The 100 milestone
For several weeks two things kept the entire country on tenterhooks: Aishwarya Rai Bachchan’s first baby and Sachin Tendulkar’s 100th century. Be that as it may, Beti B’s much-heralded arrival in the world leaves Tendulkar’s elusive 100th century the single most discussed issue across not just the country, but the entire cricket world. Why hasn’t he got to the landmark yet? Will he get the century in Australia, or is it going to become one of the great hard-luck stories of sport?
Intrinsically—and historically—a batsman’s century has been arguably the most cherished aspect in the sport. The milestones and achievements of bowlers and fielders somehow pale in comparison, and that has not changed with time. The exploits of Muttiah Muralitharan, Shane Warne, Glenn McGrath have not commanded the same public adulation and critical appreciation as, say, those of Tendulkar, Brian Lara, Ricky Ponting—much as Don Bradman, Jack Hobbs, Len Hutton dominated Ray Lindwall, Alec Bedser, etc.
That said, a century is a fascinating milestone even if five wickets in an innings or 10 wickets in a match for a bowler is no less significant in terms of skill, and perhaps even more in terms of a result. For instance, several bowlers compete for the spoils, but all frontline batsmen can hope to make a century.
Not all do, of course, and only the most technically skilled, with superb stamina, temperament and desire, achieve the three-figure mark frequently. Of course, how these centuries are scored, and their worth to the team, are defined by the batsman’s personality, the conditions and the opposition. In all these aspects, Tendulkar is a top-notcher beyond doubt. Considering that he already has 99 centuries (none of his contemporaries is within hand-shaking distance of this mark), the clamour for his 100th must seem a trifle misplaced, if not downright banal.
The landmark itself is somewhat contrived in the context of the sport; a mix of apples and oranges, as it were, because the total includes centuries made in Tests as well as One Day Internationals (ODIs). This, apart from the fact that modern cricketers play far more matches than did players, say, half a century earlier, for ODIs did not exist prior to 1970-71.
The next step could well be to add centuries made in Twenty20 (or some other format that may spring up) to a player’s tally, which will skew achievement and debate further. For argument’s sake, should a footballer’s goals made in nine-a-side or six-a-side also be seen in the same perspective as goals scored in the regular format? It almost sounds puerile, if not downright ridiculous.
At best, the 100th century is an interesting milestone in the life of a great cricketer, not the defining attribute of his greatness. But that discounts Tendulkar’s impress on the Indian psyche ever since he made his international debut at age 16, 22 years ago. His charisma has since grown to the extent that he has now been ascribed with near-superhuman qualities and has assumed the dimensions of some mythical figure. Consequently, the wait for his 100th century, which began as a ripple during the World Cup earlier this year, has become a tsunami where public expectation is concerned. This obviously flies in the face of good sense, but logic is always a casualty in blind hero worship. That he has been able to retain his equanimity is a tribute to Tendulkar’s temperament. It would be fair to say too that he has shown less anxiety and urgency in getting to this century than have fans and the media.
Former batsmen like Sunil Gavaskar and Sanjay Manjrekar have argued that he should have played the current ODI series to get the century—and the monkey off his back. But had he been just greedy, as some are wont to argue, Tendulkar would not have skipped the tour of the West Indies after the Indian Premier League or agreed not to play the ongoing ODI series against the same opponents.
This does not mean that Tendulkar does not want the 100th century—or is not feeling the pressure of not having got it. Going by his career pattern, this is among the longest barren periods he has had in scoring a century. He also has a couple of scores in the Nervous Nineties—a self-explanatory phrase about a batsman’s frame of mind—in recent matches, apart from a few half-centuries, which in other circumstances he would have taken easily to the three-figure mark.
I understand that Ladbrokes, the English betting company, has reported a huge number of wagers already on whether Tendulkar will reach the landmark in Australia when the Indian team travels to Down Under later this month. Early indications are that the odds are ranged against him getting to the 100th on this tour, though this could go topsy-turvy if he shows good early form.
