The Gentleman's Game

It is everywhere. Wraith-like, relentless, unyielding.

Wherever you go, it follows you. There isn’t a moment of respite from it. All the time, you are within its grasp. Incessant

No, we are not talking about the Hutch cellular telephone network.

I am referring to the phenomenon commonly referred to as cricket.

For the record, I am not a big cricket buff. Its not that I don’t like the game. I just don’t follow it much. What with a busy ‘work’ schedule, a happening social scene and about fifty girlfriends to handle, I can’t seem to get around to watching a game or two.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. Its forty girlfriends.

Anyway, what with this and that, I am not well read on the Subject of Cricket.

Here, for instance, are a few examples of my cricketing knowledge:

1. Whenever I read that Harbhajan Singh has bowled a maiden over, I expect wedding bells to ring out for our dear Paaji.
2. I couldn’t fully come to terms with the concept of silly point. I mean, what’s the point in standing so close to the batsman and risking life, limb and future generations for the sake of saving a few measly runs?
3. Leg breaks meant fractures, hospitalization and plaster casts to me.
4. And don’t get me started on such terms as googly, long leg and chinaman.

I am quite alone in my ignorance. My friends list consists of many cricket enthusiasts, who leap for joy whenever they hear that “Sachin has glanced one through the covers”, much to my trepidation.

My room-mate Mr. Viju is an old hand when it comes to cricket. Watching cricket, that is. I doubt whether the old boy has ever actually played the game. In the arena of TV cricket, however, he is second to none. A typical Mr. Viju-evening will unfold thus:

1. Arrive home from office all tired and weary, as if he has just slain a dragon or two.
2. Dump luggage all over the house and plonk himself on the floor.
3. Switch on television.

Note: Mr. Viju seems to exert an eerie magical power over the television. It automatically switches to a sports channel whenever Mr. Viju is around. This has interrupted many an episode of ‘Power Rangers: Dino Thunder’ which I so cherish.

4. Watch repeat telecast of 1887 Tri-Series Prudential Friendship Cup Pre-Quarter-Final match between India and Antarctica.
5. Comment on various aspects of the game, using terms like pitch conditions, cover drive and over the wicket.
6. Fall asleep while watching the match, leaving it to my other able room-mates to switch off the telly.

Fellow blogger and honorary room-mate Mr. Abinav is also a huge fan of cricket. A die-hard Indian supporter, he would risk everything to watch a clincher match involving Team India, even if the opposing team was in the process of pounding Team India into sawdust.

My pals Ms. Ami and Ms. Gauri are founding members of the Rahul Dravid Fan Club. In fact, they are such big fans of the ever-amazing ‘Jammy’ that people sit around them on hot summer evenings, watching the game, just so that everyone can enjoy the cooling breeze.

(Get it? FAN, BREEZE ….. I know, I know….. My PJs need improvement)

You can imagine what ensues when these, and other cricket enthusiasts, gather at one place on the eve of a match. Snippets of the conversation proceed thus:

“Hey, kal match hai na?”
“Haan rey! Too good match hai! India versus Venezuela!”
“Ganguly should open yaar”
(Note: I have yet to determine what Ganguly needs to open. As soon as I find out, you will be the first to know.)
“Rahul kya khela last time! Sooooo cute!!”
“Arey, yeh suna kya tune? Pitch will suit faster medium seam bowlers!”
“Haan kya? Sahi hai!”
“CHELSEAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
(Don’t know how that got in)

And it goes on and on and on in this vein.

During such discussions, I tend to remain in the corner and blend in with the furniture.

However, I wish to state that I truly admire the complete dedication and 100% commitment my cricket-crazy friends have for their favourite Team India. I am not joking here. I applaud the strength of their support for their team, which is a major force contributing towards the success of not only Team India, but any other team of the world.

Cricket statistics always tend to leave me a bit weak in the knees. Things like batting average, strike rate and run rate are as enlightening to me as the Fifth Postulate of Pythagoras: “Thou shalt not understand anything”.

I am greatly impressed with the ease at which my cricket enthusiast friends vomit out these statistics. For instance, Mr. Viju can tell you, if you asked nicely, that Sachin Tendulkar’s average of 344.43 is due to a combination of his run-rate of 23.44, a pitch-to-dryness ratio of 8.7 and humidity of 44%.

While I am glad that Sachin has such a decent average (whatever that means), I simply cannot remember cricketing figures, unless Mandira Bedi is involved in some way.

And don’t get me started on the Duckworth-Lewis Rule.

Even if I am not an ardent follower of the game, I support cricket in all its forms. However, there is one aspect of the game that I simply cannot stomach.

It is called the Pre and Post Match Analysis Session.

For those lucky souls who haven’t an inkling as to what this torturous session involves, I provide below a brief, but accurate discussion of a typical Pre and Post Match Analysis Session.

A bunch of old ex-cricketers, possessing varying degrees of experience, skill and baldness, sit around in a circle and give their expert opinions on the game being played. This bunch of losers comprises the highly-acclaimed Analysis Panel.

They seem oblivious to the fact that the only people who actually care a damn for their expert opinions are their own family members and, possibly, serial killers.

In its nascent stage, the analysis sessions used to be dignified affairs, consisting of a few really great stalwarts of the game discussing important aspects of the match. Now-a-days, it seems that every person and his brother can sit on the Analysis Panel and yodel on and on and on about stuff which hasn’t even the faintest relation to cricket. Apparently, if you own a bat, or know someone who owns a bat, or read Batman comics, you can chair the Analysis Panel.

However, there is a bright side to this analysis thing. Cricketers, who are as skilled on the field as a fish performing brain surgery, are assured that they will always find a place on the Analysis Panel.

It really disgusts me. Why, I ask, why, should a bunch of people who posses as much charm and charisma as a stick insect, jabber on endlessly about stuff to which No One Frankly Cares Two Hoots?

I say, let the players play the game their own way. Don’t mould them into zombie-like clones of your own pathetic selves. You have had your heyday, now let the present team play as they want.

Hold on. I just received an email.

Dear Mr. Narayanan,

Apropos your request to join the Analysis Panel of the ICC Cricket World Cup 2007, we are pleased to inform you that we will be happy to have you on board as an Expert Analyist.

As per your request, we will ensure that you are seated next to Ms. Bedi during each Analysis Session.

Please find enclosed your complementary flight ticket to the West Indies.

We look forward to having your valued opinions and comments as member of the esteemed Analysis Panel.

Thank you.

Yours truly,
XYZ

Got to go, chappies. Lots of packing to do.

Where’s my sunscreen?

P.S: Here’s wishing Team India the very best of luck for the World Cup!

GO BLUE MACHINE!!