Spoilers of
Good Cricket!
By Shoaib Hashmi
There is a nifty little
cricket series going on between us and our neighbors,
and there is plenty of good cricket and excitement
-- and I am hating every moment of it! Because I
watched all day, and then woke up this morning to
screaming headlines, “Lousy Umpiring Mars
Gallant Indian Effort”! They lost only three
wickets! How much could the umpiring have loused
it up?
I saw what happened. There was this ball outside
the off-stump, and Tendulkar swung at it, and it
turned 753 degrees, and even a blind man would have
thought it was an outside edge, and Bucknor gave
him out. He has stood in more than a hundred tests,
and is among the most respected umpires of the age,
and he is not on Inzimam’s payroll, and what
he made was a ‘wrong’ decision, but
it was not a ‘bad’ decision; and we
only know it was wrong because we have these bloody
TV cameras, and can show replays in ten speeds of
motion from fifteen different angles, and go on
showing them ad infinitum! And all we have accomplished
is to take all the joy out of a glorious game, and
replace it with heartbreak and bitterness and stupidity!
There!
Tendulkar is a pleasure to watch, and I too would
have loved to have seen him go on, and maybe become
the highest century maker -- and I think as a race
we have lost our marbles, and we don’t watch
it for the glory of a cover drive curving past two
fielders, or the mane of a heroic figure flying
as a thunderbolt is sent down. We watch so we can
pick nits, let the bile hit the fan and spread bloodymindedness
all round!
There is, first of all, that bunch of yahoos who
come on as commentators. It has happened all over,
but I think ours take the cake. A test match has
become five days of a string of inanities spewed
out in an aggravating voice, and in a decade I don’t
think I have heard one thing which was worth saying.
I thought of making notes and quoting for you, and
then I thought I’d rather die.
Part of the reason is this new habit of old cricketers,
who have had their day in the sun and should now
sit back and look after their grandchildren, coming
on instead to impose themselves on us commentating.
It started with Benaud and his generation. Among
them was Geoff Boycott, who, as commentator and
general pundit was all over the place telling everyone
how they should be playing the game -- quite forgetting
that in his own heyday he was the most boring and
plodding bloody player in the game. Many times they
had to leave him out of the test side, despite being
the highest scorer of the county season, because
the sedate English threatened to throw a fit if
he played. And yet he managed single-handedly to
kill the game, and hand the corpse over to the one-day
match.
I remember the time when a great discussion ensued,
and the minions of TV actually held a many day seminar
to debate the qualities of a good commentator. For
three days they talked themselves blue in the face
about whether it was knowledge of the game, or command
of the language which was the more crucial. And
one thought what fools they are to be looking for
an answer, because they don’t even understand
the question!
A commentator is meant to be a companion while you
watch your match in the loneliness of your lounge,
instead of mingling with a crowd of plebs who know
how to have a good time in the ‘General’
stands. And you don’t mind if he can inform
you in the higher esoterics of the game, and you
don’t mind if he can spout poetry at the drop
of a hat. But what you really want is some personal
charm of manner, some turn of phrase which will
make the experience more enjoyable.
Instead you get interminable tirades on how there
are two lousy captains and twenty-two dumb players
playing under Steve Bucknor who doesn’t know
how to tell a catch from a stumping. You also get
the judgment that the last shot was the greatest
shot of the series, and this about thirty-seven
shots to my knowledge. And if, by our misfortune,
one player completes a century, you get the incisive
analysis that it was all because he was ‘relentless
and persistent’, and therefore the feat is
proof of ‘his concentration and dedication
and discipline and, oh yes, talent’! Now excuse
me because I have to go and watch some more!
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