My own belief is that there is nothing in his current form to suggest that Tendulkar has hit a trough. Even in England, where he didn’t score too many runs, his feet were moving well and his timing was quite superb when his stay in the middle was not brief. I reckon that bettors on Ladbrokes are being a tad pessimistic. But this is a strange game and, sometimes, a slice of luck helps too.
The fragilities of a cricketer’s mind
Peter Roebuck’s death in South Africa hasn’t just robbed the contemporary game of arguably its most authoritative voice, it may revive the debate on whether cricketers are more prone to suicide than other sportspersons.
This is an unusual and chilling premise which seems to fly in the face of common perception. What makes a cricketer so different from a footballer or Formula One driver, one may ask. But documented evidence would suggest that the premise is not entirely unfounded, for suicides in cricket seem to outnumber those in any other sport several times over.
Historian David Frith’s book Silence of the Heart (first published under the title By His Own Hand in 1991) has biographies of over 100 players from all levels of the game who put an end to their own suffering—physical or mental. While such study might be considered a morbid obsession, it should nevertheless fascinate academics involved with socio-sports behaviour and those from the medical profession looking into mental illnesses.
Many prominent names feature in Frith’s remarkable book, some of them occupying high stature in the game, but there is no clear pattern of which kind of player—batsman, bowler, wicketkeeper, all-rounder, etc.—is more vulnerable, so typecasting would be misleading.
Most suicides are located in the Victorian era with its strict social norms, or in the times of the two world wars and the Great Depression of the 1930s when livelihood was difficult. Among modern cricketers, India’s Maninder Singh, for one, was saved in the nick of time after he slit his wrists in 2007 following much-publicized domestic strife. Not so lucky was England wicketkeeper-batsman David Bairstow, who hanged himself in his house because of financial woes; and now Roebuck, whose case appears startling not only because it is the most recent, but also because he hardly ever appeared emotionally fragile.
While he had legions of fans, Roebuck had few friends, but this seemed out of personal and professional choice. He was clearly an individualist with an almost spartan view of life and more so, of cricket. Indeed, he saw life through the prism of cricket and was censorious of those who would treat it as trifling, even a mere sport.
Extraordinary skills with words combined with deep erudition to make him one of the most powerful commentators of the modern game. Clarity of thought and lucid prose made his articles compelling not just for the lay reader, but also players and administrators.
Roebuck was not necessarily always reasonable in his assessments, but he was always fiercely independent. This marked him out as different, earning him admiration even from critics. He rarely ever interviewed players, believing that this could perhaps influence his judgement.
The last time I met him was in Bangalore during the Test series against Australia in 2010 and he was fretting about an interview with Sachin Tendulkar. Tendulkar had made a double century in the match and Roebuck mentioned that this might be a good time to meet him, but I doubt if he ever got down to doing it.
He had a particular fascination for subcontinent cricket. He believed that the rise in stature and power of Indian cricket had had a social-economic-cultural impact in the region over the past few decades and saw in this the scope for survival of the game. But he was not wholly enamoured of the wholesale commercialization that he believed the Indian cricket administration was pushing the game towards.
He had backed the Indian team completely in the Monkeygate controversy, for instance, but in the time since had become a trenchant critic of the Board of Control for Cricket in India and its constituents. He was unsparing of the International Cricket Council too for being weak-kneed and lacking the authority to govern the sport.
At his core though, Roebuck was a loner, a writer whose views of the game were known worldwide, but whose personality remained private, the subject of much speculation and often derision. But he conducted himself with such seeming strength of conviction that suicide seemed least likely to be on his mind.
Incidentally, Roebuck had written the foreword to the first edition of Frith’s book (Mike Brearley wrote it for the updated Silence of the Heart since Frith and Roebuck had fallen out by then) and in hindsight some of his words bear poignant testimony to his own inner turmoil. “Cricketers are supposed to be simple, even gung-ho, in sexual matters as in everything else. Yet cricket—and most cricketers—has its dark secrets, its skeletons,” wrote Roebuck, ending the foreword with, ”some people have predicted a gloomy end for this writer. It will not be so.’’
