The Ronins

The great calypso music that once used to reverberate across the cricket stadiums has turned into a dirge. I won’t go into the complacency of the authorities in assuming there would always be an assembly line of pace bowlers to replace the former greats or that the boys taking a dip in the beach will walk onto the grassy fields with a bat in hand and conquer the world. That we know. Neither is any point in going over the crisis in player contracts, sponsorship conflicts, board mismanagement. That we have read. There has been collapse all round; public sector failure, the board mismanagement; the greed of private enterprise, holding the players to ransom. What now- as a group of player’s troop onto the Australian stadiums- is the question.

Chanderpaul, a captain by default, Brian Lara, with more shades in character than spots on a leopard, and group of talented young batsmen are in Australia. There seems to be no passionate group ideal to enable these men to bind together and march. There is no use comparing them to the players in the past. Those great West Indian teams were glued by the race issue. As CLR James wrote, race played a positive role in the development of West Indies cricket; black power and fight against the colonialists propelled the players from different countries to stay united and march triumphantly across the grassy cricket fields world over. Make us grovel? Yeah right, we shall show who will be crawling on the knees. In the West Indian case, the race had supplanted the nationalist feeling that fuels other cricket teams.

Now the society has changed, there has been structural adjustment; West Indies has been economically, politically and socially dislocated. Those bricks of anti-colonialism that held the wall of solidarity among people have fallen. Basketball is eating into cricket, rap is silencing calypso, Kentucky and French fries are munched more by the youth, cable TV has ushered in a cultural invasion. Xenophobia is out and with that patriotism also is on the wane; there is an element of jingoism behind patriotic sporting feeling anyways.

Lara gave a hint of a West Indian captain's troubles when he told Shaun Pollock and Graeme Smith, who led the respective World teams in the recent Super Series against Australia, that "they now have a little understanding of what it is like to captain a team whose players come from different countries. In the West Indies, you have guys with different passports and cultures and you have to try to bring them together over a three-month period. I know you can say the West Indies teams of the 1970s and 1980s did that but times have changed. If you were in Brisbane when the West Indies team arrived you would have seen the Jamaicans heading to dinner in one group, the Guyanese all together in another group".

The way forward for the team lies via the individual salvation. As Tony Cozier wrote recently on the West Indies tour of Australia, "it could be individual self interest that strengthens the team ethic on this tour and beyond"

Lara, the most celebrated loser in cricketing history, will like to taste the champagne after victory; Chanderpaul, who has stood at the other end to Lara many a time to grieve a defeat will probably like to etch his name in history as the captain who led them out of dark shadows of defeat; Ramnaresh Sarwan, would probably like his headband to soak more in the sweat of a win, and score runs and push for the captaincy spot.

As the definition of nation state changes in the shrinking global order, the passions that fuel the people residing within an archaic boundary, and hence, it’s sporting stars, will also change. Us v them catalyst might become impotent to move the heart of people, as who forms ‘us’? And in this age of rootless amnesiac culture, it might well have to be a collection of individual disparate dreams, men coming together not under a flag or race but as ronins, even in sporting fields. West Indies cricket might well head that way.

Sehwag’s one-day blues

Like in Tests,he should treat each ball as a separate event

A writeup by me on the issue.

What am I out for? You've been there long enough

October 19: Bill Ponsford's birthday. Ray Robinson, the famous Australian writer, had hailed him as 'founder of total batting'

Haresh Pandya' dwelt at length on Ponsford in his appreciation peice in The Hindu

Until Bradman appeared on the scene and stamped his authority with his phenomenal batsmanship, Ponsford was the biggest draw down under.When Victoria was to play New South Wales (NSW) in Sydney in January 1928, big banners hit the city and suburbs right in the eye. They proclaimed: ``Bill Ponsford in the town. Come to the cricket ground and see the world's greatest batsman.''
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One day in 1943, a British MP declared in the House of Commons: "We have got Ponsford out cheaply but Bradman is still batting." To what was he referring? Mussolini had been deposed; Hitler, however, was still around

Source: B. Johnston, Rain Stops Play

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Over the next few years, Bill Ponsford became reknowned for his astronomical scoring: he is still the only man to have passed 400 twice in first-class cricket. When no bowler seemed capable of taming him, it took former Victorian all-rounder Allie Lampard to re-establish the status quo.

