Samir Chopra
Of cricket bats and economic divisions
A cricket field brings together twenty-two players, encapsulating diversity that goes beyond the merely physical: class, religion, language
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
A cricket field brings together twenty-two players. A number that large, in the right sort of social contexts, can, unsurprisingly enough, encapsulate diversity that goes beyond the merely physical: sometimes language, sometimes religion, sometimes class, and sometimes, all three. Growing up in Delhi meant that such diversity was an inescapable part of my cricket playing, even if awareness of it was pushed well to the peripheries. But sometimes, it intruded, reminding me that some of my team-mates and opponents (and their families) occupied stations in life that were very different from the ones my family and I inhabited. Sometimes those reminders came about because of matters cricketing.
One small occasioning of this took place in my middle-school years. In those days, I played cricket in a variety of venues: in school, in the local parks around my street, and once in a while, I travelled by bus to another South Delhi location to play cricket with a friend of mine. Our fathers had served in the Air Force together; they were now both retired; as far as I was concerned, we were both military brats, brought together by a shared background. I was dimly aware that there were differences in our families' material circumstances following the retirement of our fathers from military service: my family rented the second floor of a multiple-family home and lived in a small one-bedroom apartment; my friend's family owned a house with three floors to themselves; he had a room of his own, as did his brother, unimaginable luxuries for my brother and me, for we still shared a room (and not even a proper bedroom at that).
But somehow, these differences meant little for they had little to do with cricket. A couple of days a week, I walked up to his front-door, rang the bell to summon him, he would appear with his cricket gear, and we would walk together to the park to join dozens of other boys in a game of cricket. That was all there was to it. The centrality of cricket ensured there was little time for me to think about how different my friend's world was from mine.
Full postWarming to the World Twenty20
When the first ICC World Twenty20 kicked off, I paid little attention
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
When the first ICC World Twenty20 kicked off, I paid little attention. I didn't 'get' T20; I failed to understand its attractions; I still regarded it as a form of the game best suited for benefit games and light-hearted festivals. And besides, the Indian team being sent to do 'national duty' seemed like a second XI. Why bother?
As the tournament wore on, my inattention continued apace. This can best be summed up by my noting that I was not overly excited about the India-Pakistan game; for that encounter, I had not even bothered checking the Cricinfo scorecard. And I certainly hadn't deigned to put down some money to arrange for a live streaming telecast. When the match ended in a 'bowl-out', my impression of T20 of being an ersatz version of the real thing was confirmed.
But by the time the India-England game rolled around, I was paying enough attention to the World Cup to have a tab open on the Cricinfo scorecard as I worked. On that tab, I could track the score, even if I didn't pay attention to the ball-by-ball descriptions. The crucial moment, obviously, came in the 19th over, bowled by Stuart Broad to Yuvraj Singh. When it began, the score on my tab read: India 171-3, 18.0 overs. As I worked, I noticed it had moved to 177-3, 18.1 overs. A six, no biggie. That's what happened in T20, innit? But then, 183, 18.2 overs; 189, 18.3 overs? Now, I was intrigued; it was Stuart Broad, after all, getting carted all over the ground. I switched tabs. And watched the score move to 195, 201, and then, finally, incredibly, to 207. Six sixes in an over is a novelty, no matter what the format.
Full postCandid camera: losing my head
In the last year (ie, the 12th grade) of my high school years, a good friend of mine decided to put together a photographic record of our class' escapades
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
In the last year (ie, the 12th grade) of my high school years, a good friend of mine decided to put together a photographic record of our class' escapades. For several weeks he brought a camera to school and put together a rather amazing portfolio of candid shots taken at various times during the school day. There were photographs of schoolboys working on math problems on blackboards, ogling girls as they walked by, lounging about at lunch break, engaged in passionate discussions about a book they might have read, and so on. A few weeks later, a mini-photo exhibition was staged in our school, and most agreed my friend had done a wonderful job of composing a candid document of 12th-graders engaged in the little moments that make up a school day, many of which add up to make a school year.
But because (most of) these photographs were not staged, they retained the capacity to embarrass as well. Which brings me to the subject of this post.
One of the photographs my friend took showed a bunch of schoolboys standing around on a cricket pitch, much as spectators cluster around the scene of a car crash. In the foreground of the photo, a young man is being led away by another boy, who has his arms around him, as if to restrain and repress. It seems a fight has broken out and one of the participants is being dragged away against his will, in an effort to induce peace into hostilities. That young man was me.
While I have, at times, engaged in some verbal jousting on a cricket ground, this occasion remains the only one in which I spectacularly lost the plot and descended into fisticuffs on the pitch. All I can say by way of exculpation was that I was young, hot-headed, and, I did it because I was reacting to the perceived selfishness of a team-mate.
