Was Greg Chappell really a terrible coach of India?

Chappell and India. You can't ask for a more compelling plot or cast of characters writes Karthik Krishnaswamy in Cricinfo 

The leaked email, the crowd that cheered the opposition, the punch at an airport: Greg Chappell's tumultuous, two-year tenure as India's head coach contains every ingredient you could wish for if you're writing cricket's version of The Damned Utd, the David Peace novel - later adapted into a movie - that tried to get inside Brian Clough's head during his ill-fated, 44-day spell as manager of Leeds United in 1974.

Chappell and India. You can't ask for a more compelling plot or cast of characters. The coach was one of the game's great batsmen and enigmas, upright and elegant but also cold and sneering, a man who once made his brother bowl underarm to kill a one-day game. This man takes over a team of superstars and attempts, perhaps hastily and certainly without a great deal of diplomacy, to remake them in his own image. He precipitates the removal of a long-serving captain who commands a great deal of adoration within the dressing room, and challenges other senior players to break out of their comfort zones without preparing, perhaps, for the inevitable resistance. There are successes, but there's one massive, glaring failure, and with that the entire project comes crashing down. 

If you wrote it well, there wouldn't be heroes or villains, just the universal story of proud and insecure men trying and failing to connect with each other. But it hasn't usually been told that way, certainly not in India, where Chappell remains a hugely polarising figure.

Of those who played under him, most of the prominent voices who have written or spoken about Chappell have had almost nothing good to say of him - Sourav Ganguly, needless to say, but others too. Sachin Tendulkar, VVS Laxman, Zaheer Khan, Harbhajan Singh and Virender Sehwag have all stuck the knife in at various points, and all of them have laid one major charge at Chappell's feet, that he was a poor man-manager.

"Greg," Tendulkar wrote in his book Playing It My Way, "was like a ringmaster who imposed his ideas on the players without showing any signs of being concerned about whether they felt comfortable or not."

Perhaps there's some truth to the idea that Chappell didn't know how to get the best out of a diverse group of players, and that he lacked the instinct to be able to tell whom to cajole and whom to kick up the backside. But while one group of players has been unsparingly critical of Chappell's methods, other prominent voices - Anil Kumble, Yuvraj Singh, MS Dhoni, and above all Rahul Dravid - have largely stayed silent on the matter. Irfan Pathan has rejected, on multiple occasions, the widely held notion that Chappell was responsible for his decline as a swing bowler after a promising start to his career. Pathan was one of a group of younger players heavily backed by Chappell, alongside Yuvraj, Dhoni (whose leadership potential Chappell was one of the first to spot) and Suresh Raina.

Of course, players are the last people you would go to for a dispassionate appraisal of their coach's ideas and methods. If Chappell wanted Zaheer Khan dropped, you wouldn't ask Zaheer Khan if he thought it was a good idea. You wouldn't ask Harbhajan or Sehwag, two players whose early careers Ganguly had a major influence on, whether it was right to strip him of the captaincy.

Let's look, therefore, at some numbers.

The Ganguly question is the easiest to answer. Chappell put forward the idea that he step down from the captaincy during India's tour of Zimbabwe in September 2005. From the start of 2001 to that point, Ganguly had averaged 34.01 in 61 Test innings against all teams other than Bangladesh and Zimbabwe.

Excluding matches against Bangladesh, Zimbabwe and the Associates, his ODI numbers in the same period were just as poor: an average of 30.71, a strike rate of 72.32. Since the start of 2003, he had fared even worse against the top eight ODI teams: 1077 runs in 45 matches at an average of 25.04 and a strike rate of 67.39.

There were performance-related issues behind other players' disagreements with Chappell too. Take Khan, for instance. From the end of the Brisbane Test of December 2003, where he bagged a first-innings five-for, to the Karachi Test of January-February 2006, he took 39 wickets in 15 Tests at 42.41. In that Karachi Test and right through that tour of Pakistan, he was visibly pudgy, bowled off a short run-up, and struggled to move the speedometer needle past the 130kph mark.