Lampard had been a St Kilda teammate of Ponsford through the Saints' glory reign. In a charity match he was a relieving umpire. `Maybe another Ponsford 100 would have suited the crowd,' he said, `but it would have made the game one sided. I told the bowler Charles Winning: `If you hit his legs I'll give him out'.

`The bat was always there, though, so in an undertone I prompted the bowler to appeal for a ball that Ponny had let pass well off the wicket when he was 40.'

Ponsford : `What am I out for?' Lampard : `You've been there long enough.'

Ken Piesse, Cricketer, November 1979, p19
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Between Wickets (Robinson)
EYES FRONT
Although Ponsford's faculties always seemed superhuman, Ray Robinson subsequently discovered that his eyesight was sub-par. After all that had been said about Ponsford's wonderful sight, the doctor that examined him when he volunteered for the airforce was astonished to find that he was colour blind; he could not distinguish
between red and green. A dialogue like this followed:

Dr : What colour did the new ball look to you?
Ponsford : Red.
Dr : What colour did it look after it became worn?
Ponsford : I never noticed its colour then, only its size.
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So how did he get 'Merchant' in his name?

How did 'Merchant' come into Vijay's name? He is from the Thackersay family who owned Textile mills in Bombay.

Its a lovely little story. Apparently, at school, where he and his brother uday went, the headmaster- a british gentleman- wanted his surname. Vijay didnt know, maybe didnt have one. Exasperated, the headmaster asked their father's profession, to which vijay replied "we are merchants, sir". And thus the Merchant tag struck!

Who was the first great Indian batsman?

So was Vijay Merchant the first great Indian batsman? It would certainly appear so, for Ranjitsinghji can't be included in the Indian list; he was a Englishman by heart, also played cricket for the empire. CK Nayudu? hmm? Well Ram Guha wonders on the same issue and throws up a name- Palwankar Vithal.

As an aside, Vithal was the younger brother of the great Chamaar cricketer Palwankar Baloo. Baloo came from an untouchable caste, who by his skill as a left-arm spinner- true predecessor of Bishen Singh Bedi- left lasting influence beyond the boundary as well. Baloo was one of the early heroes of BR Ambedkar,the great dalit leader for whom Baloo brokered the Poona pact with Gandhi! Its a fascinating tale (I will go into it someday).

Vijay Merchant

October 12: The birth of the legendary Indian batsman, Vijay Merchant


Raju Bharatan recollected a conversation he had with Merchant which sheds light on the man.

"When I asked Merchant how he felt about rating second only to Bradman in the world at 71.64, there was a gleam in Vijay's eye. But only fleetingly. In the very next minute, Vijay Merchant came back with: ``Please never again mention my name in the same breath as Sir Donald Bradman, it's sacrilege to do so! It's your runs in Test matches that really count. And, here, from 18 innings in 10 Tests, I fell short of even 1000 by as many as 141 runs! Our own Sunil Gavaskar is miles ahead of me by now, so where is there any question of your equating me
with Sir Donald Bradman?'' '

John Arlott wrote about Merchant when India toured England in 1946.

+++ Arlott

His 148 at Lord's was not Vijay Merchant's highest innings of the tour, but it was his richest. The air held rain and little of the sun, yet, English as the setting was, this Indian batsman showed
us there his best. I knew how anxious he was to make a hundred that day and I was amazed to see his stroke-play flowering under his anxiety.

Merchant's physical quality is neither the massive might nor the whipcord leanness of other great batsmen. There is something softly feline about him -- at the wicket, shirt and sweater heavy to wrists, thick white muffler at his throat, blue-capped, he moves pad-footed -- but the stroke, for all its control, is flash-fast because, ignoring the bowler's hand, he plays every ball strictly "off the pitch." An innings by Merchant grows; it sprouts no exotic blooms but its construction is perfect to the last detail. No chance, no ball which beats the bat, no brutishness of the wicket, no pace or spin or swing can disconcert him.

