It’s quite remarkable how some things can change from one year to the next. There are those among us who would argue that ‘no news is good news’, and for Glamorgan, I am quite content to go along with that. It’s now a little over 12 months since the ousting of Jamie Dalrymple as the Dragons’ skipper, and to say it upset the balance would be putting it mildly.

It started a chain of sweeping discontent that led to the departures of coach Matthew Maynard and president Peter Walker, as well as Tom Maynard albeit a bit later down the line. A regime change instigated by chairman Paul Russell; he’s no longer there either, although on an unrelated note, it must be said. The tranquillity of this year’s close season, therefore, is somewhat welcome if you pardon gross understatement.

There have been player movements, but not on such a seismic and destructive scale as once seen. Rather than wallowing in the ‘outs’, Glamorgan now talk of the ‘ins’ and the ‘staying-puts’. Stewart Walters has signed on for an extra year, having showed decent touch with the bat during the second half of the ’10 season. Jim Allenby too, and I don’t really care if he’s been given the T20 captaincy as a sweetener if it means he stays.

And the ‘ins’? Firstly, there is Simon Jones – an older and wiser bowler from his travels around Worcestershire and Hampshire. Opponents won’t like dealing with his 90mph rockets, but that’s not Glamorgan’s problem. Together with Graham Wagg, Jones will be the invaluable source of experience and knowledge for Glammy’s relatively young pace attack spearheaded by James Harris (massively thankful he’s still at the county, by the way).

Marcus North is another recruit, having signed a two-year deal to be the county’s international player for, yep, two years. I’m not North’s biggest fan; indeed, I viewed his selection during the 2009 as a massive positive… for England. But this is county cricket, not one of the oldest international rivalries which rather transcends life and death. And on that basis, North will be at worst, just fine.

Regrettably there have been departures. My long-time batting hero Michael Powell has moved onto pastures new with Kent, and not without something of a parting shot. Meanwhile, Alviro Petersen leaves after one year and hands over the captaincy to Mark Wallace. If that was too straightforward for you, there’s a murmur that Alviro could come back in as a Kolpak player next summer. Those 2,000 runs would do nicely, that’s for sure.

Sixth county's the charm for new man North

So. Glamorgan is rather lacking in the soap drama-esque controversy and subterfuge that seemed to shepherd the county towards the end of 2010. Not one player has signed and then decided to retire, and wholesale changes have been left to another Division Two county. It’s been relative stability all the way for the Dragons this winter (so far, don’t want to pre-empt anything here) and it feels good.

I couldn’t tell you how I think Glamorgan will do next season – there’s a reason I don’t bet on sport these days. But Matthew Mott now has freedom to mould the squad as he would want with the benefit of a full pre-season, as opposed to the full solitary day he had last season. OK. It was an exaggeration, but still. Mott delivered the Pura Cup in his first full season with New South Wales Blues in Australia – you see why the Glammy hierarchy moved to sign him?

And now perhaps there is a chance that history might repeat itself, albeit in a different country, using different players, with a different team. The Friends Life T20 Finals Day is being held in Cardiff next summer, and it would be nice if Glamorgan involve themselves in a greater capacity than simply laying on drinks and hospitality for four other visiting counties. I’ll take promotion to Division One of the County Championship, personally…

RS Thomas once wrote: “There is no present in Wales, and no future; There is only the past” — It’s about time Glamorgan shrugged off any lingering turmoil, grasp the daffodil by the neck, and use this winter of quiet content as the platform to start writing the latest chapter of the club’s history. Anything’s possible if you wish hard enough…

Misbah-ul-Haq, on the other hand, has nothing. The man is dull as ditchwater,  his favorite food is probably cabbage with bread sticks. Alone with an erotic nymph on a moonlit summer night, Misbah would probably complain about missing re-runs of General Hospital.

This unfortunate banality permeates not only his personality, but his cricket too. Me, the guy who wrote this, once made the conscious decision of researching primary sources of federal tax law instead of watching Misbah bat. His technique is flat and functional, his approach insipid and obvious. If Misbah were a woman, none of his strokeplay, not even that dirty down-on-one-knee-slog-sweep-over-mid-wicket would encourage an inch of male inspiration. It doesn’t help that his most prominent contemporary in the team is Shahid Khan Afridi, the official granddaddy of Awesome.

And as if being a bore of a Pakistani cricketer wasn’t bad enough, he is also the central, nay, sole enactor of two of Pakistan cricket’s most epic on-field catastrophes.

Circa 2007: in the balmy twilight of Johannesburg, requiring just six runs off four balls to secure the inaugural T20 championship and defeat India in a World Cup final, Misbah comes up with the dumbest idea in recorded history: the lofted-over-the-shoulder-paddle-sweep-scoop… thing.  With that pitiful excuse for a shot, Misbah single-handedly shattered the collective dreams of a nation—in fact, his folly precipitated mass-riots across Pakistan resulting in the overthrow of the Musharraf government.

But wait, said Misbah, I’m not sure enough people want to lynch me yet.

Mohali 2011: Misbah, in an act of seemingly calculated, almost vindictive ineptitude, tuk-tuks not only Pakistani cricket to shame, but also sends his poverty stricken nation of 180 million people into terminal socio-economic decline. Since that day, Osama bin Laden has been found lurking in Abbottabad; Karachi has become an orgy of blood lust; and a mosquito-borne virus has claimed the lives of hundreds in Lahore. Privately, in their deepest prayers, every man, woman, and child of Pakistan has asked for Misbah’s slow, untimely death.

But as further evidence of God’s indifference towards the country, Misbah not only was not brutally tortured and left to die with a punctured lung, but was made captain of the national cricket team. In response to queries, Misbah is reported to have said, ‘How’d you like dem apples?’

But despite his apparent awfulness, there are those who hold out for him. He’s not that bad, they cough. With shaky, timid fingers, they point to his statistics. An average of 45 in Tests and 43 in ODIs is not stellar in this age of monster bats and South Asian pitches, they concede.

“But hey, he’s dependable, right?”

“FLAT TRACK BULLY!” yell the detractors. “MINNOW BASHER!” they tease. “When was the last time Misbah won us a game against a real team?”

“But… he often plays a lone hand, saving us from grievous ignominy. Remember Kolkata and Bangalore? How about Abu Dhabi against South Africa? What about Wellington?”

“He gets out like a dunce! A fool! An amateur! Look at that ugly slog! Watch that silly run!”

“Sacrifice for the cause? Trying to make something happen?”

“He can’t make anything happen! In fact, he makes sure that things don’t happen! Adam ‘Easily-the-Most-Useless-Person-to-Play-International-Cricket’ Hollioake has produced more matching-winning performances than this nimrod!”

To be sure, there’s plenty not to like about Misbah, yet somehow the detractors never quite clinch the debate. And amidst the cacophony, Misbah himself trudges on, as if forever searching again for that moment to prove he belongs. At 37, it might be too much to ask for his batting to save the day. But can the captaincy redeem him?

Misbah has now been Test captain for a full year (equivalent to about a decade and half in Pakistan cricket). He’s had time to mold the team in his image, to create systems, strategies, synergies. He’s had time to pick his side, to institute his work-ethic, to instill his (characteristically unambitious) vision in the team. Though, much like Misbah, the side doesn’t boast much personality, a foundation of sorts has been laid.

Some say he even has clear assets as Pakistan captain. Misbah commands the unquestioned allegiance of the players. The management and the board also respect his age and stoic sensibility. His ambitions are limited to the field-of-play, where his decisions have been generally rational, if never inspired. And under him, Pakistan has not lost a series.

