggest banning him for the rest of the tour so he can't keep getting me out uncle mike!!

MP: Done ricky done!
*************

I think I am just another of the MILLIONS ( that's how much this episode has touched Indians around the globe) who are outraged by: 1. The sheer gall Ricky Ponting and the Australian team had to complain about something said on the field 2. The incredible lack of sportsmanship displayed by Ponting, Clarke and Symonds throughout this match 3. By the ban served on Harbjahan Singh based purely on the word of 2 other Aussies, ONE of whom would probably go to great lengths not to play him in another match for a while.

As a cricket lover, I am distraught and I think every single Australian cricket fan too needs to be distraught. The days of Steve Waugh, Mark Taylor, Ian Healy and Border are gone. They seem like a dream compared to what we see today. Australian cricket: good bye and good luck. It'll take a lot for me to respect you guys again. You can win all over the world, but oh please don't ever expect any respect from us Indians again. And the next time you tour here, don't expect too many bouquets because honestly even us timid, servile, adoring Indian fans who let you come here, sing and dance in songs, cut ribbons, pose next to advertisements; even we are sick of you, at your hypocritical ways, at your incredible lack of playing the game the right way and at your brazenness when confronted.

Over and out Australian Cricket.

(cross posted on Life's a Pitch)

Chak De!

It took me a while to recover from our performance in the world cup and until there is a wave of younger players coming through, my interest in Indian cricket will not be the same as it used to. However, the T20 world cup has surely ignited some of that latent fanaticism that is buried deep inside most of us Indians.

I go to one of those new age gyms which have a flat screen TV attached to all the treadmills...so you don't miss even a second of the mindlessness that TV brings with it. I finished my workout and was walking out past the treadmills...they were all occupied and 9 of the 10 treadmill TVs were all tuned to the highlights of last night's fist clenching, punch-in-the-air champagne performance of India putting it across "favourites" South Africa. No other sport or team can replace this sensation for me. I had a huge smile as I walked out...win or lose, we are like this... only!