Like Herbert Sutcliffe, until he is finally and definitely out, Merchant is the batsman in possession, intent upon tending his, and his team's, score. Day after day, season-long, I watched
him, notching off each hour with thirty runs and marking the meal intervals with his cap -- when the peak is directly over his right ear, it is time for lunch or tea or close of play. Not only was he the mainstay of the team's batting in terms of the runs he made himself, but often he nursed the start of a big innings by Modi or Mankad or Hazare, each of whom batted better in his company. Merchant's batting technique is never violent, he seems to have an unvarying system of ball-evaluation which controls his batting reflexes. Bowl an over of balls two feet short of a
length and he will hit you for six certain fours to mid-wicket on the leg side; bowl a good-length over on the middle stump and he will play you back a maiden, and this holds good whether his
score is 0 or 100. But it is not to say that he cannot, or does not, adjust his batting to the state of the game. If the state of the wicket reasonably permits it, he will start to cut when he
has made about 50, and his cut is the finest in first-class cricket today. More rarely he will use a whip-lash cover-drive.

Merchant's soundness is vividly illustrated by his methods of dismissal during the tour. He was most frequently dismissed LBW, the in-swinger which straightened off the pitch. That ball was
the one for which the seam bowler prays -- he can but pray, for no man alive can bowl it at will; that rare, providential delivery came to be regarded as Merchant's weakness -- since no
deliberately contrived ball could be relied upon consistently to worry him. Merchant, as batsman, captain and man, is well pictured in an incident in the match against the South of England at the Hastings Festival. He was captain of the side, in the absence of Pataudi. On the third day he was in considerable pain from strained stomach-muscles. Believing that changes in the batting order often unsettle batsmen, he decided to go in first as usual, but to get out fairly quickly. Once at the crease he scored at twice his usual pace, but by the same strokes. His
deeply absorbed batting-sense allowed him to take a risk only in making the ball into a punishable one, but not in playing it. On his dismissal he returned to the pavillion in increased pain to shake his head sadly at his inability to sacrifice his wicket.

Soft-footed at the crease, Merchant appears heavy-footed in the outfield, but he always chases the ball to the last hope; often over-anxious about a catch, he was yet safer than many of the
team in the deep field. As the tour wore on he improved as a close-to-the-wicket field and, if not in the first class there, his short-leg catch to dismiss T.N. Pierce at Southend was memorable. As a captain he took few risks; he maintained discipline by his good manners, unaffected dignity and genuine consideration for his players.

It is impossible not to like Vijay Merchant; his manners are polished to the last degree, his consideration for others impeccable -- and he looks you in the face when he talks to you.
His honesty is unmistakable -- he speaks out the truth, but never crudely. His charm, like his cricket, has its roots in a tranquility which runs deeper than the level of "temperament."

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Extract from:
INDIAN SUMMER
An Account of the Cricket Tour in England 1946

by John Arlott

That's all very well, Mr Douglas, but what am I 'ere for?

Barnes was supposed to be a 'difficult' sort of person. Leonard Tim Hector takes up the cudgel on his behalf in a article below. Also John Arlott on Barnes and below that a extract from 'SF Barnes - His Life and Times' by Andrew Searle.

Leonard Tim Hector:

In the time of S.F. Barnes "The players had no union to protect them, so that they were more or less compelled to accept whatever wage their counties thought reasonable, and the counties were governed by autocratic amateurs who treated the professionals with the kindly condescension that they reserved for their domestic servants, gardeners and local tradesmen. And it was this that made S.F. Barnes see red. His trouble, at root, was that he demanded equality of opportunity and the abolition of class distinctions, fifty or sixty years before the country, and at a time when the lot of the vast majority was docile servitude."

S.F. Barnes, a child of an empire, on which it was said the sun would never set, like me, came from a game where docile servitude prevailed, in the case of my society, for more than 300 years. It gave way, in the end, producing that kindly condescension of autocratic rulers, and known in history as patronage. In political independence, the ruling autocrats, in the dictatorship of Cabinet, dispense patronage as a cover for their own corruption. And, for the maintenance of power. S.F. Barnes, on the cricket field used his great gifts to rebel against that system. He belongs in that special category, the lonely rebel – with a cause. His lonely example, would spark similar passions in others who came after, who did not even know of him.

Not infrequently and again in rare moments when the partisans of docility, patronage and corruption, of either side here, are baying at my heels I am reminded by S.F. Barnes, that the common people will not abide domination, from multinational, transnationals, or home-grown autocrats dispensing patronage under the umbrella of corruption. S.F. Barnes enlarges and sharpens my philosophical frame from which I see the world, in general, and in particular.