Khan's fitness - and Sehwag's - had always been a sticking point with Chappell. Left out of India's next two Test series - against England at home and in the West Indies - Khan signed for Worcestershire and enjoyed a tremendous county season, during which he grew fitter and rediscovered his bowling form. He was a rejuvenated force when he returned to Test cricket on the 2006-07 tour of South Africa, and Chappell, writing in his book Fierce Focus, noted that Khan and Ganguly - who was also making a comeback - were two of India's best players on that tour. "Whether they had improved in order to spite me or prove me right, I didn't care. It cheered me greatly to see them in much better shape than they had been when I started in the job."

In ODIs, India were a poor chasing team when Chappell arrived - their last 20 completed chases before he took over had brought them just five wins, four of those against Zimbabwe or Bangladesh - and they realised the best way to become better at it was to keep doing it. They kept choosing to bowl when they won the toss, and eventually became so good at chasing that they won 17 successive matches batting second.

Before Chappell and Dravid joined forces, India had been hugely reluctant to play five bowlers even when conditions demanded it. Under them, it became a routine occurrence. India were lucky, perhaps, to have an allrounder who made it possible, but it's a telling statistic that the highest Pathan batted in 32 ODIs under Ganguly was No. 7, and that was just once, though he scored two half-centuries from those positions and regularly showed promise with the bat. Dravid regularly used Pathan at No. 3, suggesting either that this was his idea in the first place, or that he was far more willing than Ganguly to take on board one of Chappell's. (Pathan himself has suggested it was Tendulkar's idea.)While one group of players has been critical of Chappell's methods, the likes of Dravid largely stayed silent Getty Images

Under Chappell and Dravid, India often played five bowlers in Test cricket too, showing a willingness to risk losing in order to take 20 wickets and win games. It meant leaving out the sixth batsman, and while Ganguly was the first casualty, the rise of Yuvraj and Mohammad Kaif as ODI regulars knocking hard on the Test door put a bit of pressure on Laxman as well. He was left out of two home Tests against England in 2006, and also had to move up and down the order a fair bit, especially if the batsman left out was one of the regular openers.

This led to the insecurities that Laxman has since expressed in his book, 281 and Beyond, and Chappell, perhaps, didn't do enough to allay them. Chappell admits this failing himself in Fierce Focus, calling his mistakes the "same kinds […] I'd made as captain in my playing days. I didn't communicate my plans well enough to the senior players. I should have let guys like Tendulkar, Laxman and Sehwag know that although I was an agent of change, they were still part of our Test cricket future."

That old man-management thing again. But there was nothing fundamentally wrong with asking a senior player to occasionally sit out games or bat in unfamiliar positions, in order to execute a larger plan for the team's good.

Playing five bowlers, being willing to leave out established players, making fitness a non-negotiable, encouraging players to come out of their comfort zones: if the broad ideas of the Chappell-Dravid era, and the tensions that came out of implementing them, seem eerily familiar, it's because you've seen it all happen - though probably allied with better communication - under Ravi Shastri and Virat Kohli. And that, perhaps, is Chappell's biggest legacy.

Great coaches can get entire teams to buy in to their ideas, and even they - as Clough showed, either side of his Leeds misadventure, at Derby County and Nottingham Forest - need to be at the right place at the right time. Chappell and the India of 2005-07 weren't necessarily made for each other, and the early exit from the 2007 World Cup made that relationship untenable. It may not have lasted too much longer than that in any case, given the breakdown of trust within the dressing room that Chappell contributed to with his tendency to air his criticisms of players to the media.

There isn't a huge deal of evidence from the rest of his coaching career to suggest Chappell had the makings of a great coach anyway. But good ideas are good ideas, no matter how well they're communicated, and Indian cricket continues to benefit from the ones he left behind.

No jokes please, we’re Indian

Editorial in The Hindu

Sometimes the reaction is the real joke. The police force in India’s financial capital have sought legal opinion to check if they have grounds to file an FIR against a comedian for a video he recently posted on the messaging application, Snapchat. The Mumbai police were following up on a complaint from the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, a political party with a remarkably low threshold for taking offence. And the MNS was not the only party outraged by the post by Tanmay Bhat, a comedian fairly well-known for his “roast videos”, or takedowns of celebrities. Sanjay Raut of the Shiv Sena, for instance, decided to make it clear that people like Mr. Bhat “should be whipped in public”. Using the “face swap” feature on Snapchat, Mr. Bhat had spoofed Sachin Tendulkar and Lata Mangeshkar, with jibes about his cricketing ability and her long singing career. It was certainly not polite. It could be argued that locker-room chatter goes with the roast territory, and that it is in the nature of the beast to push the boundary of how much political incorrectness can be deemed passable. The point here is not to applaud his sense of humour — or to condemn it. It is to spotlight the speed with which the system mobilises to shut any expression of mockery targeted at the well-known.

