A contest more equal

The first thing you feel upon landing in Bangalore from Mumbai on an early October morning is the crispness of the air. It's not the biting chill that singes your skin on a December morning in Delhi, but a pleasant, sensuous waft of cool breeze that tingles your senses. Bangalore is a garden city no more; trees have lost their battle against the automobiles: cars pump out much more carbon monoxide than the oxygen trees can generate. The air is heavy with smoke, the roads are choked with cars, bikes, auto rickshaws and there is even a hold-up caused by a few buffalos, ambling across with the nonchalance only they can summon. But to those condemned to a winter-less existence, the cool mornings of Bangalore are a blessing.

But like elsewhere in the world, weather patterns have been changing in Bangalore. Twenty years ago, fans, let alone the air conditioners, used to be a redundant accessory most of year; these days, you can't do without an air-conditioned car. Rains come as they will. It rained a couple of days before this Test. When England were here in December 2002, it rained on most days, ruining the Test and, during the time play was possible, it swung and seamed, helping the English bowlers skittle India out for 238.

Much talk has already centered on the pitch for this Test. It is a whitish brown, almost Sharjah-like, and looks deceptively hard from a distance. But eight overs into the match, it is difficult to imagine a mode of dismissal for the pace bowlers without reverse swing or batsmen collaborating. There is little bounce, little carry and after four pedestrian overs from Zaheer, Harbhajan Singh is introduced in the ninth over. Australia have won a good toss because the pitch could become a minefield by the third day. "It's back to the dark ages," whispers a colleague in a conspiratorial tone.

Is it? We have come to know this era as the golden age of batting, of flat, even, uniform wickets which abet plunder. Pitches have gone dead in West Indies, in South Africa; when India were in England last, barring the one at Headingley, the pitches didn't seam; when they were in Australia last, the ball didn't zip; and in India's last home series against New Zealand, the ball didn't turn. In an age when the cost of television rights is counted by the number of match days, it pays to make pitches that ensure five days of cricket. International cricket has thus turned into one mega-batting fest: the contest is as unequal as a bullfight where the horns of the bull have been sawn off. A departure from the norm is frowned upon and considered unhealthy.

A significant feature of the recently concluded Champions Trophy, a nondescript tournament otherwise, was the manner in which the bowlers dominated the proceedings. It was significant that apart from the matches involving the minnows, only one team won batting first. Admittedly, the conditions, with overnight rains and heavy cloud cover overhead, were tough in the first hour. But as Barry Richards, a master of the English conditions in his pomp, was prompt to point out, batsmen find run-making so easy these days that most batsmen have simply not acquired the skill, or the temperament, to graft and survive.

On India's last tour to Australia, the ball swung around on the second day of the first Test at Brisbane, and Australia lost eight wickets in 16 overs. The sun blazed through the rest of the Test series, and batsmen blossomed on some of the flattest wickets ever seen in Australia. The Indians then came across a flyer at Perth in the one-day series and came undone. India's batting was spectacular throughout the Test series, but we never had a chance to find out how good they were because they were never tested at Perth.

Cricket's greatest asset is its rich and varied temper. The game derives its flavour from the conditions unique to every country. The ball must swerve and seam in England, it must fly off the pitch in Australia, it must get scuffed up and reverse viciously in Pakistan, and it must turn sharply in India and Sri Lanka. Some of these pitches will be flat, some will be tough to bat on, and some will be absolute stinkers. And nobody should complain. Would winter be so special in these parts if it was always winter?

Sambit Bal is editor of Wisden Asia Cricket and Wisden Cricinfo in India. His Indian View will appear here every Thursday during the Indian season.