Too much of a good thing

The dreaded day is upon us. They say it comes just once every four years, but in between we have another variant of the same which overwhelms our television screens. And our lives. In case you have still not cottoned on to what I am obliquely referring to, let me set your mind at rest. No, it is not Covid or some other deadly scourge that periodically visits humankind, nor some rare galactic event that is occupying my mind.  I am talking about these cricket world championship tourneys which keep reverberating before we can even get used to the one just gone by. The latest edition of the 50-over One Day Internationals (ODI), not quite the World Cup but given the moniker of Champions Trophy (featuring just eight teams) is upon us and will stay with us for a few weeks. Here is my quandary. Didn’t India just win the World Cup a couple of years ago, beating South Africa in the final, if memory serves? I am then put right on this by a young neighbour, in tones one would adopt whilst addressing the mentally challenged, that that was the T20 World Cup in 2024 Uncle, 20 overs. This is the Champions Trophy, 50 overs. He almost spells it out. This chastisement is followed by a ‘duh’ that pretty much puts the lid on it. It’s all rather confusing, really.

Right then, let me attempt to regain my dignity and back track. As I understand it, the ODI fiesta comes round once in four years. Then there’s a Champions Trophy in between which I thought (erroneously) they had done away with, not to mention the T20 jamboree, slotted somewhere in the middle of that four-year period thereby providing undiluted pleasure for the fans every couple of years. Assuming always that you are a gone case fanatic who wouldn’t think twice about leaving a trail of cricket widows in your wake. I am, in the main, addressing adults of marriageable age, and not the teenagers and toddlers who are beyond redemption.

As if all this was not lunacy enough, through some extraordinary sleight-of-hand planning, the cricket czars of the world manage to fit in the IPL in India which goes on forever. Never mind whether the cows came home or not. There are other similar tournaments played elsewhere in the world, but they barely get a mention. At least not in my neck of the woods. The IPL in India rules the roost, the money is beyond the dreams of avarice, and the foreign players make a beeline for Indian shores during the most forbiddingly hot, Indian summer. All except players from neighbouring Pakistan naturally, but that is another story. Incidentally, horror of horrors, there is also a 10-over variant (not officially recognised) played in outposts of the erstwhile British Empire like Hong Kong and Singapore. Easy money.

These are the different avatars of ‘fast-food’ cricket which keep the turnstiles clicking and bring in the moolah to keep the wheels of the good old 5-day Test Match variant well oiled. That one can play this traditional version of cricket, lovely cricket over five long days without a result being guaranteed is what drives the untutored Americans bonkers. ‘Five days and neither team wins? Exciting draw? What does that even mean?’ During the 60s, it was not uncommon to hear Indian radio commentator Professor Ananda Rao informing us over the air waves in grave, avuncular tones, ‘That was Bapu Nadkarni’s 45^th over, 37 of which were maidens, he has conceded just 9 runs and has yet to take a wicket. The man can drop it on a dime. What an economical spell.’ And we lapped it all up. Today, the forward defensive push, bat angled down, bat and pad locked together, has become an anachronism, a museum piece. Gavaskar and Dravid were the last to play that way. The BCCI should commission a sculptor and erect statues in their honour in Mumbai and Bangalore respectively. They erected one in honour of Tendulkar who hardly ever ‘blocked.’

In the days of yore, Test match cricket was merely a two-country affair in different parts of the world, each going against the other, and only the Ashes between England and Australia being given the requisite publicity. Things have now changed. While various teams are playing each other throughout the year, points are awarded to determine the two best teams who face off against each other for a single Test shoot-out for the coveted ICC mace. To put it in a nutshell, Test match cricket is being kept alive thanks to funds generated from the limited overs format. The world of cricket owes a debt of gratitude to the late, much-maligned Australian magnate Kerry Packer, who introduced an astonished world to what was then dismissively referred to as ‘pyjama cricket,’ an oblique reference to the introduction of coloured clothing in this pristinely white game. Packer, and those cricketers who followed the Holy Grail with him, were shunned by the establishment at Lords and elsewhere. All that soon changed, the prodigal sons returned home and limited overs cricket took off and has never looked back. Money talks, as Packer so presciently foresaw.

The problem, however, is that there is simply too much of it. Cricket fatigue sets in for many of us who are somewhat long in the tooth. It is not that I do not follow the scores, particularly if India is playing an international series, irrespective of the format. It is simply that I have long since stopped bringing my lunch or dinner to gawp in front of the telly, just in case I miss a brilliant cover drive by Kohli or a superb diving catch in the slips by Ben Stokes. I can always watch the severely shortened highlights on YouTube at my own leisure. The other downside of the TV dinner is you are not aware of what you are shovelling into your mouth as you have eyes only for the screen. I once bolted two large green chillies and paid a very heavy price. I think the cook did that on purpose, just for a laugh.

Lest we forget, there’s the distaff side of cricket as well. Women’s international tournaments are keeping pace with the men’s side of things. India’s ladies have generally been giving a good account of themselves and there is quite a bit of interest being evinced by the public. However, all this means is that there is one more arrow in cricket’s quiver and when the men and women are playing simultaneously as happens quite frequently, you cannot blame many of us for feeling that all this is too much of a good thing. As the Bard had it in another context, ‘Give me excess of it that, surfeiting / the appetite may sicken and so die.’ Fat chance.

All in all, I have made my decision. If I must watch live sport it has to be world class tennis or Premier League football when the top three or four teams are playing. The action is fast and furious and, by and large, does not take more than a couple of hours. Once in a rare while a Grand Slam 5-setter can drag on for over 5 hours. Some years ago, Nadal and Djokovic played at the Australian Open final which took over 6 hours to complete. They were both offered chairs to sit at the prize distribution ceremony, in case they collapsed. To the best of my knowledge, no one left their seats, such was the gripping fare the two warriors dished out. Did someone ask ‘who won?’ For the record, Djokovic lifted the trophy but that is an irrelevant fact in a game where, to employ that tired old cliché, the game of tennis won. So tennis and a bit of football would be my fallback sports entertainment given that excess cricket has begun to pall. Even the present Championship Trophy is not running to capacity judging by the sparse crowds. We must, however, reserve judgment till the India-Pakistan face-off in Dubai.

All else failing, as a last resort I shall turn to YouTube and watch Donald Trump swaying, dancing and giving all his opponents (and a few friends as well) his words of wisdom. He has virtually crowned himself ‘King of the World’ and we ignore his daily pearls of wisdom at our own peril. If nothing else, he is presently the greatest entertainer bar none. Cricket, did you say? I will take a very long raincheck and at that, I will take a lot of convincing.

Postscript – I called up a good friend of mine who shares my views on cricket and related matters, and invited him for lunch as I had not met him in a while. His reply was curt. ‘Sorry pal, India is playing Pakistan on that day. I shall be glued to my television set and hope there are no power cuts.’

‘Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar!’

Published with permission from Mr. Suresh Subrahmanyan. He blogs at –https://sureshsubrahmanyan.blog/