That it has been so is testimony to the fact that so little is known of the human mind—and to how little we really know of people we think we know.
The fight isn’t over yet
Outside of Bollywood potboilers, clearly neither divinity nor the criminal justice system is swayed by sentimentalism. Early Tuesday, Salman Butt’s wife gave birth to their child and by evening, he was being pronounced guilty of cheating and corruption in the spot-fixing case that has rocked cricket for more than a year. That life is full of bitter ironies may be hackneyed truism, but what explains the former Pakistan captain’s plight better?
The quotient of irony in human affairs finds another and intriguing dimension in the same case when you consider that News of the World, the tabloid which carried out the sting operation in which Butt, his colleagues Mohammad Asif and Mohammad Amir and fixer Mazhar Majeed were trapped, has since been shut down for sharp practices bordering on criminality.
The taped evidence produced by News of the World left little scope for Butt and Co. to plead innocence: It is almost incontrovertible. Money is seen to clearly change hands for events to happen on the field; and they happen exactly as decided between the bookie and the captain. Moreover, marked currency was later found in Butt’s room.
The players have recourse to appeal in higher courts, but any relief from these quarters too seems a long shot. Every indication is that Butt could get as much as seven years imprisonment under Britain’s new Gambling Act (of 2005). Asif could get a lighter sentence since money was not found on his person and Amir perhaps even less for having pleaded guilty before the trial began.
But there is no diminishing the disappointment and trauma among cricket fans in realizing that cricket is still open to corruption—perhaps with even more diabolical expression. It would be foolish too to believe that only Pakistani cricketers are involved. While clearly there has been a preponderance of stories involving them, it is a no-brainer that such malpractice can be far more widespread simply because so much immunity is inbuilt in the playing of the sport.
Former Indian Premier League (IPL) commissioner and chairman Lalit Modi’s tweets saying people other than players (umpires and administrators) could be involved has triggered furious speculation. The problem of corruption in sport, of course, is not limited to cricket or the subcontinent, as is being touted. Threats exist to every sport across the world and from all stakeholders, as the following examples from Transparency International (a civil society organization fighting corruption) and other sources would suggest.
Football: Referee Robert Hoyzer confessed to fixing four matches in 2003 and 2004 in the German National League, allegedly for €50,000 (around Rs. 34 lakh) and a plasma TV. Hoyzer was found guilty of fraud by the state court and sentenced to 29 months imprisonment. Twenty-five people, including four referees and 14 players, were also investigated for possible fraud.
Tennis: In August 2008, betting shop Betfair nullified $7 million (Rs. 34 crore) in wagers that fourth-ranked Russian Nikolay Davydenko would lose to Martin Vassallo, ranked 84. Bets placed on Davydenko to lose increased even after he won the first set. Interestingly, Davydenko withdrew from the match citing a foot injury. He was suspended but came back after an inquiry. An independent panel in a report submitted in the same year wrote: “There is sufficient cause for concern about the integrity of some players and those outside tennis who seek to corrupt them.”
Snooker: In April last year, News of the World investigative reporter Mazher Mahmood, who did the sting operation on the Pakistan cricketers, trapped snooker World Champion John Higgins and his manager Pat Mooney on camera allegedly agreeing to lose four frames in four different tournament for €300,000. Higgins said he had merely strung along for fear of the Russian mafia. An independent tribunal found Higgins guilty of “giving the impression” that he would do it and fined him £75,000 (around Rs. 59 lakh), apart from banning him for six months.
Just how does one counter spot-fixing? Let’s see it in the perspective of cricket. After seeing the News of the World tapes and what transpired on the field in the Lord’s Test between Pakistan and England last year, the nexus between intent and execution is clearly tell-tale. But no-balls, wides, mishits, dropped catches are an intrinsic part of the game. How does one put every such instance under the scanner without affecting the game’s tenor, texture—and most importantly, trust?
