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Harsha Bhogle

Murali calls it right

He is a once-in-a-lifetime cricketer, who did things nobody else on the planet could, but now his aura is fading

Harsha Bhogle
Harsha Bhogle
09-Jul-2010
Muttiah Muralitharan appeals, Bangladesh v Sri Lanka, 1st Test, Mirpur, 1st day, December 26, 2008

Even if others could mimic Murali's freak action, they won't be able to take as many wickets  •  AFP

Muttiah Muralitharan has chosen a good time to go. His offbreaks had become a little gentler, his shoulder a bit weary, his quiver of arrows a touch lighter. Young upstarts had just started to take him on, where earlier the idea wouldn't have entered their minds. In any case, he has a world record for posterity. In his decision to retire - for some the most difficult of all - Murali's timing has been impeccable. When the aura dims, it is the prelude to the end.
There is little doubt that he will go down in history as a game-changer. Hitherto, people with freak actions had only illuminated the skies briefly. Inevitably they were deciphered and were shown to have a limited repertoire. Sometimes, especially with the faster men, the body rebelled. It wasn't crafted to handle an abnormal workload. But Murali kept going.
It had to be more than the action; the world's obsession with it demeans him. Skill and perseverance have brought him 792 wickets. If it was the action alone, a clone would have produced at least 300 by now, there would have been kids in the streets bowling like him. Surely they must have tried; that they couldn't is a tribute to his uniqueness.
At the heart of his huge success lay the simple big-turning offbreak, the unfashionable stock ball that all great spinners possess. Shane Warne had the big legbreak, and on days when little else worked, he kept using it skilfully. Only Anil Kumble among the greats did not possess the big turner, but then he redefined spin bowling with variations of pace and bounce as much as flight and turn. Like Murali, he too was unique.
Murali's offbreak was a phenomenon of the wrist, not the finger as it has been with offspinners since the game was first played. And that is why he got more fizz and turn than anyone else. It made him one to watch out for. But to achieve success he needed more in his armoury. When the offspinner has the straight ball, or the old-fashioned arm ball, it makes the offbreak more potent. Murali needed something to go with the offbreak, a little dash of spice. Then he unveiled his doosra, by his own admission after much effort and practice. Batsmen who came down the wicket to him would now have to ponder the decision. The moment they played him from the crease, they had entered his kingdom.
Till June 1996, Murali only had 81 wickets from 23 matches, just about three and a half a game. Thereafter 711 wickets came from 109 Tests. It was like he owned the mint and could stamp his own paper. I remember him bowling in a Test in Lucknow in 1994 and almost looking helpless as India's batsmen, led by Navjot Sidhu and Sachin Tendulkar, kept coming down the wicket to him. He took five wickets eventually but they cost him a lot. He was like a car that took you to the destination but guzzled a lot of petrol. Each wicket cost him 34 runs then, compared to a mind-blowing career average of 22.
Thereafter, only two countries stood in his way. In India, he averaged 45 and in Australia, where he recognised antagonism at every lamp post, he paid 75 runs for every wicket. But against anyone else, anywhere else, he was a champion. Much has been made of his 176 wickets against Zimbabwe and Bangladesh (surprisingly little is mentioned about Bradman against India and South Africa in home conditions, against whom he averaged 201 and 178) but even subtracting those numbers (and you don't have to), he managed 534 from 95 Tests. His numbers against England, 112 wickets from 16 Tests, were comparable.
And so let's stop being defensive about Murali and acknowledge that he was a once-in-a-lifetime cricketer; that he did things nobody else on the planet could; that he played to an extraordinary level of performance day in and day out, he did every day what most people aspired to once in a lifetime. And nobody is going to touch his record. At five wickets a Test, which is something even the greats struggle to reach, someone will have to play 160 Test matches. I'm afraid that era has gone.
So let's salute the man with the big eyes, the big smile and the big offbreak. He was a collector's item because they only made one of his kind.

Harsha Bhogle is a commentator, television presenter and writer