S.F. Barnes, would in no circumstances accept a pay cut, to make corruption more corrupt. No way José. S.F. Barnes, in such circumstances refused to play for club, for county, or for England. For he knew the difference between oppression and the patriotism that rulers appealed to, to keep the old oppression going, if not intensifying.

(just scroll down in the page that the above url leads to get to the relevant part on Barnes)

+++ Andrew Searle on Barnes +++

"JWHT Douglas was the type of gentleman captain whose decision whether to bat or bowl on the morning of a game was not based on any scientific analysis of the wicket, nor on the relative strengths and weaknesses of the opposition, but rather on his own predilection either to hit a few balls or to turn his arm over a few times.Sydney Barnes, as one of the most experienced players on the team, was soon to disabuse him of this preposterously amateur notion. For, when Douglas led out the England team for his first Test match on that sunny Sydney morning on December 15th 1911, he decided - much to the horror and amazement of Sydney Barnes - to partner his fellow amateur Frank Foster in England's new ball attack. Barnes' riposte was to give Douglas his first lesson in the Divine Right of Barnes: 'That's all very well, Mr Douglas, but what am I 'ere for?'

"If any of quotes can be said to sum up the man it is this ostensibly quizzical remark. Sydney Barnes, the experienced professional, was nonplussed by his captain's lack of grasp of the obvious: that he, the master bowler, was the only player capable of using that new ball with the ultimate goal of winning the Ashes. And he was unafraid to tell his supposed better this self-evident truth. When one looks at old photographs of that 1911/12 touring team one sees a different Sydney Barnes from those of the early 1900's when he was a regular county cricketer with Lancashire. Gone is the fierce moustache and the permanent scowl, a product no doubt of the under-paid and cynical professional cricketer's life. Instead, it is a relaxed glare; arms and legs folded, right over left. He is seated at the end of the front row alongside his colleague and equal Wilfred Rhodes - previously the sole preserve of the gentleman amateur. It is a confident pose; the pose of a man who knows his rightful place in society; the bearing of the newly-enfranchised and represented labour aristocracy: a great man at peace with the world in which he was a first among equals."

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John Arlott on Barnes
So often the batsman could not even edge a catch. Hence the classic Sydney Barnes story of the day when two tail-enders were playing at him and missing or, occasionally, snicking, and he stalked away at the end of the over with the comment `They aren't batting well enough to get out.' ...No batsman even dared to claim that he was Barnes's master. Asked which of them he found most difficult he answers `Victor Trumper'. Who next? `No one else ever troubled me.'

The great bowling of Syd Barnes

Lets stick on to Barnes today as well. ALthough he is regarded as probably the greatest bowler ever, his bowling style is a bit of mystery to some of the fans. I ran into Jack Fingleton's peice on him which sheds more light on it. Here is a short extract from Fingo's essay.

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".... Barnes learnt a lot about swing bowling from Noble. Barnes began, as most bowlers do, as a fast bowler, but he soon learned that there was more to the business than sheer speed.. He experimented with finger-spin, both off and leg, and it was as a mediu-paced spinner that he was singled out for the Australian tour by MacLaren.

... Barnes not only wanted off-breaks and leg-breaks from the pitch. He wanted movement in the air as well, and in England he studied the great English left-hander, George Hirst. The normal swing of a right hand bowler to a right-hand batsman with the new ball is from leg to off. Similarly a left-hand bowler will swing in from off to leg-- as Hirst did.

Barnes practised with his leg-break allied to a certain body action at the moment of delivery and hey presto! he found movement in the air similar to Hirst's natural swing. But observe these important differences in the technique of Barnes and let me illustrate them by referring to Maurice Tate, one of the greatest of all bowlers. Tate was a glorious mover of the new ball, mostly from the leg and with tremendous whip off the pitch. His swing (as distinct from swerve, which comes from spin) was gained by holding the ball in the normal fashing with the line of stitches facing the batsman. This swing comes late in the ball's flight, and the ball, off the pitch, continues on in the direction of the swing- that is, towards the slips. A nightmare of a ball, too!

