Games People Play… It’s Just Not Cricket!
By Ghazala Akbar
London, UK
My head is in a spin watching a game of cricket. As games go, the rules of cricket are never ever simple but that’s not the issue. The concern is that it’s just not a game anymore, more a mathematical conundrum.
There was a time when ICC tournaments came around every four years, you wore your national colours and turned up at the ground to support your side. Or -- fortified with food, fizzy drinks, a TV or Radio enjoyed the match at home. One side won and the other lost. If the weather intervened, both teams shared a point each. If the final was a washout, they shared the Trophy.
With the advent of T20, things have changed dramatically. Like the ‘dodgy dossier’ on Iraq’s Weapons of Mass Destruction, T20, is cricket ‘all sexed up’. This is not a gentle game for the faint-hearted or the politically naive. The T20 cricket fan kit bag must contain a blood pressure monitor, an eclectic assortment of national flags, a computer and a calculator. He or she must also be of a flexible disposition: at any given moment the cricket fan is required to change colour or switch loyalties. Ideally, they should have the coat of a chameleon and the unprincipled ethics of a ‘lota.’ (Pakistani political turncoat)
The modern cricket fan must also be well-grounded in the Arts and the Sciences. Fancy terms as Net Run Rate, Duckworth Lewis Method and the Super Over have come into play requiring numeracy and literacy. Some knowledge of Physics would be helpful in grasping concepts as ‘Reverse Swing’ and ‘Spin Trajectory’. And with the interplay of fierce nationalistic, racial and religious undercurrents, an awareness of History and Current Affairs is a must. In a game of T20 cricket, there are plots, ‘cow corner’ plots, side plots, and more sub-plots than in all of Pakistan’s Defence Housing Schemes put together. (Small wonder, captains, commentators and spectators often manage to lose the plot altogether.)
Consider my predicament in a recently concluded tournament. Pakistan, South Africa, India and Australia were lumped together in one group. All four began the day with hopes for a place in the semi-final. Two places, four teams. Divide four teams by two matches and you get two teams that qualify for the semi-final. Whoever wins goes through, whoever loses goes out. Even mathematically - challenged simpletons like me could figure that out. Or so I thought.
I began the day cheering Pakistan. Out came the flag and the clenched fist. After Pakistan had posted a competitive total of 149, the flag kept flying, the fist became tighter. When the mighty ‘Oz’ began to unravel against some vicious spin, my clenched fist pumped the air. Then the spoil sport commentators reminded me…it wasn’t just a simple matter of winning the match. It was a game within a game. Not only must Pakistan win, they had to pin Australia down to 112. The Oz were in a ‘lose-win’ situation. Something about their Net Run Rate being superior to everyone else’s.
Are you with me so far? No? Neither am I!
It’s not every day the mighty Oz crash down from their Olympian heights. Usually this happens once in a decade. You’d expect Australia’s humbling to be a cause for celebration amongst its rivals. No such luck. Inside the ground the kangaroos received vociferous support from unexpected quarters: Indians and South Africans. Just two days before the same bunch had hurled sweet abuse at the Oz in colourful Afrikaans, Dutch, English, Gujrati, Bantu, Urdu, Bengali, Marathi, Punjabi, Hindi et al. Yet, today these ‘turncoats’ were rooting for Oz against Pakistan because defeat for Pakistan meant that they were in with a chance of making the semis.
Not unsurprisingly, Indian fans took a leaf from the Treatise of Chanakya whom we are told pre-dated Machiavelli by some 800 years. He offered this clever bit of advice. If yourneighbor is your enemy thenyour neighbour’scurrent enemy (i.e. Australia) is yourtemporary friend! Or to put it simply, if Australia beat Pakistan, the Men in Green would be packing their bags for a PIA flight out of Colombo and the Men in Blue would battle it out in a two-way fight between India and South Africa. Two is company, three is a crowd. Get it?
Meanwhile, the wily Ozzies had one up on everybody and played smart. No point wasting energy in the Sri Lankan heat going for an outright win when a respectable loss would do nicely. Let the others sweat it out. All they had to do was to keep their heads, spare the heroics and knock off the 112 runs needed to qualify. It was tense but they did it. Pakistan won handsomely but it was only a partial victory. Their win eliminated South Africa but arch–rival India was still in the hunt. If India won, it was all down to the Net Run Rate. South Africa now controlled Pakistan’s destiny. Immediately my loyalties shifted to South Africa, Pakistan’s ‘new best friend’.
As India walked into bat, it was time for a brief history lesson and mind games. Intriguingly a ‘neutral’ Indian commentator casually slipped in a historical fact. ‘Today is Mahatma Gandhi’s Anniversary.’ So? The subtle sub-text was patently obvious. Gandhi had lived in South Africa as an indentured migrant; it was Gandhi’s struggles against apartheid and colonialism that had inspired Nelson Mandela. And when the South Africans returned to international cricket in 1991, India was the first country South Africa had hosted. Perhaps the South Africans might return the favour to India today by losing! Conspiracy? Nah. Just a friendly wind up to calm the nerves of paranoid Pakistanis.
As India posted a decent 153, the calculators were out again. Another mini-game was in the offing. India needed to win but they needed to win big by a margin of 32 runs. Game on! The Pakistani Faithful pulled out prayer beads from their kit bags. They were soon put away. Divine intervention was not required. It wasn’t Sharjah, it wasn’t Friday, and it’s difficult to know who to pray for if Zaheer Khan is bowling to the pious Hashim Amla! Surely South Africa, would not let them down? Or perhaps they would? When the fifth South African wicket fell to loud Indian cheers, Pakistani ranks fell silent. The Proteas were still fifty odd runs short. India was closing in.
When another quick wicket fell in suspicious circumstances, dark thoughts of collusion and collaboration clouded my seemingly ‘rational’ demeanour. There’s nothing like hatching and imagining conspiracies to kill time between overs. Some key players were IPL colleagues... the stakes were high…could it just be possible they were plotting together to craft an unexpected result? What’s a teeny weeny loss between friends? Pakistani players weren’t allowed to play in the IPL because of politics, remember? Wasn’t it Hansie Cronje, the former South African captain who had been booked for -- dare I say the dreaded words -- match fixing?
Earlier in the day I had laughed loud and hard when an ex- Pakistan cricketer suffering verbal diarrhea had expounded his bigoted views on TV. Fortunately they pulled the plug on him -- but not before he had suggested the South Africans might contrive to lose because South Africa was full of Jews! Now that was a new angle, I hadn’t considered. The Elders of Zion would intervene in a T20 Game. A simple game of cricket might morph into a serious international incident. Questions would be asked in Parliament. The Security Council might meet…all because Ronnie Peterson played a reverse sweep to get out and dent Pakistan’s chances of reaching the semi-final.
My mind began working overtime imagining doomsday scenarios. Several agonizing minutes later, all was well. South Africa crossed the magic figure. A roar of approval came from Pakistan supporters. I began to breathe and think normally again. My reverie of World War III came to an end. The world had been saved from a nuclear holocaust. Pakistan Zindabad! South Africa Zindabad! Pakistan was through to the semi-finals. India was out. Conspiracy, what conspiracy? These are just games people play. I can’t wait for the next international tournament!
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