But unfortunately, Pakistan’s single scrappy series victory over New Zealand is not much to celebrate either. And there lies the rub: abhi tak maza nahin aya. 

Even the patient fans will start asking for more satisfying results from Misbah. In some ways this Sri Lanka series may prove to be his watershed: it is taking place in the Emirates where his captaincy began; it is against a side that straddles the lower and upper echelons of the Test hierarchy; and it comes at time when, with our liberation from the Butt, there is hope for a not-apocalyptically-bad future. In both Johannesburg and Mohali, had not it been for Misbah, Pakistan would not even have been in striking distance of victory. He had taken us to the brink, but failed to push us over. Now, with his captaincy, he stands again at a similar juncture: over the past year, he’s dragged us through the vagaries of  the spot-fixing scandal, cricket politics, the talent-drain. Now, he’s gotta make it count. Either his team can strive for new heights, or it can keep muddling around in the bottom half of the international Test rankings. Red pill, Blue pill. The choice is Misbah’s.

Epilogue:

Regardless of the result of this series, Misbah is likely to endure—there is no capable replacement, and, in an atmosphere where mere stability is an end in itself, Misbah’s humble virtues will remain attractive to the powers that be. But in the eyes of the Misbah fan, to all the sympathizers and even fence sitters, the next three weeks are to culminate in Misbah’s Judgment Day.

And for the sake of the masses, let’s hope he doesn’t screw it up again.  #TeamMisbah

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Article by Raza Naqvi

It didn’t take a rocket scientist – or a banking executive – to figure out that Australian cricket has both structural and talent issues.  A 4-1 thumping in the last Ashes series, mediocre World Cup campaign and a captain with a positively Reiffel-esque batting average over the past three series (21.5) is proof enough for anyone with even half an eye and a tenth of a brain that Australian cricket has reached its lowest point since 1985.

While Ricky Ponting’s tetchy leadership, Mitchell Johnson’s latent outswinger, Greg Chappell’s insistence on youth and Andrew Hilditch’s residence in a fantasy world have contributed to this state of affairs, the root cause lies with James Sutherland and Cricket Australia.  For too long they have tried to have their cake and eat it too by chasing the financial gains of Twenty20 and also lauding a the benefits of a competitive Australian Test squad.

By chasing both, they will achieve neither.

On one hand, commissioning Don Argus to report on their cricket management structures sounds good, even curative.  But doing so while the other hand throws so many resources into the nascent Bigh Bash League (BBL), Cricket Australia is endorsing two policy decisions which negate the other.  It is another curious leadership decision from CA whose actions indicate they are chasing the Goose that lays the Golden Eggs while paying only lip service to Test standards.

For much of the past twenty years as pitches become more standardised worldwide, cricket has degenerated into two groups: the “haves” and “have-nots”.  The “haves”, fuelled by television revenue, good attendances and growth economies include the regular suspects: South Africa, England, India , Australia and perhaps even Sri Lanka.  The second tier includes fallen powers West Indies and Pakistan, as well as New Zealand, Zimbabwe and Bangladesh.

More accurately, these two groups could now be defined by the cricketers they produce.  The West Indies’ best now favour the shortest form, while the best of New Zealand, Bangladesh and Zimbabwe often eschew their nations to tour the world as T20 guns-for-hire.  The fundamentals of creating world-class players in both formats require player pathway systems so different that only the mega-wealthy institutions in world cricket can afford the time it takes to do so.

World cricket hasn’t so much been divided along lines of Test quality, but on the type of cricket on whcih each nation has focused.  If kids are developed where T20 is prioritised, it results in a bunch of individual talents and a poor Test team.  Where a Test technique can occasionally benefit T20, the reverse is rarely, if ever, true.  To acknowledge any speculation David Warner has what it takes to play Test cricket exists is to question the value of life itself – the man bears as much resemblance to a Test opener as my 94-year old grandmother.

By dividing it’s attention between a Big Bash league with privately owned franchises (eeeugh – I hate that word in relation to cricket) and an Argus report recommending that the best 66 players play Sheffield Shield cricket at any one time, Cricket Australia is, dividing it’s resources in an attempt to promote the game.  By doing so, they’ve ignored the great rule: punters love success, and in Australia that means a strong Test team.

If Divide and Conquer still applies on the battlefield, so too is it effective in the marketplace.  CA has already done the dividing, leaving it now open for conquest by a crowded Australian sports market which asks supporters to invest more than ever.

Let’s not forget that private ownership as a model has only worked in Rugby League and never in the long term for any other sport.  In fact, News Limited, after pioneering SuperLeague, now still owns the entirety of the Melbourne Storm and North Queensland Cowboys, as well as 69% of the powerhouse Brisbane Broncos.  Rupert Murdoch, like Packer before him, got what he wanted out of setting up a rival competition.   The hideous failures far outweigh that partial success as the names Christopher Skase, Dr. Geoffrey Edelsten, Eddie Palmer and his beloved Brisbane Bullets and the Victoria Titans weigh heavily on Aussie fans’ consciousness.

The heavily-publicised BBL, intent on chasing dollars, imports the likes of Kieron Pollard and new fans will involve suspending first-class cricket during December, Australia’s busiest Test month.   How can Australia rebuild with the best First Class talent they have when that talent is not receiving games?

Cricket Australia has been forced into a position that all cricketing countries now must face: chase dollars, or what you feel is important.  It’s a nice coincidence when those options are one and the same.  In Australia’s case, that is unfortunately not the case.  While paying lip service to the importance of Tests, CA has done everything but say “we’re here for the dollars” by instituting a flawed BBL model at the expense of First Class cricket.

Only four years ago Austrlaian domestic cricket was the strongest on the planet – now no more, as players chase the dollars (and no-one’s blaming them).  Australia simply can’t follow the Indian model (IPL) because there isn’t enough support – or money – to go around.  That Australian domestic cricket – or more crucially, given how many eggs are in its basket, the new BBL – can’t get a look-in on free-to-air television is a damning indictment of what Australians think about the grass-roots.  Cricket captures the imagination in the backyard, when Australia plays and never through the likes of Gary Putland and the Melbourne Stars.

CA, to use the most cliche of cliches, is trying to have it’s cake and eat it, too.  Rather than committing – by dint of playing talent (like England has with Tests) or financial need (as the West Indians have done with T20), Australia continues not to choose its battles and try to succeed at everything.

The smaller countries of the world faced this challenge first, as New Zealand and Bangladesh have all but admitted for years that their best chance of attaining any success has been in the One-Day arena.  Why else would players like Scott Styris choose to retire from Test cricket but not from the short format?  Pakistan and the West Indies are already producing more guns for hire than good quality Test players.  It’s saddening to realise that the same is true of Australia.

As India wrestles with the impending doom brought about by Tendulkar, Dravid, Sehwag and Laxman’s respective entries into Valhalla, even that so powerful nation will, in time, face the same challenge.  While England will not remain immune forever, the structures in place around the game in it’s birthplace may allow a defence against the irrepressible schism that threatens to divide cricket.

It’s true of any business struggling in a crowded economy that you should choose either to expand your services, or focus on doing what you do best.  For 125 years, Australia has produced the best Test cricketers in the world.  Over the past decade, that trend has been reversed as players are seduced by the quick runs and quicker bucks available.