When Barnes swung in the air from the leg, by spin, the ball turned back from the off. When he swung in from the off, with his leg-break action, the ball gripeed the pitch with its spin and turned from the leg. In the case of Hirst- and Alec Bedser, with his in-swing, being a right hander- the ball, on hitting the pitch, continues out towards the leg-slips. Thus Barnes's swerves broke from the pitch in directions different from the normal swings.

'At the time I was able to bowl these,' Barnes recently told me by letter, ' I thought I was at a disadvantage in having to spin the ball when I could see bowlers doing the same by simply placing the ball in thier hand and letting go; but I soon learned that the advantage was with me because by spinning the ball, if the wicket would take spin, the ball would come back against the swing... I may say I did not bowl a ball but that I had to spin, and that is, to my way of thinking, the reason for what success I attained.'

In Barnes's first Test innings against Australia, Charlie Macartney was at the bowler's end when Barnes clean bowled Trumper. 'The ball was fast on the leg stump,' said Mccartney, 'but just before it pitched it swung suddenly to the off. 'Then it pitched, broke back, and took Vic's leg stump. It was the sort of ball a man might see if he was dreaming or drunk.'
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Barnes v Constantine by CLR James

Today a vintage piece of writing from a marvellous writer- CLR James. The subject of his essay is another illustrious personality- Sydney Barnes, probably the greatest bowler this game has ever seen. I have transcribed it from a book. Enjoy.

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Barnes v Constantine


Sydney Barnes is generally admitted to be the greatest bowler cricket has yet seen. I had a glimpse of him the other day in action. He is fifty nine years of age ( the date of his birth given in Wisden is incorrect). Yet the man is still a fine bowler. It was an experience to watch him.
To begin with, Barnes not only is fifty-nine but looks it. Some cricketers at fifty-nine look and move like men in their thirties. Not so Barnes. You can almost hear the old bones creaking. He is tall and thin, well over six feet, with strong features . It is rather a remarkable face in its way, and could belong to a great lawyer, or a statesman without incongruity. He holds his head well back, with the rather long chin lifted. He looks like a man who has seen as much of the world as he wants to see.
I saw him first before the match began, bowling to one of his own side without wickets. He carried his arm over as straight as a post, spinning a leg break in the orthodox way. Then he had a knock himself. But although the distance was only a dozen yards and the ball was being bowled at a very slow pace. Barnes put a glove on. He was not going to run the risk of those precious fingers being struck by the ball. When the preliminary practice stopped he walked in, by himself, with his head in the air, a man intent on his own affairs.

His own side, Rawtenstall, took the field to get Nelson out. League sides will sometimes treat the new ball with Saturday- afternoon carelessness: not so Rawtenstall. Ten of them played about with an old ball: Barnes held the new. He fixed his field, two slips close in and the old- fashioned point, close in. Mid-off was rather wide. When every man was placed to the nearest centimetre Barnes walked back and set the old machinery in motion. As he forced himself to the crease you could see every year of the fifty-nine; but the arm swung over gallantly, high and straight. The wicket was slow, but a ball whipped hot from the pitch in the first over, and second slip took a neat catch. When the over was finished he walked a certain number of steps and took up his position in the slips. He stood as straight as his right arm, with his hands behind his back. The bowler began his run - a long run- Barnes still immovable. Just as the ball was about to be delivered Barnes bent forward slightly with his hands ready in front of him. to go right down as a normal slip fieldsman goes was for him, obviously, a physical impossibility. But he looked alert, and I get the impression that whatever went into his hands stayed there. As the ball reached the wicket keeper' hands or was played by the batsman, Barnes straightened himself and again put his hands behind his back. THat was his procedure in the field right through the afternoon. Now and then by way of variety he would move a leg an inch or two and point it on the toe for a second or two. Apart from that, he husbanded his strength.