There has been widespread expression of relief—even happiness—that Butt and Co. have been tried and found guilty, and a belief that this would be a severe deterrent to future wrongdoers. I support this, but it should not lull us into believing that fixing will not happen in future. Ten years ago, some of the leading lights of the game were found guilty, but match fixing returned to cricket more insidiously and with greater threat to the fabric and prestige of the game.
The challenge ahead for cricket administration, which is really an oligopoly with most members ranged against each other, is to close ranks and crack down hard. But while greater vigilantism is necessary, mentoring at an early age when integrity, probity and national pride can be inculcated in youngsters is even more important; not to forget that a strong players’ association for peer pressure can be most effective. There has been no solution to greed, envy and corruption since the start of time. It is part of the human condition. But the fight against the bad cannot relent.
When sport collides with commerce
Stories alleging conflict of interest in Indian cricket have broken out like acne on a teenager in recent months. After Krishnamachari Srikkanth, Sunil Gavaskar, and Ravi Shastri, another former captain, Anil Kumble, finds himself under the scanner too.
I must mention at the outset that this is a period of “evolutionary turmoil” in Indian sport. Circumstances and society have changed dramatically in the past three or four decades, sports has changed from being just a hobby into an industry, but many critics and fans expect sportspersons to be paragons of virtue, especially where earning (or spending) money is concerned.
Conversely, sportspersons have also not come to terms clearly with what the strong participation of commerce in sport entails. If Indian cricket, for instance, is not just a game but a multi-billion dollar enterprise, the systems and processes which govern such enterprises with a high degree of transparency must become imperative too.
The simplest definition of conflict of interest is “when an individual or organization is involved in multiple interests, one of which could possibly corrupt motivation for an act in the other”. But this piece is not a case study of Kumble’s alleged conflict of interest; rather why such situations erupt so regularly in Indian cricket? And can these be stymied?
My understanding is that most players, current and past, don’t fully understand “conflict of interest”. Having played at the highest level with single-minded focus and achieved laurels for themselves, their teams and country, they often find any question about their motives, even after they have stopped playing, as a slur on their person. It’s not necessarily greed or vested interest, rather a closed mindset, which prevents them from a complete understanding of the situation. If the standards and practices which administer the sport are loose, it creates more opportunities for conflicts of interest to arise with many even failing to see the problem.
Wikipedia suggests that “the presence of a conflict of interest is independent from the execution of impropriety”. What this implies is that while the individual concerned may be upright and honest, the conflict does not necessarily vanish.
For instance, Gavaskar and Shastri may never compromise their independence as commentators even if on the Board of Control for Cricket in India’s (BCCI’s) payroll, but what is the guarantee that some lesser mortal might not? The effort, therefore, should be to defuse any perceivable conflict of interest before corruption occurs, or regiment the system in a manner which severely limits such situations from arising.
The problem of conflict of interest ought not to be looked at emotionally, parochially or idealistically. Instead, what is required is a rational, legal and common sense approach. For instance, the allegations that the many hats which Kumble wears lead to a conflict of interest have to be examined without prejudice.
He has been elected president of the Karnataka State Cricket Association (KSCA). He resigned as captain of Indian Premier League (IPL) team Royal Challengers Bangalore but remains their mentor. As president of the KSCA, he appoints the selectors for the Karnataka teams. But he also owns a company which manages two Karnataka players. There is potential for confusion between all these hats, without appointing any motives.
Similarly, there has been hot debate about BCCI president N. Srinivasan also being owner of the IPL team Chennai Super Kings, and the chairman of the selection committee, K. Srikkanth, being ambassador for the same team. Many of the allegations against ousted IPL chief Lalit Modi is that his family members and friends were too closely involved, financially, in IPL teams. There was also the fact that the BCCI did not declare that Gavaskar and Shastri were on the payroll as commentators.