That the effect is to stifle freedom of expression, to force the next person to look over her shoulder before mocking the next public figure, is obvious and intended. To be mocked is the most trying way of being critiqued. One can ignore evenly stated takedowns — not spoofs that make folks laugh. To deal with mockery in a democratic society, one needs to be committed to a public culture of engagement, of openness to questioning. India’s public figures are clearly not. Politicians and celebrities (mainly film and cricket stars) have failed India not just by using the strongest arm of the law to curb expressions of humour aimed at them, thereby forcing self-censorship on what we may laugh about. They have failed it by not enabling sensitisation on what should pass as good humour and what may not. When jokiness is curbed so menacingly — and for all the brave front they may put up, cartoonists and comedians are lonely people against the might of the state — the only response is to rally to defend freedom of expression. In an environment where possibly personal jokes are seen to warrant scrutiny and police action, no space can be available for shared humour, for comedy to evolve sufficiently so that the larger community internalises what is truly, even rockingly, funny and what’s not so progressive.

Captain Cook and loyalty in sport

Simon Barnes in Cricinfo

If England want to reach the World Cup quarter-finals, they are more likely to do it without Cook, but dropping him would be disloyal © Getty Images

Loyalty is seen as one of sport's cardinal virtues - even though calculated disloyalty is sometimes a shatteringly effective tactic. Take Jimmy Greaves. A great footballer, but the England manager Alf Ramsey showed him no loyalty and dropped him in the course of the World Cup of 1966, preferring Geoff Hurst. Hurst scored a hat-trick in the final, Greaves became an alcoholic.

Yet there are times when loyalty counts. During that same tournament, so dear to the English mind, there were calls from British politicians to drop Nobby Stiles because of his "dirty" play - and people in the Football Association thought they had a point. But Ramsey said he'd resign if ordered to drop Stiles. Stiles stayed, was destructive and brilliant, and England won the tournament.

Loyalty, then, is an equivocal thing, in sport as in anything else. Loyalty isn't a virtue plain and simple: it depends on what - and whom - you are loyal to. Liverpool Football Club made a great show of their loyalty to their forward Luis Suarez when he was accused of racism. Suarez was found guilty and Liverpool's loyalty looked like self-serving parochialism.

Indian cricket remained loyal to Sachin Tendulkar and indulged him right to the end. Would it have been wiser, kinder, more dignified to have moved him on while he had that gloriously imperfect - and Bradmanesque - 99 international centuries to his name? Instead of waiting until he had scored his 100th, inevitably in a losing cause against Bangladesh? In the last couple of seasons Tendulkar lost some of his poetry.

This year English cricket has been all about loyalty. I'm not saying this as a fanciful observer: loyalty was the agenda set by those who run the English game. It's as if they had determined that cricket should become a morality play, one in which the good end happily and the bad unhappily.

But they haven't. Good and bad look equally unhappy.

Perhaps they thought that loyalty was a simple issue. If so, they have been sadly disabused. Poor old Alastair Cook: it was never his ambition to be a symbol of righteousness. He just wanted to play cricket and score runs, and for a while he was immensely good at it.

	Be very careful before you get moral in public. Especially in sport. Runs are not the reward for good behaviour. Nasty men can also score centuries

But they forced him into the role of Captain Loyal: compare and contrast with Kevin Pietersen, Batsman Vile. Pietersen was sacked for various crimes of disloyalty, despite being England's top scorer in their disastrous tour of Australia last winter.

They couldn't just drop him: they wanted Pietersen publicly disgraced. Accordingly, they staked everything on Cook as Pietersen's antithesis: hero to Pietersen's antihero; quiet, composed and decent where Pietersen is loud, rude and self-advertising; generous and team-minded where Pietersen is self-obsessed; above all loyal where Pietersen is disloyal.