He took 7 wickets for about 30 runs, and it is impossible to imagine better bowling of its kind. The batsmen opposed to him were not high rank, most of them, but good bowing is good bowling whoever plays it. Armistead, a sound batsman, was obviously on his mettle. Barnes kept him playing; then be bowled one of his most dangerous balls-- a flighted one, dropping feet shorter without any change of action and what is much more dangerous, pitching on the middle wicket and missing the off. Armistead, magnetized into playing forward, had the good sense to keep his right toe firm. The wicketkeeper observed Armistead' toe regretfully and threw the ball back to Barnes. Up to this time, Armistead had relied almost entirely on the back stroke. It had carried him to where he was without mishap. A forward stroke had imperilled his innings. Behold there the elements of a tragedy, obvious, no doubt but as Mr Desmond McCarthy says, the obvious is the crowning glory of art. Armistead played back to the next ball. But he couldn't get his bat to it in time. Barnes hit him hard on the pads with a straight ball and the pads were in front of the wicket.
He went from triumph to triumph, aided, no doubt, by the terror of his name. When Constantine came in I looked for a duel. Constantine was not going to be drawn into playing forward. Barnes was not going to bowl short to be hooked over the pavilion; or over pitch to be hit to the football field. Constantine also was not going to chance it. For on that turning wicket, to such accurate bowling who chanced it was lost.

Constantine jumped to him once, and a long field picked the ball up from the ground, where it had been from the time it left the bat. Barnes bowled a slow one, that might almost be called short. It pitched on the leg stump. Constantine shaped for the forcing back stroke. The field was open. But even as he raised himself for the stroke he held his hand, and wisely. The ball popped up and turned many inches. Another ball or two and again Barnes dropped another on the same spot. It was sore temptation. Constantine shaped again for his stroke, his own stroke and again he held his hand, wisely for the ball broke and popped up again. So the pair watched one another like two fencers sparring for an opening. The crowd sat tense. Was this recitative suddenly to burst into the melody of fours and sixes to all parts of the field? The Nelson crowd at least hoped so. But it was not to be. Some insignificant trundler at the other end who bowled mediocre balls bowled Constantine with one of them.

After that it was a case of boa constrictor and the rabbits, the only matter of interest being how long he would take to dispose them. But, nevertheless old campaigner as he is, Barnes took no chances. Slips would stand on the exact spot where the bowler wanted him, there and nowhere else. When a batsman who had once hit him for two or three fours came in, Barnes put two men out immediately, As soon as a single was made, hte outfieldsmen were drawn in again and carefully fixed in their original positions, although th score might be about 50 for 8 or something of the kind. Barnes had lived long enough i n the world of cricket to know that there at at any rate it does not pay to give anything away. Nelson failed to reach 70. As the Rawtenstall tam came in, the crowd applauded his fine bowling, mightily, Barnes walked through it intent on his own affairs. He had had much of that all his life.

Constantine running seventeen yards and hurling the ball violently through the air, began sending back the Rawtenstall batsmen. One, two, three wickets and bails flying every time. Forth from the pavilion came Barnes. He faced the West Indian fast bowler. He was older than Constantine' father and the wicket was faster now. Barnes got behind the ball, the pitched up ball, and played it back along the pitch to the bowler. He judged the ball quickly and so got there in time. He kept his left shoulder forward and that kept the bat straight. He played the slower bowlers with equal skill, and whenever there was a single to be taken he took it. He never lost one, and he was in difficulties to get into his crease once only. 'Yes' and 'No' he said decisively in a deep voice which could be heard all over the ground. His bones were too stiff to force the ball away. But his bat swing true to the drive and he got over the short ball to cut. He stayed there for some 40 minutes for 10, and as long as he was there his side was winning. But Constantine bowled him behind his back. Barnes satisfied himself that he was out, and then he left his crease. He came in slowly amid the plaudits of the Nelson crowd, applauding his innings and their satisfaction at his having been dismissed. Courtesy acknowledged the applause. For the rest he continued as he had begun, a man unconsciously scornful of his milieu. After he left, Rawtenstall collapsed.

Since then, Barnes has taken 5 for a few, and startled Lancahisre a few days ago by taking 9 for 20. In the years to come. it will be something to say that we have seen him.

The D'Oliveira affair

Basil D'Oliveira, the man who was the centre of the infamous controversy christened ' The D'Oliveira affair', was born today.

Lets take a look at the man, courtesy the wonderful writer Frank Keating.

It was the second of those five centuries which engraved his name into history's permanence. Basil's epic, enriching, 158 in the final Ashes Test against the 1968 Australians at the Oval was scored on the eve of England's winter tour to, of all benighted places, South Africa. "The D'Oliveira Affair" was born. Before he strode out to bat, he rang Naomi: "Pull up a chair, love, put on the telly and enjoy it; I'm going to be at the crease all day." When he ran the single to complete his 50, the bowler's end umpire Charlie Elliott muttered to Basil: "Well done but by golly, lad, you're really scaring those buggers at Lord's." When he completed his century and Kennington rose to cheer, Elliott added: "Brilliant, m'boy, but, oh dear, you've set the cat among the ruddy pigeons now."