In a recent revealing podcast on Test Match Sofa, Australian cricket writer Gideon Haigh revealed that the first priority of the Australian cricket team wasn’t to win matches but to publicise the sport in Australia.  When it comes to branding – the honeypot into which Cricket Australia has fallen – it is a simple fact that Starbucks produces coffee, Asics produces quality running shoes, Sri Lanka will deliver turning pitches – and Test cricket has been elevated to its highest form by teams from the Great South Land.

For Cricket Australia to forget that would be shameful.

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Guest Column by Matthew Wood

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Matthew Wood is a freelance sportswriter, focusing mostly on cricket and football. Notable skills include unwittingly alienating Manchester City supporters, a commanding knowledge of Doctor Who and the ability to fit six curses into any sentence describing the current state of Australian cricket.  His favourite cricket memories are of Merv Hughes’ hattrick, Andrew Symonds’ 2003 World Cup century and Carl Rackemann signing his cricket card at the MCG in 1989.  You can find most of his work at Balanced Sports or follow him on Twitter @balanced_sports

Setting Hampshire’s history with the ECB aside though, it is important to look at this penalty in pure cricketing terms. The verdict was that the pitch offered excessive turn for spinners. Indeed, of the 36 wickets that fell in the 3 days of play (the first was washed out), 25 were taken by spinners. Neither side managed an innings scoring rate of 3 an over, and the game was played on the same pitch that drew attention for its spin in a televised 40 over match.

However I can’t help but feel that the point is being missed by the ECB. Let’s consider, batting-wise, the two sides that played in this match. Hampshire sit bottom of Division 1 for a number of reasons, not least because they have been diabolical this season with the bat. Only once have they reached a first innings total in excess of 300, whilst Nottinghamshire’s top 6 share three centuries between them this season. Neither side are exactly India’s galacticos are they?

Likewise, the two stars with the ball, Samit Patel and Danny Briggs, are hardly part time rubbish you see cropping up and taking wickets in 20/20 matches. The former is a consistently excellent allrounder whilst the latter is fast becoming one of the best spinners in the country. If the wicket is showing signs of spin then you’d be asking questions if these two weren’t able to take advantage of it.

I am, it has to be stressed, not trying to exalt the pitch in any way. It was a tired wicket not conducive to free flowing batting but it provided us with one hell of a contest. Two International class batsmen, Neil McKenzie and Adam Voges, played first class knocks in the match. Is that not what people want to see? Or would we rather have half the wickets and twice the runs? I can assure you that had that been the case then as Imran Tahir bowled the final ball of the final day, two results would not have still been possible, as they were here.

Despite a few grumbles about damaging bowlers, no punishments are handed out to grounds on which 4 or 5 day matches barely reach the third innings before a draw is shaken on. Surely these are poor pitches as they do not offer anything for the bowlers? Will a team be docked points for preparing a pitch that offers excessive help to the batsmen? I doubt it.

We must also examine the protocol followed by the ECB in monitoring and reporting pitches. On the first day of play at The Rose Bowl 13 wickets fell. Though that is a fair few it shouldn’t exactly set any alarms ringing. However a pitch inspector was present at the ground for the following two days. Under what circumstances was he called over? I’m not convinced a first innings 65 overs in length (the shortest innings of the match, infact) with six wickets falling to spin should be deemed bad enough to investigate. It could well be that the ECB already had an eye on this game following the televised match mentioned above.

I speculate, but the point remains that there appears to be no structure to the pitch monitoring system used by the ECB, as found out by Warwickshire and Worcestershire earlier in the season. It is also slightly baffling that there has been no investigation into the pitch used in the Roses match, where 16 wickets fell on day 2 and 13 fell on day 3. It would be interesting to find out if the umpires at the Hampshire-Nottinghamshire match would have reported the Rose Bowl wicket if the pitch inspection committee had not already been there for two thirds of the match.

So at the end of all this, Nottinghamshire go home with a few points and Hampshire with even less. A thrilling Championship match (somewhat of a rarity nowadays) with any number of twists that goes down to the very last ball is deemed ‘poor’ and punishable.

Thanks, ECB. Good job.

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Article by Josh Taylor

Well, of course, except for me.

In the bitter bite of the East Coast winter, during the witching hours of the night, I stared red-eyed into the dull, blue glow of my laptop, puffs of breath swelling before me. Anyone entering the room may have suspected something salacious, but the flickering images were of the innocent merriment that is cricket in Colombo. They sputtered, stopped and sputtered again. The sound was, by turn, muffled and over-modulated. Large, pulsating squares, occasionally coalescing into a recognizable image, constituted the picture. Almost never, for instance, would I see what happened in the time between the bowler releasing the ball and the batsman reacting to it—the ball would slip between the edges of two flashing pixels before re-emerging in the keepers’ gloves.“Well bowled,” a stuffy, static Ranjit Fernando confirmed. Then, the free and probably illegal live stream froze, and darkness poured into my corner of Kalorama off 18th St.

Never an organic process, watching cricket in the US is no walk in the park. Not boasting much of a market, cricket is never on TV. You must have a link. Finding this link, however, is a science—only the most precise Google search and shrewd analyses of URL syntax will unearth a functioning stream. You compromise on quality—poor resolution, endless buffering, and the threat of malicious spyware are endemic. For a time you will have a reliable website, a portal of streaming certitude. A moment later, like all happiness, it vanishes. The more secure option is to purchase a link. However, for many, this is a violation of principal: “Why should I, a Pakistani, an Indian, a bona fide aficionado, pay for my goddam cricket?” But this being America, you soon learn that free lunches are hard to come by.

Watching cricket with others is an equally agonizing process involving S-video and HDMI cables, compatibility issues and TV resolutions—the seventeen inches of a laptop are not conducive to communal viewing. Even if technical support can be managed, the logistics of organizing a hospitable homeboy to host a pack marauding desis can tax ones social capital. There is also the small matter of time zone discrepancies—most cricket is played around four a.m., and not much warrants the labor (apart from World Cup semi-finals at Mohali).

And so cricket, here in America, is not only watched in poor quality, it is watched alone.

But this is solitude worth seeking. America is a busy, bustling, overbearing place: bills to be paid, work to be performed, revelry to be had. Step on the concrete side-walk and you are shoved into the hyper-competition of corporate ladders, immigration deadlines, and bar fights—success is survival. You’ll be hollered at by Tom Freidman and Sarah Palin; by Kim Kardhashian and Jon Stewart; by Libertarians, Socialists, Somali cab drivers and Korean dry cleaners; money in, money out. For us immigrants, non-natives, we often struggle to catch up. And though we consume beefy burritos and the VH1 Awesomely Bad Hits from the 90s segments like any red-blooded Americano, on some days, we wish only to savor a soupy plate of daal, or a pull up a starched cotton pajama. On some days, we wish to return to memory.

But on others days, memory doesn’t cut it. So, we turn on the cricket. And we go Live.

There, with the multitudes, cheering every flick-to-fine-leg and ball-that-beats-the-bat—our fists thrusting in triumph, our voices rasping in scorn—we are home. We know the players, the pavilions, the chachas in the crowd. We greet Ricky and Sachin like kin, abuse Lala and Gullay like domestic help. We pull up a stool with our guys-at-the-bar—old Tony Grieg and Richie Benaud, Ramiz bhai and Shastri, Ian Bishop and Ranjit Fernando too. We know them, we understand them, we inhabit their world completely. For us in America, cricket is terra firma.