A lot of that is a pretty good fit, but this is sport, not politics, and in sport you can't get by on bluster and good intentions. Cook is a batsman and a batsman needs runs. Cook at his best is one of the most certain players who ever took guard. But the traumas of the winter made that certainty a thing of shreds and patches.

He began to rebuild his life post Ashes, post KP. He was greatly helped by India's feeble performance in last summer's Test series, but now, as cricket gets ready for the World Cup early next year, the question of loyalty crops up once again.

For Cook is having a disastrous series against Sri Lanka. England haven't a clue about 50-over cricket, never have; beneath their dignity, I suppose. Cook's attempts to be a one-day batsman mix Dad-dancing embarrassment with Candide-like naiveté. And he has scored no runs.

So England are in a difficult situation. When does it become appropriate to be disloyal to Captain Loyal? Ex-players are saying it's time he was dropped as both captain and player from the one-day team. The most intriguing argument, from the Guardian's Mike Selvey, is that his scrappy one-day batting has removed the certainty from his Test match play.

The irrefragable fact is that Cook is not good enough as either batsman or captain in the 50-over game. If England want to put on a respectable show at the World Cup - i.e. reach the quarter-finals - they are more likely to do it without Cook. But dropping him would be rather disloyal, and this is a team that is flamboyantly built on loyalty.

Eoin Morgan, Cook's likely replacement, is in equally poor batting form © Getty Images

Naturally the players are showing public loyalty to Cook: strong man, difficult patch, got the character to pull through etc etc. But that's their job; they are not going to say: Well, Cookie's struggling, I think I ought to do the job instead.

In sport, as in politics, looking loyal is the default position.

The selectors are now wondering about the cost of public disloyalty. So here's some advice: don't do it unless you have a plausible alternative. Don't drop Bradley Wiggins as your main man in the Tour de France unless you have Chris Froome already in the team. Team Sky were bold enough to risk such disloyalty, and that's how they won the event in 2012 and then 2013.

And here's some more advice. Pity it comes too late, really: be very careful before you get moral in public. Especially in sport. You have to accept that runs are not the reward for good behaviour. And that nasty men can also score centuries. It's also true that a person whose nature is fundamentally disloyal can do a fine job for a team. There's something offensive about the very idea but every team that has even known success has experienced it to some degree. Certainly England have.

But if not Cook, who? Eoin Morgan is the obvious choice, but he can't buy a run either and looks like a busted flush. No point in being publicly disloyal to Captain Loyal - and finding yourself even worse off. So here's the moral: sport may be a minefield but it's not half as explosive as morality.

The Mudgal report on IPL corruption names five players, as top guns resist capitulation for now

Mihir Srivastava in Outlook India

An IPL Game Of Spot, Bet And Fix
How it all started

• The IPL betting and match-fixing scam became public when the Pune and Kochi teams were disqualified
• The Kochi team had already seen a controversy involving Shashi Tharoor and the now-deceased Sunanda Pushkar
• The Tharoor row led to the exit of IPL founder-commissioner Lalit Modi and his row with BCCI chief N. Srinivasan

What we know now

• The conduct of at least 12 players, including two Australians, invited the scrutiny of Justice Mukul Mudgal
• Indians include five members of the 2011 World Cup-winning squad, two of whom are from the same IPL team
• The owners of at least three IPL teams are believed to be involved in the match-fixing racket
• Nearly 70 per cent of players are believed to be involved in betting on matches indirectly, if not directly
• Given the high purchase costs, team owners and associates have an added incentive to pre-decide match results

***

Indian cricket finds itself on a barely playable wicket. Justice Mukul Mudgal might indirectly have a say on India’s World Cup 2015 squad if the apex court makes public names of top Indian cricketers mentioned in his report on the alleged betting and spot/match-fixing in season 6 of the Indian Premier League (IPL). Top sources say that the 38-page report (with 5,000 pages of annexures) names around a dozen names of former and current players, Indian and international, with their roles in the multi-billion dollar scandal. Players, administrators, politicians, film stars and corporate czars are all protagonists in this sordid drama. It seems like the first draft of a crime thriller.