Princely Patrons

Today a story from Ram Guha on Princely players, the early patrons of the game in India. Guha also picks his all-time Princes eleven in this writeup.

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The contrast between the two kinds of cricketing princes is beautifully captured in a story set in Ajmer's Mayo College sometime in the 1960s. Here, sitting next to each other at lunch, were the Maharaja of Kashmir and the Jam Saheb of Nawanagar. Both were patrons of a school meant to make English gentlemen of the sons of the Rajput nobility. "Ranji, apne Kabhi anda banaya," asked the Maharaja. ("Ranji, have you ever scored a duck.")

"Bahut baar (very often)," answered the great batsman.

"Maine kabhi nahin banaya: (I have never scored a duck)," responded Kashmir.

Silence prevailed, but then the enormity of his achievement hit the unvanquished soul. Summoning the Principal to his table, he announced: "Aaj school bund kar do aur baccho ko chutti de do (close down the school today and give all the kids a holiday)."
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Gandhi and Cricket

Starting today, apart from my scribblings on the game, I will post a daily nugget from web which will act as a flashback to past. With so many matches played, much of our focus is on the immediate, here and now. I intend to throw in a url which would talk of past cricketers, incident and a look at beyond the boundary impact of this wonderful game.

Today is Gandhi Jayanti day. That begs the question was he ever interested in this game, did he have any sort of involvement with it? Ramachandra Guha provides us the answer in this article of his.

+++++ Gandhi and Cricket ++++

When Gandhi first went to England as a student, in 1889, one of the three letters of introduction he carried was to his fellow Kathiawari, Prince Ranjitsinhji.
..."I can understand matches between Colleges and Institutions," remarked Gandhi, "but I have never understood the reason for having Hindu, Parsi, Muslim and other communal Elevens. I should have thought that such unsportsmanlike divisions would be considered taboo in sporting language and sporting manners."

The Magician: Shane Warne

'Cricket is at first and foremost a dramatic spectacle. It belongs
with the theatre, ballet, opera and the dance' - CLR James

CLR James never got a chance to see Warne bowl, if he had, he would have proclaimed Warne's bowling to be the greatest argument clincher for his statement.

The beauty of warne's bowling doesn’t just lie in the end result- the ball spinning- but it starts right from the start. Shane Warne walking in to bowl is a sight in itself. First, the wait at the top of the walk, the theatrical glare at the batsman, then the ball is transferred to the left palm with the beautiful flick of the right wrist that only a leg spinner can produce. The left hand discreetly transfers the ball to the right as that slow beautiful walk begins; eyes gleaming in anticipation of the illusion to be weaved. The two hands join again, the left over the right, underneath which, the grip on the ball is finalised and held firmly. The left hand now withdraws away; the walk turns into a slow jog, and then, that small hop as the right hand draws a circular arc ending up with elbow locked in a V shape. The left hand also by this time has made a V; the right feet almost parallel to the crease, then the left hand comes out, forward and down like drawing down a curtain, while the right goes down and up in a circular motion; the whole weight is now shifted to the left foot, and the ball is released with a rip- a final flick of the powerful right wrist- launching the ball in its orbit.

The ball whirs in the air, floats, swerves, loops, dips, grips and if it is Warne's day, it would land outside the leg stump and the batsman playing his part in the great drama would turn towards it, the ball would then spin sharply, squaring up the batsman, beating his frantic wave of the bat, and triumphantly kiss the off stump.

What a beauty! If Abdul Qadir's run in was magical- with his arms going through a myriad different & beautiful motions- Warne's walk is equally memorable. Roberto Baggio's walk after scoring 'The goal' features in a commercial but that was the end result of an achievement, a guilt washed away, a sad memory burnt, a redemption song, but Shane Warne's walk is in anticipation of a triumph, of a dream looked forward to, a painting about to be sketched; a work of a true artist. Unlike Baggio's -no doubt, a wonderful moment- solitary walk in a lifetime, the beauty occurs each and every time Warne goes in to bowl.