Prem Panicker

I remember, a long time ago, writing a mail to Ian Chappell.

The spark for that mail was: I was watching a cricket match being played in Sharjah. And in between deliveries, the camera kept panning to the VIP stands, where every single person was holding up, and reading, copies of the just-launched Cricket Talk magazine (I do remember being amused by the sales ploy at the time -- after all, the visual indicated either some smart salesmanship at work, or it indicated that the quality of cricket being played then was so boring people preferred leafing through a magazine instead).

Chappell was on air at the time, and he told us that the magazine was packed with good articles by various big name columnists. He then told us that the second issue was already sold out in Bombay, and on cue, read out the subscription address and told us that if we wanted to make sure of our copies, we should subscribe immediately.

I was surprised. And disappointed. Surprised, because the previous morning, I had gone to Bangalore on a one-day trip. At the airport, while waiting for my flight to be called, I had wandered into the bookstore, and among other things, picked up a copy of the inaugural issue of that magazine. At that time, several issues remained unsold. Yet, 24 hours later, I was being assured that the second issue had come on the stands, and been sold out.

Disappointed, because I like a lot of my generation have enormous regard for the former Australian captain; because I like so many others believe that he was cricket's equivalent of Johann Cryuff. And given that feeling, it was disappointing to see him play the part of a magazine salesman.

I did not get a response to that mail I sent, expressing my sentiments. Fair enough -- in today's jet set age, who among us has the time to read, leave alone respond, to emails? But that lack of response, frankly, is why, having started writing another mail the other day, I jettisoned it.

This second mail was prompted by something Chappell said, in course of his commentary during the Sri Lanka-Pakistan game in the ongoing Sharjah triseries. "After watching Ganguly and his men take four and a half hours to finish their overs, I am here to tell you what a pleasure it is to watch the way the Sri Lankans got through their overs in time this afternoon," was the comment.

I wanted to write in and say, Dear Mr Chappell, give it a rest -- your obsession with the Indian captain is rapidly turning you into a bit of a monomaniac. And monomania is boring.

Surely, had the Indians taken four and a half hours to complete their overs, they would have been docked something like 20 overs in their own turn? And had that happened, surely all of us -- not just one television commentator -- would have heard about it?

But then, maybe that 'four and a half hours' was merely humorous exaggeration. A form of poetic license (By way of aside, when I hear 'poetic license' used to justify just about anything, I sometimes wonder if these licenses are handed out by the Bombay traffic authorities, in the same uncaring fashion they hand out driving licenses to some of the mayhem-artists driving down our roads).

Maybe all Chappell meant to say was that the Indians do not complete their overs on time. And that is fair comment -- Indian teams have a tendency, more often that not, to overshoot their allocated time limit.

Having said that, I wonder -- was it equally boring to watch, at the Chinnaswamy stadium in Bangalore, Australia in the first one dayer of the series overshoot its allotted time by a full 15 minutes? At the time, commentators on television suggested that frequent stoppages of play owing to sight-screen problems, the excessive humidity compelling the players to ask frequently for water, the ball needing to be changed, etc had caused the overflow. As it happened, Australia was not docked a single over, on that occasion.

Begs the question somewhat -- does the sight screen malfunction, and humidity increase alarmingly, only when Australia is bowling? Whereas when India bowls and overshoots its time, the only reason is incompetence?

This, in turn, leads to the subject in the spotlight today, in the third part of our series review. To wit, the role played by the media.

When the Australian team landed in India, they were received -- by Indian fans and media alike -- with enormous respect and admiration. In media columns and bar-room discussions, the Australian players were held up as examples the Indians could with profit emulate.

By the time the Aussies took the flight back home, that had changed. Radically. And at least among the general public if not in the media, the feeling was one of anger, tinged with some contempt.

The pity of it is, the Australian team is still deserving of respect and enormous admiration. Their cricket -- which they showcased brilliantly over the course of three hard-fought Tests, did not let them down.

Their media did.

Examples abound -- we will pick just one, to show how.

Check out this report, on the second one-dayer in the series.

The report is 478 words long. Of which, the first 152 words (in other words, one third of an entire article that purports to cover a 100-over one day game) are what can only be described as a diatribe aimed at Sourav Ganguly.

Now read this -- para number five, of the report in question: "Australians Glenn McGrath and Adam Gilchrist were fined half their match fee for misconduct in Sunday's first one-day match at Bangalore".

What misconduct were McGrath and Gilchrist guilty of? When you read this article, you don't know, because though the misconduct was obviously serious enough to bring down the wrath of a generally pacifist match referee, there is no mention here.

Fair enough, you think -- the incident happened in the first ODI, so it would be described in that report. And so, you go looking for details.

And you find this report, on the first ODI in Bangalore. (And in passing, two little points -- firstly, in the interests of fairness, both reports have been sourced from the same publication; and secondly, do note the two final paragraphs -- which underline the point made earlier about not finishing overs in time).

The report is 459 words long. And not one single word even tangentially mentions that there was a problem on the field.

So why were McGrath and Gilchrist fined, pray tell because we would really like to know? If you go by these two reports, you could be pardoned for thinking that Cammie Smith decided to make some pocket change for the ICC, pulled a couple of names out of a hat, and fined them.

Enough said?

Given that this is an analytical piece on reportage and not a review of contemporary fiction, we won't even consider a Mr Robert Craddock who, reporting on Ganguly's dismissal in the final one-dayer, conveniently forgot to mention that the decision was unfair, but did produce this particular "eye-witness" account: "His (Ganguly's) partner, Laxman, knew he was out and gestured to his partner to leave the crease."!!!