Full postTime to close the Rahul-Parnell case
By all accounts, Rahul and Parnell did what a pair of young men might do in a big city once the working day is done
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
Rahul Sharma and Wayne Parnell have joined the list of cricketers that will soon be caught up in the sporting world's hypocrisy and confusion when it comes to the D-word: drugs. If sentence will be passed on them, in all probability it will be done by those who are not averse to the occasional beer, wine, or whisky, and who in all certainty, start their days off with a liquid injection of caffeine. Some of them might, even in these enlightened times, puff on a cigarette or two. In short, a bunch of recreational drug users will pass judgment on a pair of recreational drug users.
Perhaps, from the sidelines, an equally hypocritical and sanctimonious crowd will ask for harsher punishment. Meanwhile, that same contingent, punishers and callers-for-heads alike, will cheer when cricketers spray champagne over each other after a win and talk about the 'big night' and 'sore heads' that lie ahead.
By all accounts, Rahul and Parnell did what a pair of young men might do in a big city once the working day is done (in their case, after their commitments to their IPL team were done and dusted). They went out to party. Perhaps they smoked a joint, perhaps they just took a drag on one as it made the rounds. Perhaps, they dropped a pill of Ecstasy, and even worse, danced to dubstep and techno, and would have stayed up all night, if the Mumbai police hadn't decided to crash the party.
Full postMahela and Misbah got it wrong
Mahela Jayawardene is a good batsman and comes across as a thoughtful, astute cricketer in most of his public pronouncements
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
Mahela Jayawardene is a good batsman and comes across as a thoughtful, astute cricketer in most of his public pronouncements. It was with some surprise therefore that I read his article this morning justifying Sri Lanka's decision to call off the chase in their last Test against Pakistan, thus earning themselves a 1-0 win, but generating considerable angst among many cricket fans. (The reaction to this decision is similar, in some regards, to that generated by India's calling off a chase against the West Indies in Dominica last year. There are some interesting differences as well: India were playing away against a weak team, Sri Lanka were playing at home against a weaker team as well, but one always capable of surprises.)
Jayawardene offers some cricketing reasons for this decision:
"We failed to rotate the strike because Pakistan bowled really well. When they set negative fields, we decided not to risk it either. They were 0-1 down and everything to play for. If we had needed around 90 runs at just under six an over, we would have promoted Thisara Perera. When you are up against a quality bowling attack like Pakistan's, if you give them a sniff, they could run through the batting. We had to ensure we cut out unnecessary risks, because we played close to 15 days of grueling Test cricket."
Full postBeer and Viv Richards on Pearl Harbor Day
In high school, playing hooky to play or watch cricket was a common pastime
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
In high school, playing hooky to play or watch cricket was a common pastime. In those years too, I discovered the illicit pleasures of cold beer. I was underage as far as alcohol consumption was concerned but the illegality of a pursuit has never discouraged the young. I quickly discovered that beer made many things better, the most prominent being that it turned the formerly intolerable--like boring people at a party--into tolerable. But the one thing that it made almost heavenly was cricket.
Now, it wasn't that one could buy and drink beer at cricket grounds in India but rather, that if the stars aligned i.e., school had been skipped, beer procured, a suitable drinking venue secured (read: a fellow juvenile delinquent's home) and a game was on, a live telecast with a cold beer handy suddenly became the cricketing experience par excellence.
Such a moment occurred on Pearl Harbor Day 1983, the date of India's fourth one-day international against the West Indies at Jamshedpur. The West Indies, determined to make India pay for the World Cup loss inflicted on them earlier that summer, had already wrapped up the series 3-0 but weren't quite done cuffing India around the ears just yet.
Full postThe rest day: long gone, and not missed
As a cricket fan of long standing, I have had the chance to assess many changes in the game
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
As a cricket fan of long standing, I have had the chance to assess many changes in the game. Some, like the ubiquitous helmets, I regret, because of their visual impact on the game; some, like the passage into oblivion of the Test match rest day, I do not regret at all.
The rest day, normally staged between the third and fourth day's play in a Test, always felt like a cruel interruption of proceedings. The hours and minutes dragged on interminably; it was bad enough that I had to wait a whole sixteen hours for the next day's play to commence; and here I was, expected to wait a whole forty hours. I disliked this interruption with a passion, and wondered aloud -- for anyone that cared to listen -- about why the rest day was felt necessary. (As a youngster, when I learned that rest days in England were invariably Sundays, I speculated that Test cricketers went off to play a game of limited-overs county cricket.)
