Great Ball of Fire

(Image courtesy: New Indian Express)

L Suresh looks at the key ingredient that was missing from Indian cricket for a long time – aggression.

A long, long time ago, a fireball exploded, resulting in a 'cosmic explosion' that hurled matter in all directions. And that was how the universe was said to be born. Had this been in a cricket field, it would have taken a Chappell or a Waugh to package it as an Australian phenomenon and coin a catch-phrase like 'concordant annihilation', explaining how eleven Aussies would team up to get on the nerves of a player until he exploded under the pressure. But luckily for the rest of the world, it was not to be and a Belgian called it the Big Bang.

The Big Bang may never be proved, but it has proved to be one heck of an expression to say that sometimes, it takes an extreme step for new life to begin. Such a step invariably shocks and stuns, but it succeeds in calling attention to a problem that no one paid heed to before. The world of cricket has had its own share of Big Bangs - the Bodyline series that led to changes in the laws of cricket, the Basil D'Oliveira affair that put South Africa's apartheid ways in the spotlight and ostracized the country from the cricketing circles, the 1981 underarm ball by Trevor Chappell at the behest of his brother Greg after which it was banned by the ICC, the repeated no-balling of Muralitharan by Darrell Hair that eventually led to the 15 degree rule and of course, Kerry Packer's famous brush with the cricket authorities over telecast rights that led to the birth of World Series Cricket.

Indian cricket has however, managed to stay clear of all these controversies. For a country that is a cauldron of raging passions and volatile temperaments, we have, in the world of cricket, swayed and ducked to steer clear of all bouncers. We played four spinners so we would never be tempted to use the bodyline strategy. We were the first to tour South Africa in 1992-93 for the Friendship Series that ended with us winning friends and the Proteas, the series. We showed that we harboured no ill-feelings towards Chappell by appointing him our coach. We didn’t go up in arms when Harbhajan’s doosra was suspected, despite having witnessed Arjuna Ranatunga’s vocal support of Muralitharan during the Hair episode. And we have witnessed the birth of the ICL, considered by some as a home-grown version of Kerry Packer's League.

Against a setting this pleasant and politically correct comes a youngster who seems to have had enough of trudging to a stadium, getting beaten and trudging back, only to live another day. Unlike the Big Three or the Fab Four or any other combination of battle-scarred veterans who have never held a World Cup in their hands, Shanthakumaran Sreesanth has had a taste of what it takes to be on top of the world – and on top of a double-decker bus. That’s the reason why it’s not difficult to understand his reluctance to go back to the shoulder drooping, losing ways of Indian cricket – after being feted by governments and millions of fans alike.

The recent Twenty20 victory finally gave the Indian cricket fan a reason to justify his excesses as he cheered and backed a team that beat Pakistan, England, South Africa and Australia in the space of a fortnight. In the light of our recent wins, Sreesanth's show of aggression on the field and his display of what the media calls 'unsportsmanlike behaviour' seems more like the reflection of a nation's frustration as we find ourselves slipping back to our old habit of freefall the moment we reach the top. Soon after the Twenty20 World Cup win, Kapil Dev, in one of the news channels, wasted no time in reminding the nation of the humiliation suffered by his team at the hands of the Windies - smarting under their ‘83 World Cup loss, they came at us like a pack of blood-thirsty hounds that was not fed for weeks. 24 years later, as we relive the euphoria of a World Cup, we are hurtling towards the possibility of a similar disaster.

For decades, the Indian cricket fan has been desensitized by the wins and losses of the team and has been conditioned to follow the starry exploits and antics of his idol. For long, India has endured pot-bellied spinners who applauded batsmen as they hoicked them for sixes. For long, we have shamelessly celebrated the odd series win outside home and fondly referred to it for years.

In the last few days, all that seems to have changed. There was positive aggression shown by the Indian team during the Twenty20 World Cup. Quick singles, agile pick and throws, athletic fielding, accurate bowling (16 of our 49 wickets were a result of the batsman being bowled) and of course, the mandatory glares, meaningful exchanges and the verbal volleys – the Indian team did everything right to flash the message across that they meant business. Flintoff would have regretted ever having picked a bone with Yuvraj that fateful evening – moments later, Yuvraj would let it inspire him to break loose in what would be known for long as that one over of mayhem.

