NEWS
MATCH REPORTS
STAT SHEET
DIARY
HOT LINKS
OTHER SPORTS
SLIDE SHOW
BOOKS & THINGS
DEAR REDIFF

The lone stranger!

Amrit Mathur

After 15 years on the international circuit, Navjot Singh Sidhu is quite unlike other cricketers. Age sets 'Sherry' Sidhu apart - at 30-plus, he is no teenager; in attitude and approach to life he is vastly different. Sidhu is a loner in a team game, someone who prefers his own company, is laid back, and does things on his own terms.

While younger colleagues, stuck in fast forward mode, scurry around as though their tails are on fire, Sidhu is relaxed, at ease. On tour, he is the perfect example of the hotel-ground-airport kind of player, focussed and undistracted. Others find many things to occupy themselves with but Sidhu, after a day's play, reverts to his hotel room, orders an early dinner, reads a book, makes his mandatory call to wife/kids in Patiala, then hits the bed.

"I'm made this way," he says, peeling off his velcro pads after a practise sessions and wiping sweat from his forehead. "Cricket is tough and unforgiving, it requires full time attention, and distractions affect performance."

That, it struck me, is the voice of experience because Sidhu has suffered innumerable blows, both physical and psychological. For someone so obviously gifted - and successful - he hasn't had an uninterrupted run, each time he comes through, something happens to hold him back. Sidhu is like a motorcar racer who keeps running into roadblocks, both going and coming.

"I am like Rana Sangha," he remarks ruefully, referring to the much injured Rajput warrior of yesterage, and adds with a philosophical shrug of the shoulders, "but it is a part of life. You carry on, everyday brings a new challenge, you have to constantly prove yourself. What happened yesterday is over and finished. No point thinking about it."

After a shaky start in 1983, Sidhu reasserted himself in the Reliance World Cup, smashing sixes, sending spinners soaring out of the ground. "I hit straight," he points out in a matter of tone, "because it is safer, a larger area of the bat is being used. A midwicket heave or cross bat shot is asking for trouble, too much risk there."

For a while, Sidhu sailed along smoothly, relying as much on his straight-bat technique as on his determination to get behind the line. Unfazed by pace, he hung on, disregarding the short stuff flying past his face. Opening the innings, confronted by hostile quicks on fierce wickets, he found his courage and character tested but came through it all with remarkable poise.

What established him firmly was scoring a hundred in the West Indies (something Azharuddin hasn't done in all these years). His solid presence at the top lent stability to India's otherwise fragile batting. Over the years he proved and reproved himself, yet it frequently escapes observers that apart from the matchless Sunil Gavaskar, Navjot Singh Sidhu is India's most successful opening bat ever.

Sidhu, modest as always, refuses to dwell on past achievements, preferring to give the credit to the almighty for having blessed him with good fortune. "I am privileged and lucky," he says, with a maturity that emanates from the realisation that success is temporary, failure unavoidable and crushingly humbling. "God has been most kind to me - you do your best, the rest is in His hands."

While that is unarguable considering it takes just one good ball to get you out. The task is harder for him because, going first up when the ball is hard and the wicket's pace and bounce an unknown quantity, everything is uncertain and the unplayable delivery first up a most definite possibility. Sidhu doesn't worry about sheer pace, but admits that in his initial stages he finds movement away from off stump disconcerting. And the problem is more acute, he says, when a damp track makes the ball stop a bit.

Other players are weighed down by fear of failure, but Sidhu, from long years of experience, has learnt to overcome the anxiety. One is a bit apprehensive, he concedes, but butterflies in the stomach only helps him concentrate better. "Pressure makes you focus on what you have to do," he shrugs.

The ultimate job for a batsman is to get runs, and for an opener to do this, it is necessary to employ what Sidhu terms horizontal-bat strokes. Without the cut or pull, he asks, how are you going to make runs? Professional bowlers don't pitch up enough to let you drive, half volleys are scarce and without strokes off the back foot, scoring opportunities are blocked, defensive prodding doesn't get you anywhere.

That is why, he says, he prefers to cut, and cut hard, to keep the momentum going. The other option is to pull but that, he adds, is laced with risk, the chances of error are far greater and he prefers not to play that shot at least until he is very well set.

With the modern game getting tigheter by the day, batsmen are striving to eliminate risk. "Nobody gives you a second chance, nowadays cricket is exceedingly tough," says Sidhu. "Much more thought goes into games, all strategies are worked out in advance, vidoes of batsmen studied by opposing bowlers. If you drive, then they know better than to give you half volleys, if you cut they place a deep point for you, if you play the lofted drive regularly then you get a long on from ball one. And to make matters worse, fielding standards are amazing, anything that goes in the air is promptly held, fiedlers are like circus acrobats these days."

And still Sidhu soldiers on, driven by a strong need to prove himslef in an intensely competitive sport. Compared to others in the Indian dressing room, he may be old fashioned, out of tune with the younger members of the squad. But for Sidhu, none of that matters - he marches to the beat of a different drummer, and doesn't care who knows it."