But immigrant or native, as time passes our lives evolve and grow—the new washes away the old, and even friends become unknown. But some elementals endure. And for those who grew up with the game, there are certain environs—like the green-top Members Pavilion at the SCG, or the cascading concrete steps of the Feroz Shah Kotla, the stone-wall Portuguese fortress at Galle, or the wire frame cylinder that towers above the Oval—that have been fixtures in our lives from the beginning. The sights and sounds and sinews that populate these landscapes, constant since genesis, recollect how and why we love.  And as our lives meander from schools to universities, from girlfriends to wives, pay-checks to pay-checks, we often wish to return to a simpler, unburdened time, a time of longer summers and softer drinks. A time when the roar of the crowd on TV was all there was to live for.

And so we are drawn, on solemn foggy nights, to our darkened bedrooms, in muted tones, to these sputtering streams of solitude. We hear trumpets, the din of the crowd, and we return to Colombo.

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Article by Raza Naqvi

Warne made his debut against India in the 1991/92 series at the Sydney Cricket Ground and finished with figures of 1/150. His maiden test wicket being Ravi Shastri. While his exploits in the Ashes series in England in 1993 is well known, including what many called ‘the ball of the century’, it was in a test match in Colombo, Sri Lanka that the world came to recognise Warne. Sri Lanka needed roughly 40 runs to win with 4 wickets left when Allan Border turned to Warne. Three wickets for 11 runs later, a win for Australia secured, and Warne’s international career was up and running. In that summer, he spun Australia to a win against West Indies with his first five wicket haul ( 7/52 in the second innings) at the MCG and then came the Ashes of 1993. His very first ball in his Ashes series debut to Mike Gatting ended up being called the ball of the century. Pitched well outside leg, and spinning past Gatting ( no mean feat in itself considering Gatting’s girth) to hit the top of off stump. The Taylor /Healy leap, the stunned look on Gatting’s face and the aura was well and truly set.

From that series on, every single time Warne marked his run up for his first bowl, the crowd would hush up expecting something special, and Warne more often than not delivered. Truth be told, he exploited and enjoyed himself to the hilt in that theatrical setting. With his extremely precise field settings, to a friendly chat with the umpires everything was a stage for him to act out his genius. Every over seemed to have a story woven around it. The way he plotted a batsman’s dismissal, the subtle changes in field, the sometimes deliberate slowing down, a bit of chatter and then the walk begins. How could anyone not be mesmerised by this? He has had innumerable batsman confounded with his variations of the big spinning leg break, his flipper which was lethal until his first shoulder surgery, his zooter, top spinner and a badly disguised googly. Towards the back end of his career, it was mainly his leg break and top spinner that he relied on in addition to his ever present aura to get him wickets.

Warne’s statistical feats need a mention, even if it’s out there in the open for everyone to see. To achieve that much success as part of an attack that had bowlers like Merv Hughes, Craig McDermott, an all time great by himself – Glenn McGrath, Jason Gillespie Brett Lee is a testamount to the man’s genius. It’s no point in bringing up the Muralitharan angle and who was the better spinner. Statistically, it’s a no-brainer. Murali wins it hands down but statistics only reveal part of the picture. Most folks who are on the Murali side of the argument would say Murali only had Vaas for company and he did the bulk of the work himself. A counter argument to that is – Warne had to deal with an attack that was more than capable of bowling out sides themselves without him needed. In spite of that, he ended up with more than a 1000 international wickets. The man is a genius and there is no two ways about it.

Fascinatingly enough for a guy with such an aura he was also a true sportsman. Always appreciated a good knock, a good innings. He could be very grumpy on field if things didn’t go his way, but it was rare to not find him applauding a batsman reaching a landmark. Just ask Kevin Pietersen after his 158 against Australia at the Oval in 2005 which ensured that Warne would be part of an Ashes losing Australian squad. As Pietersen was leaving the field, Warne went up to him and told him to ‘enjoy this moment’.

It’s a pity that his off field misdemeanours cost him the chance to captain the Australian test team. When he stood in for an injured Steve Waugh in CB series in 1999, Australia won 10 of their 11 matches, a couple of them from positions of defeat. Warne believed in risking to lose, in order to win. No tactic was deemed worthless and defeat was not accepted until it was a reality. You only have to look at what Warne had done with Hampshire in the English county and with Rajasthan Royals at the IPL to understand his influence as a captain. Not being an Australian test captain is presumably his biggest regret.

Shane Keith Warne – for me personally the greatest cricketer that has ever graced a cricket ground. The aura that he built up around himself, maintained and carried on for over 20 years as a professional cricketer are memories that will never be forgotten.

Let me end this post with a quote from the man himself: “Where my ability to spin a cricket ball came from, I honestly don’t know. I can only think that I was born with it. I have a skill as cricketer and fortunately cricket found me”

Warnie, Cricket and it’s many followers should be thankful to you for the memories you’ve provided.

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Guest Column by Dilip Poduval

Dilip is a self confessed fan of the Australian cricket team. Helped that as a kid, they were the team that ensured England didn’t go on to win the Reliance World Cup in 1987 after beating India in the semis, while they themselves beat Pakistan in the other semi final. One of his best days supporting the team came during the 1999 world cup and THAT match. Has a dubious honour of twice going to Chepauk stadium to watch a match and go home after the team he supported lost. Saw Sachin tear into Warne during the 1998 test, and then saw what he considers Sachin best test knock – the 136 against Pakistan in 1999. Besides following cricket, he is also a fan of Manchester United and the Ferrari formula one team.  He is seen ranting, raving and everything else in between on twitter as the @tifosiguy. He occasionally blogs at http://tifosiguysblog.blogpost.com

Au revoir!

It was the 8th of November 2008. A Saturday. It was the third day of the final Test match of the series (at Nagpur) between India and Australia. I had watched the most gripping session of Test cricket in my Melbourne home. Having commenced the day on 189 for 2 off just 49 overs (at 3.85 runs per over), chasing India’s first innings total of 441, Australia had ended the previous day on an aggressive high. The first few balls of that first session of play on day-3 set the scene for that session, and that day.

My jaw hit the floor. “Was this Team India I was seeing?”, I asked myself.

I did not move from my place on the couch in that session — it produced just 42 runs from 25 overs at a run-rate of 1.68 runs per over! Dull cricket? Yet, I remember that session so vividly.

So what made it a gripping session?

Through the morning session India captain MS Dhoni set a 8-1 field with 8 fielders on the off-side and a lone leg-side fielder at square-leg. The bowlers who had been slapped around the previous evening, curbed their attacking lines and bowled a disciplined line to Mike Hussey and Simon Katich the two Australian left-handers. At the time this was thought of as a “defensive” tactic. The Australians were shackled. Their attacking shots were curbed. And they did not quite know how to combat India’s strategy — it took them a while to figure out that there was, indeed, a strategy! An Indian team did not just “rock up”. They were playing “thinking cricket”. The Australians were like rabbits caught in the headlights. In the process, Australia had lost a wicket too; Simon Katich lost his composure and got out — he had been out-foxed.

Rather than remove his foot from the pedal, in the post-lunch session, Dhoni continued his strategy in a ruthless and clinical manner. For Clarke he set a 6-3 field but still bowled a “defensive line”. In that post-lunch session, Australia scored 49 runs in 29 overs and had lost 3 wickets.

Many commentators — including Ian Chappell and Allan Border — attribute the loss in this Nagpur Test match to Ricky Ponting’s strange captaincy during India second innings, when he had Michael Hussey and Cameron White bowling in tandem in a bid to catch up on Australia’s bad over-rate! However, I strongly believe that it was those opening sessions of Day-3 that led to Australia losing that Test Match. India acquired an Australia-like attitude, caught the match by the scruff of its neck, and did not let go. It called for mean-mindedness; an Australia-like bloody-mindedness. It called for a surrender of ego and pride. It called for discipline.