Although codewords like ‘Individual 2’ and ‘Individual 3’ have been bandied about, the fact is the report names five Indian players who were part of the World Cup-winning team of 2011. Talented and temperamental, they run cricket academies, invest in the hospitality industry and event management, even advertising firms. Their partners in these ventures are the same set of people who form the link between them and the bookies; some are bookies themselves. Moreover, they are Page 3 regulars.

Take the case of a left-handed all-rou­nder. He broke down when questioned by Justice Mudgal. There wasn’t any dispute about his involvement, he was just begging that he be not named and pleaded for a life of dignity, says an insider, a cop involved in the investigation. Mercy, not justice, was also sought by a close friend of this cricketer, his teammate in the World Cup squad. A bowler known to pick fights on and off the cricket field, who spends more time in Mumbai, outside his home state.

The ‘Individual 3’ mentioned in Justice Mudgal’s report is a Chennai Super Kings player. A prolific run-getter and a god-fearing man, he visits the Sai Baba temple in Shirdi regularly with two bookies by his side, and has the protection and patronage of top cricket administrators. The fourth is a celebrity fast bow­ler with a career punctuated by injuries, who was often too unwell to play for the country, but was always fit for the IPL. He, too, has the backing of powerful team-owners. The most significant name is of a top idol, whose incredibly short saga of rags to riches is as exemplary as his passion for speed.

-----India 2011 World Cup team members:

Dhoni, Sehwag, Gambhir, Tendulkar, Yuvraj, Raina, Kohli, Zaheer, Sreesanth, Harbhajan, Y Pathan, Munaf, Nehra, Chawla and Ashwin

----

The flaw, as pointed out over the years by wise men, is in the IPL itself. It had so much to offer to players, administrators, umpires, even commentators, that the whole venture had an unviable air about it. It wasn’t  charity either, where the glitterati altruistically invested to lose money. Instead, it turned out to be a money-­spinner. With marquee pla­yers being bought for millions of dollars, glitz on the ground and expe­nsive after-match parties, intelligent guesses always pointed to dirty money.

The first confirmation came when the Delhi police arrested three players—Sreesanth, Ajith Chandila and Ankeet Chavan—in 2013 for their role in spot-fixing and betting. Neeraj Kumar, the then Delhi police commissioner, refutes the charges that the cops let off the big fish. He confirms that many players were named by the bookies, but that he couldn’t have acted on mere accusations, without conclusive evidence. Rajasthan Royals owner Raj Kundra, he says, confessed to betting, but there was no corroborative evidence, and territorial jurisdiction was an issue. “The investigation was carried out objectively, was able to nail down large number of bookies and set off a chain reaction, with police in other metropolises also ending up investigating betting,” he says. One such investigator was G. Sampath Kumar of the Tamil Nadu police. He was suspended from his job last week on the charges of rec­e­i­ving Rs 55 lakh from a bookie, Uttam C. Jain alias Kitty.

Yellow fever A match involving Chennai Super Kings, now under a corruption-shaped cloud. (Photograph by AFP, From Outlook 01 December 2014)

A family member of one of the three players arrested by the Delhi police met Outlook in a coffee shop at Delhi’s Bengali market. The prosecuted three are just the tip of the iceberg, he says, and the submerged iceberg covers nearly the whole system. The IPL is but a gambling festival, he says, giving examples of how his relative was pulled into betting and match-fixing. “No player can escape the bookies. It’s not a choice,” he says.

---- Also Read

Sreesanth - Another modern day Valmiki?

----

While the Delhi police couldn’t gather enough incriminating evi­dence against the ‘big fish’, Justice Mudgal is forthright about some of them. N. Sriniv­asan—the man who controls both the BCCI and the IPL—can be accused of blatant conflict of interest, says a senior lawyer and cricket administrator. “He’s both the umpire and the player,” he says.

A left-handed all-rounder broke down before Justice Mudgal. The guilty man begged not to be named.

