In recent years, with so many lacklustre Caribbean cricket teams frustrating us with their poor play, and particularly with the sad state of the once supreme regional team, you lose some enthusiasm for cricket, and even end up not watching some games at all. The dreary process of half-hearted commitment by our players, along with so many instances of clear ineptitude, has left many of the game’s previous followers disillusioned about it.
And then, along comes the recent India-Australia World Cup quarter-final to remind you why cricket is the greatest team sport in the world. That match had everything. There was the storybook underdog century by the Australian leader Ricky Ponting. Failing with the bat before this game, and amid rumours of his removal as captain, Ponting defied the Indians at every turn, topping the Aussie batsmen with an almost flawless 107. When he walked off he had redeemed himself in movie-script fashion and put his team in a strong position to win.
But the Indians had not been shamed. They had bowled their hearts out, used good cricket tactics and had produced the best fielding of any Indian team in recent years to deny their opponents those massive targets they were known to set.
The tension was then further heightened by the spectacle of the legendary Sachin Tendulkar, playing with a calm confidence that belied the 261-run chase. But with the Little Master seemingly on course for a hundred, he snicked at a ferocious ball and was gone. The 48,000 screaming Indian voices fell silent, and as the runs slowed and the required run rate climbed, the momentum swung to Australia. You could see it mirrored in Ponting’s face. Virtually quivering with intensity, he urged the troops on, as the fast bowlers sent down thunderbolts, and players threw the bodies in the fray to prevent boundaries. At the halfway point the statistical graph showed the teams virtually level.
C.L.R. James tells us that cricket is more than a game – it is theatre; it is real life – and this Indian-Australia clash was an example of CLR’s contention. The conflict and resolution of drama; the surprising developments; personality impacts; humour and irony; it was all there. The nerve-wracking back and forth swings in the Indian innings; at one time, India secure, then Australia fighting back, then India surging; the mental breakdown that led to that pathetic runout of Gambir; aggressive fielding and bowling by the Aussies including a terrific catch at point to out Dhoni; time and again, fast bowler and batsman like two bulls in a pasture; then Yuvraj, on sheer confidence, getting hold of the game and steering it home and Raina right there with him; Bret Lee, bowling flat out one minute and then diving on the boundary to save fours and rising bloodied. There was no curtain and no proscenium and the stage was a cricket field, and we were watching on television, but we were watching real life theatre.
The ingredients leading up to the dynamic tension of cricket are buried in the nuts and bolts of the game. Every ball is like a snip of dialogue, moving the story along, and with every ball there are a number of possible outcomes – some benign, some exciting, some heart stopping, some even comical – and, like a play unfolding, each over is another stage in the proceeding, with a timely break after each spell for the patrons to stir in their seats, to contemplate what just happened and to speculate on what next.
In its scoring method, as well, cricket has a mechanism that slowly builds tension like a screw turning. As opposed to soccer, with many games having only two scoring moments, cricket has hundreds, and the constant creeping change of the numbers, minute by minute, generates tension through its state-of-the-game-now information. Victory or defeat just inches along, by small increments, over hours, bit by bit, winding tighter all the time, with the batsmen facing disaster with every ball, and with the crowd counting the numbers as they turn.
Also, the conditions, usually constant in most sports, can change dramatically in cricket. In almost every major sport where the ball is constantly changed for newness, its behaviour is fixed. In cricket, as the ball wears, or as the wicket breaks up, reverse swing, or turn, or bounce can be dramatically different. As in life, playing conditions in the later overs can be markedly different from the early ones; that’s the theatre in the game that CLR James cites. It was all there today. It’s why the game grabs us and never lets go. This level of 50-over cricket, with two good teams facing off, is not only the best cricket for today’s fast-paced world; when it’s right, as it was in that World Cup semi-final, it is probably the most gripping game yet invented by mankind, period.
However, having done that eulogy, I have to echo the prevailing dismay at the state of the game in the Caribbean. Mr. Elroy Stephney, in a recent pointed letter in this paper, blamed our decline on the absence of systematic development in the sport here today, and he is absolutely right. Until our cricket administrations provide a professional system where youngsters are identified, trained, motivated, and rewarded, West Indies teams, in any version of the game you pick, will remain at the bottom of the barrel.
In these circumstances, it is regrettable indeed that so many cricket lovers have lost their enthusiasm for the game and pay only passing attention to the clashes, even at World Cup time. However, every now and then, a game like the recent India-Australia match comes along and rekindles the excitement again, reminding us – however briefly – what a glorious game it can still be.