MS Dhoni’s tactics were rubbished by Ian Chappell, who asked for a rule-change to curb defensive and “boring cricket”.

For me, that was “exciting and gripping cricket” and not “boring cricket”. I had watched every single ball. There was drama and emotion. There was a battle – of nerves and survival; a battle for supremacy; a battle to ascertain who would blink first. They remain the most gripping sessions of Test cricket I have seen in the last two years! Both sessions were “attacking sessions” in my view.

Dhoni had a clear strategy. He had a firm plan in his mind and appeared to have communicated it clearly to his personnel and got them to buy into his vision. His players responded, even though it meant that they had to swallow their ego and pride.  Dhoni had to ensure that it was executed to perfection. Whether Dhoni had a plan-B or not, we’ll never know. But his plan-A worked to perfection. And once he saw that it was working, he did not relent. He had placed his foot on the jugular and kept it pressed there. He had done to the Australians what they did to so many teams in the previous 15 years!

This was Test match cricket at its very best.

A few years back, in 2001, in that series, Sourav Ganguly had asked left-arm spinner, Nilesh Kulkarni, to bowl a negative line outside leg-stump from one end (especially in the second innings) while he attacked the Australians with Harbhajan Singh at the opposite end, in a must-win match at Chennai.

This was similar. Only better!

*****

MS Dhoni seems to have an astute, canny, discerning and incisive sense of his place in Indian cricket history. He comes across as an extremely perspicacious individual. Perhaps it is because of his small-town upbringing. Perhaps it is because a sense of sagacious, earthy and incisive unpretentiousness is ingrained in him due to his roots and upbringing.

That Test match in Nagpur witnessed two other moments that are enduring, stirring and indelible in my memory.

Towards the end of the Nagpur Test match, MS Dhoni handed over the captaincy reins to a man who had started India’s march towards the top of the tree at the start of the decade. Sourav Ganguly marshaled the troops and rang in the bowling changes as India marched towards a Test and series victory in that 2008 series. It was a wonderful and honest gesture of extreme appreciation and perhaps even respect by Dhoni towards a man who had been nudged towards retirement. Ganguly was playing in his last Test Match. The match report reads, “A less secure man would have wanted to hog the limelight, but by ceding space to one of Indian cricket’s all-time greats for a couple of overs, Dhoni showed just how aware he was of the bigger picture.”

If that was emotionally stirring and a sign of a man who was self-assured, what followed at the post-match ceremony tugged at the heart-strings even more. Dhoni called Anil Kumble to the victory dais to accept the Border-Gavaskar trophy. After all, it was during the series that Anil Kumble had retired.

Dhoni had scripted the strongest and most compelling farewell gestures to Ganguly and Kumble. This wasn’t, in my view, false humility or a man devaluing his own accomplishments for the sake of receiving applause and accolades. His humility in these actions were real. He expected neither praise nor favors. These were, I believe, anchored in a strong and calm sense of assuredness.

India had commenced the decade with a strong statement against the Australians in 2001. In 2008, the baton passed to a man who would take the team from being just good to perhaps being great.

*****

I have long held the view that Sourav Ganguly was the first leader of men in Indian cricket. He had a vision for the Indian cricket team. He developed short-term and longer-term goals for the team. He wanted India to be competitive in world cricket; not just good at ‘home’. He believed passionately in this vision and committed to it with fervor. He had a road map to get him to the goals along the way. This included a professional coaching setup and an army of support staff. He was able to argue his case for adequate resources and quickly established himself as the leader of the team. He was able to rise above regional politics and demonstrated his will and commitment through his actions. He demonstrated that he was unbiased. He was quick in identifying talent and supported players through (sometimes multiple) failures. What he built was a systematic meritocracy where players would go to any lengths to give their all for him and for the team cause.

Of course, he did build his team at a time when Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, Anil Kumble, VVS Laxman and Sourav Ganguly himself formed the backbone of an evolving good team. There were still questions on how they would be “replaced” to affect a transition from short-term good to long-term great!

Meanwhile, all of Ganguly’s good work was somewhat undone in his latter years through a dip in his own personal form, which coincided with the arrival of Greg Chappell — right man at the wrong time and at a very, very wrong place.

Indian cricket, which had started the decade with much promise and hope, was suddenly hopeless again. Through Anil Kumble, some balance was restored.

It was in this context that MS Dhoni took over the captaincy of the T20 and ODI teams and finally the Test team.

The road from good to great had not yet been traversed. The plan for this road was yet to be developed. What was urgently required was assured leadership, a vision and an organisational setup.

*****

As a player, Dhoni had transformed from being a flamboyant thumper to being an ungainly, yet effective artiste. His wicket-keeping was steady, if not brilliant. It was as a batsman, though, that he made his mark.

Initially, he was type-cast as an ODI player. After announcing himself with a 123-ball 148 against Pakistan, he made his big announcement with a massive 183 against Sri Lanka. Pundits wrote him off as a failure in Tests even before he had started. But then he made a terrific century in a high-scoring drawn-match in Faisalabad against Pakistan. He then made a fighting knock against England at Lords’ to save a Test match. Suddenly, he was a Test match player too.

From there on, a new and re-invented Dhoni played with maturity and calmness. It seemed as though he was comfortable in the team. He became a player who was able to play in many gears. He curbed his natural instincts to become a grafter, but young-India identified with the buccaneering marauder in him. They wanted him to play his trademark helicopter shot every match, every over, every ball.

That shot itself became symbolic of the rural rustic fighting for his space in a complex modern milieu, fully armed with a sackful of attitude, a satellite TV and many mobile phones! Dhoni represented the man he wanted to be. They wanted him to be the pillager that would plunderer and raid runs from the opposition. They saw in him the big-city boldness and brashness that they aspired towards.

But he was equally at home in the bright lights. He had the flamboyance, the long hair and the party life-style of a city lad. When his “Well of course” opener to any question became a trademark, he was assured enough to realize it and use it to mock himself! Today, he uses “Wellofcourse” in a self-mock and smiles through it, knowing that many out there are having a guffaw. He blended into the city and the city men wanted to be like him.

Here was a common man from rural India who led a massive team with an earthy and grounded set of pragmatic sensibilities. Yet, he was a shining and suave diplomat under bright lights on the world stage. He had become a hero to both rural India and urban India.

Slowly, India accepted him as a very clever cricketer who could sum up the situation and play the way the game needed him to play. They enjoyed his barbs and exhortations from behind the stumps. They loved it when he asked Amit Mishra to bowl “udhar se” (round the wicket) in the Mohali Test against the Australians in 2008 to Michael Clarke. Clarke was out off that last ball of the day, leaving the Australians in disarray! They loved it when he said to Sreesanth to move in the field and when the speedster didn’t pay attention, he said, “Your girlfriend is not there… just move a bit” (or words to that effect) in a Test match. They loved it when he announced to the world and also exhorted his team to put in extra effort because Badrinath’s wife had just had a baby in Chennai!

So, slowly, one could see his steady and assured ascent to a leadership role. It is true that he seemed to posses that special Midas Touch that leaders crave for. Perhaps he had that luck. Perhaps he made his luck. I never saw him as an accidental tourist. His was, in my view, a calculated assault at the top job in the Team India. In Virender Sehwag, Yuvraj Singh, Harbhajan Singh and Zaheer Khan, he had his ‘seniors’ in the team. He first became ‘one of them’ and then surged ahead as a perceived leader. It helped that while Sehwag and Yuvraj Singh had occasional lapses in ‘form’ and/or focus, Dhoni kept improving as a player and a potential leader.