So suddenly, records, tons and runs aren’t so important. Experience can be jettisoned, according to the Chairman of the Selectors. Indian cricket's all about Yuvraj's sixes, Dhoni's cool demeanour, R P Singh's swing, Rohit Sharma's late assault - and of course, Sreesanth's aggression.

Of the lot, the last mentioned has been castigated as the bane of Indian cricket today. To start with, everyone who thinks so should be forced to watch reruns of matches featuring India in the 90s when the team featured shy pacers who would have stared at their shoes for such a major part of their playing career that they could have bored holes through them for the big toe to pop out. Drooping shoulders, exasperated looks alternated with a grimace, a feeling of relief than that of celebration at the fall of a wicket - and zero batting and fielding abilities was the package we had to live with.

In a different era and in a different game, two men set trends through the manner in which they approached the game. Both played to win, but the manner in which they went about it gave relief to a million writers who were still fumbling with clichéd phrases - like chalk and cheese, black and white, and day and night - that described diametrically opposite forces. So, there was the Ivan Lendl kind of game - play hard and play to win. Enter the nearest phone booth before the start of every match, dish out some superhero stuff in quiet confidence and once the job is done, go back to being mortal - until the next match begins. And then there was the John McEnroe style of playing – the glam boy image of Rocky Balboa, the flair of Pele and the aggression of a Muhammad Ali, all rolled into one. Strut it out, and amidst all the euphoria and adulation, churn out a remarkable victory.

It’s obvious that the Aussies have preferred the second route, but you have to give it to them to package everything with a rationale and a buzzword that sounds like a cross between a management mantra and a scientific process. So blatant sledging would become mental disintegration and with that christening, it gets pulled out of the hooligan's dictionary and enters the intelligent cricketer's vocabulary because it's no longer verbal warfare, but a well-thought out gameplan.

Ricky Ponting has not only commented on the recent ‘verbal warfare’ on the field, but has also permitted himself to present a white paper on Indian behaviour - on how the Indians were not playing true to character. Symonds, not to be left out, decided to get riled about the Indians going overboard in their celebrations post the Twenty20 victory, contrasting the same with the humble way in which the Aussies celebrated. All one can say is that Symonds probably never had to fix broken panes or worry about the safety of his family after a loss. Neither will he know what it feels like to win a major tournament after 24 years.

As a nation, we are an emotional lot, not given to subtleties. And that comes as part of the whole package, whether one likes it or not. Every show of emotion, every celebration, is over the top. That could be the reason why shaking hands after a wicket and smiling at the batsman after beating him all ends up, is most certainly not an Indian trait, but possibly the remnants of a colonial hangover.

However, aggression is not about scowling, abusing and making faces – more often, it is a manifestation of pumped up adrenalin. As seen in the Twenty20 tournament, it can make all the difference between a player with 10,000 runs under his belt and one who is just a few matches old. It is that charged up feeling that can make the young play without fear. It is that sporty fuel, the lack of which can make the old buckle down under the weight of their battle scars. Before we get into evolved concepts like refined aggression, we need to first find signs of it in the Indian team. And that’s the reason why Sreesanth is in the spotlight.

Everybody would be quick to agree Sreesanth’s show of emotions, his attempt to run Symonds out when the ball was not in play and his send off as Symonds departed wasn’t quite in keeping with the game. But when you are up against the world’s best team, when you are facing a team that can’t do its playing without its talking, it is important to have your own show of might and aggression. Sreesanth’s behaviour could be uncalled for, but it could also the much-needed outburst that might open the floodgates of emotions for the men in blue. The episode may just end in Sreesanth being disciplined in some way – he was already out of the fourth one-dayer, but on the positive side, it may just send the message to both the Indian camp - that there's no need to fear the might of the Aussies - and to the opposition that the Indians are no longer pushovers.

So what we don’t mind is a bit of aggression. What we don’t care about is the banter. But what we certainly want are the wins.

(Appeared in the New Indian Express Sunday Supplement as 'Ball Temper' on 14 October, 2007)