The problem then seems to suggest that there are no established standards and practices in the BCCI to deal with the various roles which administrators and cricketers—former and current—play in different aspects of the game. The integrity, character and intent of all those concerned is not what is under dispute: Rather, these questions need to be sorted out so that in the future, no allegations of conflict of interest may exist.
The argument can be made that if board members and administrators can wear several hats, then why can’t players? If the BCCI sets down the standards and practices to be followed by administrators and players, keeping conflict of interest in mind, then few such problems would arise.
One might suggest that the BCCI, instead of running itself like a Hindu Undivided Family (HUF), where everything takes place behind closed doors, needs to open itself more and become more transparent.
Undoubtedly, many of these problems arise out of the tremendous money which the BCCI now commands. The volumes no longer allow this “HUF” approach. Given the vast fan base which cricket has in India and the close connections it has with our lives, it bears repeating that the BCCI has a bigger responsibility to clean up and straighten out its processes.
It would give the BCCI great credit if it looked to address these issues now before things spin out of control.
Obituary: Pataudi unified cricketers in a flamboyant era
Mumbai: The story goes that after he took to the crease after losing his right eye in a car accident in England in 1961, Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi was asked when he realized he could bat again. “When I saw the English bowling,” he said, without missing a beat.
Pataudi was part of a flamboyant era of Indian cricket in the 1960s and 1970s but also one where victory was not part of the Indian cricket lexicon. When he took over as captain at the age of 21 midway through the tour of the West Indies when Nari Contractor was felled by a bouncer from Charlie Griffith, he had not only to change the Indian mindset but also earn the respect of players, all much older than him. His personal courage in playing with only one eye went a long way in achieving this.
Educated at Winchester and Oxford, the Indian dressing room was a whole new learning experience for him—people of that era have likened it to a cess pool. In his autobiography Tiger’s Tale, he mentions how captaining the Indian cricket team was the most difficult job in the world because players did not even speak the same language.
He had to bring all those elements together, and Pataudi did this successfully though this might not find adequate expression in the record books: of the 40 Tests in which he captained the team, he won only nine. But as Bishen Singh Bedi, who was to captain India later, said, Pataudi made the players think like Indians and play as a team.
Pataudi occasionally talked about the colonial legacy and how it did intimidate the team. His own experiences in England helped him counter that, and under him, Indian cricket emerged stronger and richer. He paid emphasis on fielding (he was a brilliant cover fielder himself) and brought in players like Abid Ali and Eknath Solkar on the strength of their fielding ability.
In the absence of fast bowlers of any quality, Pataudi also devised an all-spin strategy that gave India its famed spin quartet of Bedi, Chandra, Prasanna and Venkataraghavan and victories more frequently than ever earlier—including the first overseas in 1967 against New Zealand.
In 1969 Indira Gandhi nationalized banks and stopped privy purses for royalty. Perhaps because of the prevailing sentiment, Pataudi was displaced as captain by chairman of the selection committee Vijay Merchant’s casting vote in 1970.
He refused to tour the West Indies and England, citing personal reasons, but made a successful return to the Indian team in 1972-73.
In the subsequent season, Pataudi regained the captaincy and it was largely due to his inspiring leadership—and the spin bowlers—that India fought back from a 0-2 deficit to 2-2 before finally losing the series 2-3 in a memorable series.
The first ever Test played at the Wankhede Stadium was the last in that series and was also Pataudi’s final appearance. His reflexes were slowing and he was troubled by even medium pace. Post-retirement, he dabbled in media (as editor of Sportsworld and occasionally TV commentator), was an International Cricket Council match referee and also part of the governing council of the Indian Premier League for the first three years before resigning after the Board of Control for Cricket in India decided to make the job honorary. He remained a celebrity figure, aided in part by his marriage to actress Sharmila Tagore and the acting careers of his children.