When the time came, it was almost natural that he would be anointed leader of the ODI team and the T20 team. The victories came… He led India to a famous victory in ICC’s inaugural T20 World Championships. It came at a desperate and desolate time in the post-Chappell and post-Dravid months and the failures in the 2007 ODI world cup.

It was an important time and an important victory for Team India.

That T20 victory gave birth to the IPL — admittedly, some fans may not agree that this was a desirous outcome. However, in a year that was a disaster from most other perspectives, the rise of Dhoni as a leader in the T20 world cup was an unmistakable positive. He was the future. He was the alternative. Even though Yuvraj Singh had smashed six 6s off a hapless Stuart Broad over and despite all the machismo surrounding that, Dhoni emerged tall as the leader of a young-bold India.

From then, his ascent to the top of the summit was strong, assured, dignified and steady. He was marked as an under study to Anil Kumble, the statesman. When the time was right, the reins were handed over.

Today, Dhoni is the leader of three India teams: Test, ODI and T20.

Over the last many months, I have had many debates with friends — fans of Indian cricket — who maintained that MS Dhoni, the captain of Team India, has been extremely lucky as captain.

Initially, I would have been quite happy to agree with them. Not lately. Not now.

He is, to me a Level-5 Leader who works hard at identifying where he wants to be and works harder at getting there!

*****

Jim Collins, in his article, “Level 5 Leadership: The Triumph of Humility and Fierce Resolve”, [The Best Of HBR, HBR July-August, 2005, p.136-146] studies many successful companies. Collins concludes that perhaps the most important component of the transition from “good-to-great” is what he termed “Level 5 Leadership“. [I have extracted the concise summary below from here]

• Level 1 is a Highly Capable Individual who “makes productive contributions through talent, knowledge, skills and good work habits.”
• Level 2 is a Contributing Team Member who “contributes individual capabilities to the achievement of group objectives and works effectively with others in a group setting.”
• Level 3 is the Competent Manager who “organizes people and resources toward the effective and efficient pursuit of predetermined objectives.”
• Level 4 is an Effective Leader who “catalyzes commitment to and vigorous pursuit of a clear and compelling vision, stimulating higher performance standards.”
• Level 5 is the Self-assured Executive Leader who “builds enduring greatness through a paradoxical blend of personal humility and strong professional will.”

In his study, Jim Collins found that every one of his “good-to-great” companies had Level-5 leaders in the critical transition phase. Interestingly, none of the comparison companies did!

To me, though, a Level-5 leader is one that has many paradoxes embodied in the one person. They can be timid and ferocious, hesitant and fearlessly-adventurous, modest and pompous, diffident and audacious. More importantly, they might demonstrate an ability to focus on the small things while demonstrating a fierce, unwavering and uncompromising commitment to big goals, large vision and high standards.

Dhoni has demonstrated that he is highly capable. He has a strong work ethic and  contributes as an individual and sets an example for everyone else in the team to follow. They do. He ensures that he has the people and the resources and backs them. He backed Yuvraj Singh through all his troubles. He sometimes backs players a bit too much, but that is his method of catalyzing commitment. He is a big vision guy for whom the smaller details are important too.

The way MS Dhoni has gone about his task of leading this team is, in my view, a living example of an evolving Level-5 Leader. Even during the World Cup 2011 journey, he was at times shy-audacious, modest-brash, hesitant-bold. He was honest enough to admit his mistakes — and that effectively shut up the pack of loud jackals that were baying for his blood when they were not singing paeans of acclamation! By the end of the tournament, when the cup was won, there was no doubt that it was his team and he had done it his way.

He made decisions and made it clear that these were his decisions. After experimenting with several team-balance-options, he was certain that he wanted 3 pace bowlers for his team. He stuck to that format. He admitted that he experimented with various options along the way. He demonstrated honesty, when there was no need to do so. He demonstrated that he wasn’t quite sure of how to do it although it was quite clear what he wanted. In the end, he demonstrated immense personal courage and personal responsibility by coming up the batting order in the final match, at a time when the spinners were on. He didn’t place his gun on someone else’s shoulder and fire. He demonstrated extreme personal courage in the line of fire. It was a bold decision. It could have backfired but he was determined to leave his stamp on the win. And if you doubted that, see the look in his eyes as he hits those winning runs, followed by that bat twirl.

He was very clear that he stood on broad and impressive shoulders when he thanked Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid, Sourav Ganguly and Anil Kumble, for building the solid platform on which he stands today (although I would have liked it more if he had added Laxman’s name to make it a quintet rather than a quartet, but that is only a minor quibble).

Today Sachin Tendulkar and Saurav Ganguly have already acknowledged Dhoni’s exemplary leadership. In Ian Chappell’s view Dhoni is amongst the great modern captains.

*****

The World-Cup victory did not actually mean much to me! At the risk of being stoned to death by unforgiving Team India fans, let me state again that it would not have mattered to me if India had lost in the quarters or the semis or indeed, the finals.

For me, it was a small — albeit important — step in a much more important journey. The road ahead for this team is hard and there are significant challenges as Dhoni takes this team from good to great. I am much more interested in seeing how this wonderful leader is going to take Indian cricket along that important journey. For, unlike Clive Lloyd, Viv Richards, Mark Taylor, Steve Waugh and Ricky Ponting, other outstanding leaders of excellent cricket teams in the recent past, Dhoni leads a team of committed players rather than a set of some alarmingly stunning players who could win a match on their own, if the situation demanded it!

In that sense, he is cut from the cloth that Imran Khan and Allan Border were made of. And that excites me tremendously. He seems to possess the dogged and unwavering occidental determination of Allan Border that allows Dhoni to focus so intensely on “methodology, standards and process” while retaining the oriental mystique of Imran Khan, which allows him to focus on the “absolute value of and need for individual expression”. This is a heady mix.

And that is why I have hope. I think back to that day when I watched two gripping sessions of Test cricket when an Indian captain was calm, mean-minded, inventive and fiercely determined. For that was the day my admiration for MS Dhoni commenced.

I think back to that 8-1 field that started the journey of fascination that I undertook with him. I also look at everything he has achieved in the 2 and a half years since that day. I then say to myself, “With Dhoni around as a Level-5 leader, there is much hope for this Team India fan.”

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Guest Column by Mohan Krishnamoorthy

Mohan is the founder and contributor to I3J3 (www.i3j3cricket.wordpress.com). You can follow Mohan on twitter @mohank

It was a critical quarterfinal clash in the ’96 World Cup. India vs. Pakistan. The winner goes on to play Sri Lanka in the semifinals. There were severe undercurrents of nationalism amongst the people watching that game, including yours truly. It isn’t just a game. A nation’s pride seemed to be riding on the outcome – A faux war.

In retrospect, a false sense of patriotism; the perspective nineteen year olds are not blessed with.

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Having lived in a land far, far away, as removed from the passion of my childhood – Cricket, as possible for more than 10 years, I returned home for a visit. I tried desperately to stay in touch with the sport as much as I could during these intervening years. In the early years, it was scorecards and match reports that let me re-construct the matches in my head. Similar to how it used be in the 1980’s living in a household without a TV but a radio and a newspaper subscription.