The Mudgal report clearly says that Srinivasan was aware of betting and match-fixing, and he preferred to be a mute spectator. His son-in-law, Gurunath Meiyappan, virtually ran Chennai Super Kings. In the nebulous role of a ‘principal’, he attended team meetings and was a regular companion of players on the ground. It’s clear he was anything but what India and CSK ski­pper Mahendra Singh Dhoni told the Mudgal committee—a “mere cricket enthusiast”. Though lying to an apex court committee is considered perjury, Dhoni, also a vice-president of  Sriniva­san’s India Cements, has consistently bat­ted for his team’s owner. Dhoni’s wife Sakshi was frequently spotted watching IPL matches with former Boll­ywood actor Vindoo Dara Singh, also an acc­used in the 2013 IPL spot-­fixing scandal. In a sting operation by Zee News, Vindoo outlandishly claimed the match-­fixing fiasco was actually the fallout of a fight between  ncp (and former BCCI) chief Sharad Pawar and Srinivasan.


Apart from Meiyappan, the Mud­gal report says IPL chief operating officer Sundar Raman had admitted doing nothing even after knowing that Raj Kundra was involved in bet­ting. Furthermore, a third team (CSK and RR being the other two)—from the renowned stable of good times—is named in the clutch of outfits where the owners/their fam­ily members bet on their own team’s performance.

An eagle eye Justice Mukul Mudgal

Aditya Varma, secretary of the Bihar Cricket Association, treats the battle against corruption in cricket as a personal crusade, and has kept on the warpath in the face of both dire threats and propitiatory wads of cash. He presents a scenario: “If an owner bets, and lets his players, captain and the rest, know that he wants the team to get out on a specific score, say 120 runs, then it’s not betting, it’s match-fixing.”

Varma says there are two categories of culprits—administrators and players. Not bookies, he says, as that’s their job. There are two ways, he says, in which betting/match-fixing takes place: when the match is fixed with the help of owners or administrators, and when players themselves take the initiative for spot-fixing. Bookies are known to live in the same hotel as the players, and interact freely with them during parties. “I will seek an investigation in the conduct of all teams and owners. The story is much murkier than it looks,” says Varma.

As parts of the report have been made public, the government has responded with silence. The top politicians of the country have been, or are, cricket administrators—Arun Jaitley, Amit Shah, Sharad Pawar, Rajiv Shukla and Shashi Tharoor, to name a few. The politics of cricket has little to do with their party affiliations. The Narendra Modi government—seeking a global effort to retrieve billions of dollars of black money stashed in foreign banks—has chosen to ignore the cancer that is eating away Indian cricket. Union finance minister and former Delhi Cricket Association chief Arun Jaitley is mum too. Rajiv Shukla, former IPL chairman and a minister in the UPA cabinet, is anxious about the issue and is actively following the events, says a close friend. Some revered former players have also kept their counsel, perhaps because they are beneficiaries of the system. And Sachin Tendulkar’s autobiography, Playing It My Way, is silent about these murky depths in cricket, though some of his close friends are under the scanner.

In April this year, the SC had rejected the BCCI’s proposal to constitute a three-member committee to investig­ate the spot-fixing and betting charges, com­prising ex-CBI director R.K. Rag­­havan, cricketer Ravi Sha­stri and former Cal­cutta High Court chief justice Jai Narain Patel. Raghavan is an affiliated member of the Tamil Nadu Cricket Ass­ociation, headed by Srinivasan, Sha­stri is a salaried BCCI employee and Patel’s bro­­­ther-in-law is Shivlal Yadav, the then interim board president for non-IPL affairs.

The audacious guile that led to the pro­­posal of the panel resurfaced in the belligerence with which the BCCI has made light of the Mudgal committee’s report even before it’s considered by the Supreme Court—belittling it as ‘invalid’, asking the Supreme Court to form another panel and reinstate Srinivasan as BCCI chief (though forced to step down on November 3, he has been effectively in charge through proxy), while the probe is being conducted.

“The ball is now with the apex court, and chances of tampering is less,” says a former cricketer and BCCI office-bearer. With the ball swinging under favourable conditions, wickets might go down in a heap, taking with them reputations and hard-earned records.

'In cricket, if you allow yourself to relax, you'll be swept away' Saeed Ajmal

Umar Farooq's interview with Saeed Ajmal in Cricinfo

Everyone in Pakistan either wants to be a fast bowler or a batsman. How did you end up a spinner?
I was a fast bowler until 15. I used to play mostly with a tennis ball covered in vinyl electrical tape. My school captain Maqsood Ahmed encouraged me to try off spin. He felt I might be more successful as a spinner. He probably noticed that my height and build weren't good for fast bowling. It was a breakthrough. So here I am.