I have strenuously defended cricket's many breaks -- like lunch and tea, though the modern drinks break seems increasingly silly given the frequent appearance of the twelfth man -- but I doubt that I could have mounted a coherent defense of the rest day even back in its heyday. Somehow, it seemed unreasonable to me that cricketers needed to rest for a whole day after they had gone back to their hotels for a good night's sleep. A fast bowler that had turned in a marathon spell in hot weather? Perhaps. But everyone else? Surely they could hang in there for just another two days?
Full postPlayers are professionals, not patriots
Kevin Pietersen's retirement from international ODI and Twenty20 cricket and the influence of the IPL on modern cricket
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
Kevin Pietersen's decision to retire from international ODI and Twenty20 cricket has sparked ample comment, some of which has included perceptive analysis of ECB player policy and the influence of the IPL on modern cricket. The coverage has also, unfortunately, employed some depressingly familiar language - 'mercenaries' and 'hired gun' for instance - and proved yet again, that getting sports fans and writers to consider players as true professionals is a pretty difficult task. Whether patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel may yet be a topic for serious dispute, but what seems incontrovertible is that appeals to nation; national pride and national duty can still push buttons like nothing else can.
If Pietersen has decided that the best way to make a living, spend sufficient time with this family, gain recognition for sporting posterity, display professional excellence, and enjoy playing cricket (that is, work) is to concentrate on Test cricket and Twenty20 league cricket, the last criticism he should be subjected to is that he has somehow let down his 'nation'.
Rather, his decision should be treated with the same tolerance that most of us are used to displaying when it comes to professionals in other fields, who change employers, ask for salary raises and changes in working hours, and sometimes even immigrate to other countries, sometimes leaving behind family and friends. Sometimes these professionals take salary cuts to spend more time with their family. There are a whole host of actions that reasonably-minded human beings can take in order to increase their professional worth and personal happiness; by and large, we are used to indulging these, as we recognise the decisional autonomy of the worker.
Full postChampion teams know how and when to defend
The great West Indian teams of the 80s, while always associated with dashing batsmanship, were capable of obdurate, defensive batting as well
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
As I watch Marlon Samuels and Shivnarine Chanderpaul bravely battle at Lord's on this Sunday morning, I am reminded yet again of an often overlooked fact: that the great West Indian teams of the 1980s, while always associated with dashing, hard-hitting batsmanship, were eminently capable of obdurate, defensive batting as well.
West Indies won a lot of Test matches in the 1980s (and later as well) not just because their fast bowlers blew away opposing sides (and contrary to the mythology perpetuated in Fire in Babylon, with more than just bouncers), but because their batsmen were often able to suppress an attacking instinct and put their heads down for the sake of the team. The image of the 1980s West Indies as all batting pyrotechnics, all the time, is one of the most persistent and enduring misconceptions of that great team. It is the converse of the suggestion that the West Indies fast bowling merely intimidated and battered the opposition into submission.
As but one example: During the 1984 Old Trafford Test, West Indies were 70 for 4 when Jeff Dujon joined Gordon Greenidge to put on 197 runs; Dujon batted at a strike rate of 44 to score 101 in six hours; Greenidge ended up with a 223 that took ten hours to complete. The West Indies won by an innings and 64 runs.
Full postBraving the Indian summer
Cricket fans not from the subcontinent come to realize - eventually - that cricket is most certainly not the summer game in the Indian subcontinent
Samir Chopra
25-Feb-2013
Cricket fans not from the subcontinent come to realize - in the course of their cricket education - that cricket is most certainly not the summer game in the Indian subcontinent. It is the winter game. The modern extension of the cricket calendar has meant, of course, that more cricket is played at more times outside the traditional season than ever before but in years gone by cricket remained confined to the cooler parts of the year. The reasons for that should be crystal clear to anyone who has suffered through an Indian summer.
But the blistering heat of the Indian summer, and in particular that of the tandoori oven named New Delhi, never brought a complete halt to the playing of the game by youngsters. We just had to be a little more resourceful in finding appropriate timeslots and in evading the restrictions placed on us by parents concerned about possible heatstroke.
One perfect opportunity to play cricket, especially during the summer vacation, was early in the mornings. Delhi summers sent the temperatures soaring into the high 30s by 8AM, so the virtues of early rising, even if steadfastly ignored when its consequence meant successful school-bus catching, were rapidly internalised when it came to cricket-ball catching. Barely had one's eyes greeted the morn, that the race was on to get to the local park to stake out a pitch before competing teams showed up. The morning games were brought to a close by several factors: the sun, parents calling their wards back into the safety of their homes, back to alternative vacation day plans.
Full postMost Read
Writers