The Philips short-wave radio was the constant companion for my older brothers. My mother would turn it on 5.30 A.M. every morning and it was only turned off in the late hours of the night. The close of radio play depended on the ability of the radio to pick up ABC or BBC and waft cricket commentary and news bulletins through our little courtyard.

I was strangely amused, but mostly surprised, when my eldest brother (he has about 20 years on me), turned the television off. It was after all a series involving two of the top cricketing nations, India and South Africa, in India no less. The bragging rights for the number one test team in the world were at stake. I was entertaining some house guests who had come to see after nearly 10 years, so I was paying only cursory attention to the TV. When I enquired my brother why he had turned the TV off, pat came the sad response (in Tamil), “Chha poda… Tendulkar out ayittaan, inimela enna irukku parkkaradhukku…?” [Tendulkar is out. What else is there to see now?].

I know that feeling. So do many millions of Indian cricket fans. Sachin Tendulkar stood for us. He fought for us. He made us believe we can win; sometimes, against the odds. As long as he was there, hope had a reason to stick around. The superior quality of the opposition to the Indian team didn’t matter. McGrath didn’t worry us. Neither did a Warne. We had a chance. As long as he was there.

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I was six when India made history at Lord’s on that summer afternoon in 1983. I was still learning my off-side and on-side of cricket. From the joy on the faces of my brothers and neighbors, I knew enough to know that something big has happened. Something I couldn’t wrap my mind around.

It was splashed across the newspapers. I saw the images. I saw Kapil Dev holding the trophy aloft. My English was pretty limited, so I couldn’t read the stories. My brothers told us kids about the exploits of Kapil’s Devils and their pride in narrating the stories filled us with it too. Impromptu cricket matches broke out on the streets and backyards. They let us kids hold the “Sunny Tonny” bat and play with it. I was hooked. For life.

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The late 80’s and the 90’s were a tough time to be a fan of Indian cricket. Only the most sadistic of them all stood by the team, or the ignoramus. There was way too much heartburn in following the team, that wasn’t offset by the few highs. One of the icons of Indian cricket, Sunil Gavaskar, one of the early ones that provided the country the belief that they can compete, had retired and the other, that led a team of honest triers and rag-tags to the highest mountain, Kapil Dev was on his way out.

I have heard stories from my family elders about the general bleakness and hopelessness that surrounded the Indian society in the 70’s and 80’s. The economy wasn’t going anywhere. The promises of the fledgling nation were unkept, and the people were disillusioned. An honest man did not get the returns he would’ve expected from a hard day’s work. I remember my own family going through some tough times but there was always cricket that gave us the respite from the hardships. Once in a while, we could forget the real world and immerse ourselves in this beautiful game – playing, listening or watching.

The dawn of the 90’s saw the doors of Indian economy thrown open. The promises of this great nation were renewed. There was a spring in its step. And on its cricket horizon, arose a new star. A wunderkind. A genius beyond his years. Sachin Tendulkar.

—-

As any fan of a middle-of-the-road team can tell you, the night before a big match is the worst time. You just can’t wait for the game to start so that you don’t have to deal with the anxiety and the thoughts of “what if?”

When your past is littered with moments of immense disappointments and sadness, it is quite natural to dream of the scenarios when your favorite team is going to slip up because the tortured history becomes your frame of reference. The transition from being a pessimistic, negative nancy fan to one that expects his/her team to win, is not just a mental evolution of the fan, but also comes from the confidence of the team having succeeded in tight situations, time and time again.

The 1990’s were filled with several instances where the Indian team snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Each one of them, scarring me deeper. One defeat after another, from seemingly winnable positions, only to be turned away at the threshold.

The renewed rivalry between India and Pakistan off the field amplified the significance of the on field results. Every single loss to Pakistan felt like a slap on the face of the nation. Nothing epitomized this more than the lack of returns in Sharjah. The Miandad six off the last ball sent hoards of Indian fans in to despair and provided the mental superiority to Pakistan. They knew they can win from any seemingly impossible situation and we knew we could lose from any position. That hurt. This blow to the psyche would take many years to heal.

—-

India’s tours of England in 1990 and of Australia in 1991-92 were exercises in futility. The Azharuddin-Wadekar combination did provide us with a fleeting era of glory and mirth but that had a lot to do with home cooking. India was thrashed whenever they chose to step outside the subcontinent, but through it all, we saw the diamond in the rough. A beacon of hope. When everyone around him was falling apart, not able to withstand the heat of the battle, Sachin Tendulkar kept waging the lone fight. It was a good fight. There were moments of magic and miracles such as the one witnessed during the ’93 Hero cup. It kept us believing. Sachin can do it. For us. For me.

The peak of Tendulkar’s powers seemed to coincide with my time in a college in the northern parts of the country, thousands of kilometers from my home. He was a run machine. It was as if he had decided to take it all upon himself. During the period of ’96-’98, it looked as if he would single handedly will India to the Promised Land.

The magnificent win over Pakistan in Bangalore in the world cup quarterfinal was quickly erased from my memory by the abject loss to Sri Lanka in the semifinals. Only Tendulkar scored. Nothing new. This was the story of the ‘90s. No wonder my older brother turned the TV off in 2010 when Tendulkar got out. My brother had been mentally broken too much. His belief in the Indian team began and ended with Tendulkar. The Tendulkar feats of 1998 must have further reinforced my brother’s belief as Tendulkar singlehandedly beat the best team of the time, Australia in test matches and in ODIs (Sharjah and Dhaka). At the end of this great run, I packed my bags to go to a Cricket-less land, across the oceans for higher studies.

—-

The late 90’s and the early 2000’s saw the emergence of internet and with it, the long unheard voice of the Indian cricket fan. It helped me keep tabs on the only sport I loved, and the only team I ever rooted for from the depths of my heart. The ’83 World cup win and the ‘90s saw the Indian cricket fan bankrolling the game. Now, he had a voice. It was sometimes loud, brash, crude and crass. He will be heard, nevertheless. The axis of the cricket universe had shifted.

This coincided with the mantle of Indian captaincy going to an aristocratic young man from West Bengal whose on-field demeanor was anything but. Sourav Ganguly didn’t bat an eyelid when facing his opposition, was always up for a fight, a lot of the times he was the instigator and personified the “in your face” attitude; The sort of behavior that comes usually with someone that has a chip on their shoulder, someone that had a thing or two to prove. India as a nation wanted to play ball with the big boys. India wanted to show the rest of the world that she belonged.

The epic India-Australia test series not only stemmed the march of the Aussies but also showed  me that India has recovered from the throes of match-fixing and is entering a new era, with a team of match winners in the form of Dravid and Laxman (along with Tendulkar, Kumble and Ganguly). I was ecstatic. Now I had a team of very capable players led by an aggressive leader who does not pull his punches.

When the winning runs were scored at Lord’s in 2002 during the final of the NatWest trophy, and Ganguly took his shirt off, I knew we were getting off the beaten path. The victory made possible by a younger generation of players in Harbhajan Singh, Yuvraj Singh, Zaheer Khan and Mohammad Kaif. This new India is unlike anything we had ever known. The fan in me doesn’t have to wait for the sky to fall down, any more. Here is a team that can win.

——

Old habits die hard. When India, on the back of a lackluster tour of New Zealand entered the 2003 World Cup tournament, notwithstanding the hype back home, the pessimism was rearing its head. When Australia delivered us a crushing blow, one man stood up to the challenge and it was the ‘90s all over again. Tendulkar calmed the emotionally frayed nation and carried the burden all the way to the final, where a team that was still coping with its new found brash attitude lost its focus and was sent packing.