Apparently, anything that Ganguly did was a contravention of some rule or the other. Thus, a vehement team appeal over a run-out involving Mark Waugh and Darren Lehmann was just another instance of the Indian captain's arrogant defiance of international cricketing conventions. Whereas when Slater appealed for a catch that was turned down, when the entire team then surrounded the umpire on the field and forced him to refer a decision that had already been given to the third umpire, when the third umpire too turned it down, and when the team including its captain then continued to carry on, to the extent that the disappointed fielder and a couple of his mates showered abuse on the batsman, Rahul Dravid, that was perfectly in accord with ICC norms.

Yeah, right.

Ever heard the slightly flip definition of irregular verbs? "My son is boisterous, hyperactive and very playful, yours in a flicking obnoxious brat!"

Or... Ganguly is international cricket's problem child, the Slaters, McGraths, Pontings, Gilchrists, McGills et al are tough professional cricketers who take pride in winning at all times and at all costs.

Apparently, any old peg was good enough. Take the toss, for instance, and the famous comment that "Ganguly attempted to steal a toss he had not won". An accompanying article, linked to this one, addresses that question -- so for now, I'll just articulate a question that has been in my mind ever since I read that line: What was the reporter in question thinking of when he cast aspersions on the conduct of the toss? Did he imagine that such statements are liable to help matters any, at a time when international cricket has had a bellyful and more of match-fixing allegations? But never mind that, how about the other one, his perpetual late-coming, which drew more space than the actual match reports themselves?

Could it be that Ganguly indulged in gamesmanship? And if yes, so what? Haven't we repeatedly been told that gamesmanship is part and parcel of the modern game? Or are we into irregular verbs territory again -- as in, my captain takes pride in the baggy green and will do anything to win, yours is a flicking brat I wish I could turn over on my lap and spank his bottom?

One point about the whole toss thingy mystifies me, though. How did it go? In the first three ODIs, Ganguly was late for the toss -- reducing Steve Waugh and Cammie Smith to standing out there in the middle, twiddling their thumbs. In the fourth game, he turned up on time, but was "improperly clothed" (What did he do, come in a swimsuit? And while on this, if there is a single line on what constitutes proper attire for the toss, then I have an incomplete copy of the Laws of Cricket (2000 Code) put out by the Marylebone Cricket Club, and the Code of Conduct, Standard Playing Conditions and Other Regulations, put out by the ICC in November 2000).

And for the final ODI, Ganguly -- typical brattish behaviour, this -- landed up too early, and was "asked by the match referee to go back to the boundary line and accompany Steve Waugh out into the middle".

Duh! If the convention is that the captains meet outside the boundary line and then walk out together for the toss, then what, in the first three ODIs, was Waugh doing waiting out there in the middle? Why wasn't he outside the boundary line, waiting for Ganguly so they could walk out together? Or is it only a breach of convention (Poor chap, says the Australian captain in his post tour column, he is leading in his first international series, maybe he doesn't know the rules too well!) when the captain of the host country waits in the middle?

On the evening before the fifth one dayer, Cammie Smith took both captains and team managers aside and read them the riot act. Both captains, mind -- not just the Indian one, which would seem to suggest that the errors were not as one-sided as we are being led to believe. The next morning, Ganguly landed up well on time for the toss, and carried courtesy to the extent that as soon as he saw Waugh, he trotted over to the boundary, handed over his team list to the opposing captain, and then walked back to the middle with him.

Ganguly did not have to do that -- he could, as Waugh did in the first three games, have waited out there in the middle. But even that act of courtesy -- granting for the sake of argument that the courtesy was not innate, but prompted by the match referee's diatribe -- was twisted into yet another example of unacceptable behavior.

The result of this blatantly biased coverage? Indian fans, fed up to the gills with the constant barrage of unadulterated tripe, have blurred the distinction between the team and the media, and associated the team with the intemperate comments of the latter. And this, in turn, has drastically diluted the admiration in which the Australian team was held at the start of the tour.

Meanwhile, those Australian cricket fans who have had to rely on media coverage, as opposed to live action, have come away with a picture that is blatantly distorted, and biased. The upshot? A mind set, Down Under, best summed up in the concluding line of a mail sent to me by an Australian reader: "We will be waiting to say hello to Mr Ganguly when India next comes here on tour."

Cricket rivalries are wonderful for the game -- check out the Ashes series as an example. If five-Test series at the rate of one a year between Australia and England are followed by such vast numbers, the historical and emotional undercurrents of any encounter between these two teams is surely a very important reason. Ditto, the case with India and Pakistan. Such rivalries put warm bodies in the seats in droves, they heighten interest in the game and lift it to a higher plane.

India and Australia have the potential to create such a rivalry. The process, in fact, seems to be already on -- do note that among the first things Steve Waugh said on his return to Australia was that while he didn't think he would be in the next Australian team that tours India, he hoped to have some input into the picking and training of that team. Also, notice that within a week of the tour ending, the ACB saw fit to invite the Indian team for the next edition of indoor cricket.

Before the start of this tour, the two teams had a trophy to play for. Now, they have much more.

It is unfair therefore, and regrettable, that such distorted coverage should, in the minds of the fans, reduce what could grow into a hugely enjoyable cricketing rivalry into a petty squabble between two individuals.

IIlustration:Uttam Ghosh

You can also read: The other side of the coin

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