"India have been doing well in all forms of cricket in the lead up to world cup. And this is what was Pakistan team was also doing in 1992. This is always the case.'
Update: Here's a recitation of Rudyard's 'If' by Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal...forget their lack of oratory skills, and find me two other people from the world of all sports that are more worthy of this poem than those two.
Purists – and I used to think of myself as one – often speak of Twenty20 cricket
disparagingly, as if it has reduced the fine game of cricket to something absurdly simplistic, where sloggers rule, hand-eye co-ordination matters more than finely honed technique, and bowlers are irrelevant. If you’ve been watching, you’ll know that isn’t true. Twenty20 is not a dilution of the game but an intensification of it.
Some commentators take issue with so much money being spent on a sport in a poor country. "[M]ost of these millions will be leaving India," de Lisle wrote in hisSide 2:
piece, "filling the coffers of Australian stars who are already very highly paid. Money shouldn't travel in a direction like that." If that logic was correct, we might as well stop poor countries from importing anything. Every trade happens because it leaves both parties better off, and the IPL's foreign players are being paid so much because they bring that much value to the table. That value, the return on those investments, will happen within India.
Already, however, I'm struck by the fact that what I've enjoyed are those moments when Twenty20 has looked more like cricket rather than less. And this is a problem, because there simply aren't enough of them. Twenty20 is envisaged as a concentrated form of cricket, without the pauses and longueurs that test the patience and understanding of the uninitiated. But it's less concentrated than crudely edited, and what is missing are those aspects of the game that make it linger in the mind, that impress on the imagination, that take time to understand, that need effort to appreciate. It requires nothing of its audience but their attendance and their money. Apparently, the first episode of Shah Rukh Khan's Indianised version of Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? airs later this week. Pardon me for thinking that Khan's two new presentations have a few things in common.And on the money:
Twenty20 has rightly been called a batsman's game, but it is a very particular kind of batsman: the type whose game is built on eye and strength. If a new Dravid were to begin emerging now, I suspect he would face a career as a second-class cricket citizen.
The game's skills, meanwhile, have been massively rationalised. What we see in the main is not so much batting as hitting, not so much bowling as conveying. The batsman is assessed by the change his strokes are leaving out of six; the bowler is like the fall guy in a comic routine stoically awaiting the inevitable custard pie.
Profit maximisation is the name of the game - and that goes for administrators, franchisees, players, managers, broadcasters and sponsors alike. The possible negative consequences for other countries or other forms of the game are of no account compared to the commercial, and doubtless also political, ambitions of the likes of Lalit Modi and Sharad Pawar. It is not even about giving the people what they want; it is about giving the people what Modi and Pawar want them to want, and can then make a packet out of selling them.
Exactly why the people deserve this is not abundantly clear. Perhaps it is an instance of what I once saw defined as the Golden Rule of Arts and Sciences: "Whoever has the gold makes the rules." But the contrast I noted earlier between the proceeds of my own humble cricket event and the IPL's was not merely a matter of quantum. All of the Yarras' hard-won $583.50 will go straight back into the game's beneficiation. Of what proportion of the billions raised by the IPL, I wonder, will that be true?
You don't have to be Einstein - hell, you don't have to be Napoleon Einstein - to realise that if the IPL contains even a glimmer of promise, it won't be stopping there: pretty soon cricket's schedule will have more windows than the Sears Tower.
"If bowled deliberately there cannot be a more cowardly action on a cricket field; if bowled accidentally it is still potentially lethal. Either way it should incur an immediate one-match ban."
"...One man arrived to stop the kill,
With a bat of wood and a heart of steel."
8.30am Good morning and welcome to our coverage of the ninth World Cup final. Teams, toss and all that stuff to follow shortly. We have all our commentary team in action today, so it will be a mix of me, Martin Williamson, Sriram Veera, Will Luke, George Binnoy, Jenny Thompson and Siddhartha Vaidyanathan. If this was a group stage match we would outnumber the crowd.
10.20am Sadly for the ICC, the delay is giving several TV stations the chance to savage the format of the competition. And they are really piling in. Back at the ground, the crowd are being pretty patient. Lots of beach-balls bouncing around the Aussie contingent. They are probably seeking asylum from the Gabba fun police.
11.10am "I don't like cricket," sings Jenny. " I really hate it." Not quite what 10CC (or the ICC) had in mind, but she has a point. We have eaten the entire day's biscuit supply already. The covers, meanwhile, are as stuck in place as Will's hand in his pocket when it comes to buying a drink. "I'm not tight," objects Will, before admitting that he has not bought anyone a beer since Sri Lanka last held the World Cup.
"It is precisely because our cricket has improved over the years that our expectations have risen. We have recently won 3-1 in
Pakistan, convincingly against England, the West Indies, Sri Lanka and South Africa at home. Not just that, our Test performance has improved a great deal in the past five years or so. We beat Australia in India and came closer to beating them on their home-turf than anybody else had in their decade of total dominance. We won a series in the West Indies just last year, after exactly 30 years, and won our first Test match in South Africa, in our third outing.
And just as an afterthought, can I ask you what was the one common factor in almost all these great victories? From Kolkata to Chennai to Sydney to Jamaica, it was a batsman called V.V.S. Laxman who stood up to be counted, a real match-winner. How come he is not even a fraction of a star
that so many of the others are? "
"...if V.V.S. Laxman does not have the same star quality, the same fan following, as so many of the others, it only means one thing: we may be equal to the South Americans in their sporting passion but we don’t quite know our cricket as well as they know their football."