However, he consistently stayed away from administration in Indian cricket saying he was not “qualified enough” for the job. It was this very dry wit which characterised Pataudi. He did not speak much, and when he did, it was always with this droll sense of humour,but with words that carried weight. At the inaugural Raj Singh Dungarpur lecture in Delhi last year, for instance, he said that while “the ICC was the voice of cricket, the BCCI was its invoice”.
Grisly underbelly of Pakistan cricket
Let’s face it; what the News of The World has exposed over the past few days uncovers the grisly underbelly of cricket which is otherwise hidden in the so-called stellar virtue of it being a ‘Gentleman’s Game’. Even if everything that is unraveling through the sting operation is not conclusively proved, enough has been seen and heard to convince anybody that there is something amiss.
It would be presumptuous, however, to believe that only Pakistan’s cricketers are guilty of corruption. In 2000, it might be remembered, names of players from almost all cricket-playing countries came out in the open for one reason or another. This time, some Pakistan’s players are cornered, but nobody is convinced that this is the end of the story.
The ease with which spot-fixing is possible and can go unnoticed till somebody is caught is alarming to say the least. The fear that the disease could be cancerous is real and must occupy the minds of the game’s administrators, notably new ICC president Sharad Pawar.
Yet Pakistan’s case is peculiar from the rest of the cricket world where match-fixing is concerned. Long time observers will aver that the current controversy was inevitable given the tardy approach of the PCB to lick the problem. There is a litany of juicy stories involving Pakistan players through the 15-20 years. Not all of them may be true, but the sheer frequency of ‘unusual happenings’ has constantly added grist to rumour mills.
Indeed, levels of suspicion were so high that when Pakistan coach Bob Woolmer died during the 2007 World Cup in the West Indies, it was speculated that he had been killed by bookie accomplices of some players because he had come down on their nefarious activities.
Woolmer, as it turned out, had died of medical causes, but the travails of Inzamam’s team highlighted just how suspect Pakistan players had become since the mid-1990s when Mark Waugh and Shane Warne disclosed that they had been offered money to throw a match by Pakistan captain Salim Malik during an Australia tour of Pakistan.
There has been no respite to rumour and allegation about Pakistan cricket since then but in spite of some solid evidence (notably after the scam of circa 2000 when several players were named along with Malik) and advice to take stronger action, the PCB has buried its head in the sand and let the disease fester. If News of The World reports are true it appears that the problem is perhaps institutionalised to an extent that even newcomers Mohammed Aamir and Wahab Riaz have got sucked into it, and new captain Salman Butt was willing to risk everything too.
But why should players play such high stakes with their careers? Human greed is not easily explained in any case though some social scientists and political analysts have postulated that how cricket operates in Pakistan is a mirror to the state of the country itself. Even if loaded with some truth value, that’s a weighty premise to argue out substantially.
The causes are relatively better explained by how the cricket has been run in Pakistan. By all accounts the PCB has been guilty of gross unconcern about player interest and welfare because it has been an unstable administrative body itself, riven with powerplay. Selections committees have been wiped out overnight, captains and players have been chopped and changed at whim, leading to colossal mistrust everywhere in the system.
Allegations of fixing and other kinds of corruption have been waged by players’ groups against the administration and against each other too. Add to this the insecurity of not knowing whether the country would be playing cricket again or not (no country is willing to tour Pakistan after the terror attack on Sri Lanka in 2009, off-shore cricket remains iffy) and the recipe for the current disaster gets sharper definition.
Where does cricket go from here? It would be counter-productive to ban Pakistan from international cricket. At the same time, the situation cannot be allowed to fester any longer. Ruthless action and prompt action against wrong-doers is warranted; mentoring young cricketers about the temptations that lie in store when they play at the international level is no less important.
The Pakistan government, law and order agencies, and civil society must also raise their voice against something that casts a slur not just on the sport, but also shames the country. Above all, though, the solution to this problem lies with players themselves, not entirely with external or internal policing.
If they show integrity, the malaise is dissipated — and this holds true not just for Pakistan cricketers.