During the course of this tournament, a significant development happened to me as an Indian fan. On March 1, 2003, with Kargil still fresh in everyone’s mind, India took on Pakistan. It was time for payback. I had set up a satellite dish in my home, along with my roommates to watch the world cup and unexpectedly, Pakistani fans showed up to watch the game. So, 40 Indian fans watched the match that night in my home along with 40 Pakistani fans and at the end of the match, no one had died. We shook hands, exchanged compliments on a very good match and parted ways. The age-old rivalry had lost its sting for me, that night. Here on, any India-Pakistan would just be another match for me.

—–

A different cricket rivalry was taking shape. Although Australia had been the most dominant team for more than a decade, they had not beaten India in India (in a test series) and now India was traveling down under. We may have been lower in the rankings but I knew we almost always got up for a scuffle with Australia. I knew we had their attention.

When Sourav Ganguly scored a counter-attacking 144 in a rainy Brisbane, my heart was filled with joy and pride. This wasn’t the team that came home with its tail between its legs in ’99-’00. We were there to fight for every inch – None asked, none given. On the backs of superlative efforts from Dravid, Kumble, Tendulkar and one afternoon of unbelievable swing bowling from Agarkar, India drew the series. The 2003-04 was played without any significant on-field incidents but the 2007-08 more than made up for it. The Sydney test of 2008, among other things, brought to light the considerable might of the Indian cricket – off the field, and as India fans, we were very proud of it, a quid pro quo for the days when cricket was run by the Anglo-Australian overlords.

—-

In many ways, my evolution as an Indian cricket fan has mirrored the transfer of captaincy from the hands of Azharuddin to Tendulkar and all the way to the current days of Mahendra Singh Dhoni. Under Azharuddin, I expected us to lose more often than not (how much ever unfair that is to him) and with Tendulkar on the scene, I had hope. Hope for something superhuman. With Ganguly at the helm, I was more bullish of my team’s chances and the Dravid era brought a sense of calm. This current period under Dhoni since 2008 has brought about a sea change in my outlook. I’m more self-assured and quite aware of the team’s strengths and weaknesses and have tremendous confidence in the lads’ abilities to secure a win from any situation – just like my captain.

Dhoni, in more ways than one, has been the bizarro Ganguly. He is quite composed and reserved on the field, which belies his very moderate background and the rough and tumble place he hails from, Jharkhand. While Ganguly comes from a well to do family and a silver spoon, he was the scrappy fighter you find in your back alleys. You won’t see Dhoni waving shirts in the Lord’s balcony – He just doesn’t have to.

—-

I’d been having frequent chats with Ahmer Naqvi, a blog contributor to Dawn.com during the recently concluded world cup. During one of these conversations, I told him that I do not worry any more about the results of the India matches. It does not bother me whether the only team that I ever truly loved wins or loses. I told Ahmer, a staunch Pakistani die hard, that I am not worried about the India-Pakistan semifinal result. He said, “You have loved enough to let go.  I haven’t. I’m still sucked in.”

I have reached a mental space where I am thoroughly confident in the abilities of this team and its stewardship that I have the belief that they are going to win more often than not. I know they are not going to give in without a fight and they usually never beat themselves – core characteristics of a champion side.

Once the knock out stage of the tournament was set up, I had a quiet confidence about this Indian team that they were going to win it all. Anyone that followed me on my twitter feed could attest to that. When Ponting scored that magnificent century and India lost five wickets for 170-odd, or when Sri Lanka knocked off a flurry of runs and priced out Sehwag and Tendulkar, my reaction when some fans started recounting their horror times of 1996 semifinals, “People, calm the f**k down. We are winning this.” I don’t turn the TV off when Tendulkar gets out.

When Indian fans questioned every single move that Dhoni made, on various social networking platforms and vented their anxiety driven anger, I ended every match with this tweet: “Dhoni knows what he’s doing”. And now, I do too.

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This post was first published in Yahoo! Cricket

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Article by Subash Jayaraman

Image via Wikipedia

The International Cricket Council (ICC) is, by its own assertion, “an international organisation with a global focus and acts at all times without prejudice, fear or favour”. If you want to giggle a bit more, there is also some spiel about wanting to build bridges between “continents, countries and communities”.

But in announcing the composition and format of the 2015 cricket World Cup, the ICC has now abandoned whatever progress it had made in encouraging new faces to Tony Greig’s proverbial party. It took just one faceless press release confirming that only 10 Full Members will take part. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so contemptible…

The reaction to the news that the next World Cup will be an exclusive party for the ICC’s Full Members has been met with a wide range of (mainly negative) opinions, from deep gloom to incandescent rage. But the considered argument is not that Associates should be there by right; rather that they should at least have the chance to be.

It is the Irish who find themselves at the heart of a debate that looks as if it’s set to rumble on; Netherlands perhaps not far behind. After two successful World Cups in which Ireland have seen off Pakistan and England from the illustrious Full Member brigade, the reward is to sit on the side and shut up about it. Or switch allegiance.

I’m not one for paying much attention to ICC rankings. But neither, it appears, are the ICC. If they did, they’d note that current placement sees Ireland in 10^th – ahead of Zimbabwe, who have been a Full Member in name only in recent years. If 2015 is meant to be the 10 best teams, it’d be done under the Trade Descriptions Act.

When the ICC told Ireland to jump, the response was “how high?” – Kevin O’Brien is on record as scoring the fastest century at a World Cup; Ireland posted one of the largest, successful chases in placing England’s tail firmly between Andrew Strauss’ legs. William Porterfield’s “kick in the teeth” reaction was putting it mildly.

No-one is going to pretend that Associates are on the brink of having a side capable of beating the likes of India and Australia; there are five ‘untouchable’ teams and England. But put New Zealand/West Indies/Bangladesh/Zimbabwe in an eight-way scrap with Ireland/Netherlands plus two, and tell me four to come out on top.

It would be easy yet disingenuous to say the four Full Members without a degree of careful thought. There are two very real places up for grabs amid the quartet of Old Boys from the ICC elite. And yet the kick up the arse that such a move would give world cricket has been removed, much to the delight of the weaker Full Members.

The most galling part of this whole episode, in my mind, is the way in which each of the 10 Full Members shafted the Associates and positioned themselves squarely on corporate dick in the process. It promises heavyweight clashes for the best and, for the rest, they get to stay in the Club despite wearing trainers and ripped jeans.

Even FIFA – of all the dubious cartels – paid lip service to smaller nations by giving a World Cup to a country with as little footballing pedigree as Qatar. Will the ICC give such a flagship tournament to the untapped territories of Spain or Brazil? Maybe Qatar, but only because the ICC could sit on their arses in Dubai a bit longer.

More eloquent and accomplished observers than I have also voiced disapproval at this piece of ICC Forward Thinking (you can’t have that, it’s probably a trademark). But for the next eight years, Associates like Ireland and the Netherlands – carrying the collective hopes of a 95-strong community – have no chance to fly that flag.

The ICC would have more credibility if it came out and said it wants Full Members only at the World Cup because no-one wants to watch Canada v Kenya again. But if an Associate team is found to be more deserving of a place ahead of Zimbabwe or Bangladesh, the ICC has no cause to say otherwise. Sport needs incentives; it also needs hope.

It’s a point I’ve already made before, but this is Orwellian foreboding at its worst – all teams are equal, but some are more equal than others. Welcome to ICC Farm…

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Article by Pete Hayman