What does cricket mean to you?
Cricket is a tough game. I would say 90% of the time it makes you cry, but the 10% that forms the good parts is truly worth it. The key to success, I think, is to bear the bad days with a smile. If you can do that, the good days become more and more frequent.

You made a relatively late entry into international cricket, playing your first Test when nearly 32. How come?
I cannot tell why I took so long and who and what were the forces that delayed my entry into international cricket. I'd rather focus on my present and future rather than cursing my past. God has given me this personal quality of shrugging off failure quickly and not taking disappointments to heart. That's just the way I am and this approach has helped me greatly in life. I simply refuse to be disappointed.

How did you master the doosra?
I learned to bowl the doosra by watching video footage of Saqlain Mushtaq's bowling during my days in England playing league cricket. I never got any direct tips from him but I closely studied him bowling the doosra on video.

But way before that, Aqeel Ahmed, who played for Faisalabad, could bowl a pretty good one. Variation is a key weapon for any spinner. I used to watch Aqeel take wicket after wicket with his doosra and I wanted to do the same. I felt confident that if he can do it I could too.

Is it still a problem for you to bowl to left-handers?
During the early phase of my career it was. It had almost become a mental block. Left-handers are supposed to be fearful of offspinners, but I could see that I wasn't making them afraid. It became very frustrating for me and I knew I had to do something about it. I thought to myself, I have this ball in my hand, that's my biggest weapon; why am I not able to use this weapon effectively against left-handers? I worked hard at the problem, going to the nets and bowling at left-handed batsmen for long periods. Allah was kind and I was able to work out my deficiencies. Over the last year and a half to two years, it has ceased to be a problem. I came at the problem with a positive mental attitude. I fine-tuned my doosra for left-hand batsmen.

Do you fear that overusing the doosra might make you predictable?
I don't think I overuse it. When I look at the left-handers I've dismissed over the last two years, 70% have fallen to the doosra. I use it because it works. To me, that's effective use, not overuse. If I find that a batsman is uncomfortable against the doosra, I'll bowl exactly that to him, even if I end up bowling ten doosras in a row.

We heard you were offered the Pakistan captaincy.
I don't want to put myself forward for captaincy. I think I am better as a team player. I do think about being captain of Pakistan, but I am reluctant too. Captaincy in Pakistan is not easy. The captain ends up being blamed for anything that goes wrong. Just look at Mohammad Hafeez. He resigned after our exit from this year's World T20. Why? It's because all the blame was being dumped on him. I have been approached for captaincy but I declined. I want to be relaxed about my cricket. God has blessed me with a sunny disposition and I want to keep it that way.

Misbah-ul-Haq has been outstanding in this role. In fact, when you consider the circumstances in which he has performed his job, I would say his services as captain are greater than even Imran Khan's. Yet he doesn't always receive his due. He's been a tremendous leader during an extremely difficult time for Pakistan and he's been our leading run getter. Yet each time we lose a match, people forget about his magnificent contributions. They start demanding that he be dropped. I really fail to understand this. Even as a batsman, people complain he's too slow, that he blocks a lot, does a lot of tuk-tuk. This is not fair to Misbah. He is a watchful batsman and becomes extra-watchful if the team is losing wickets from the other end, which often happens with us. His approach is appropriate and serves the interests of the team. I can tell you as a bowler that it pleases me greatly to see Misbah standing at the crease. If he is batting, it gives me heart that I will have runs to bowl at.

	"As a bowler that it pleases me greatly to see Misbah standing at the crease. If he is batting, it gives me heart that I will have runs to bowl at"

Don't you think Misbah is over-reliant on you and that this keeps you under pressure all the time?
I agree that they rely heavily on me. This is a responsibility I accept with a sense of honour and humility. I am there to be used as and when my captain needs. I am never sure which overs I'm going to bowl, when I'm going to get called upon. I remain alert all the time, ready to serve. All I know is that whenever my captain calls on me, I have to give it everything. There was a time when I used to feel anxious that I could get called upon unpredictably, but I no longer feel any pressure about it.

Cricket is a team game, so you obviously can't get five or ten wickets all the time. Others too have to respond to contribute.
Whether it's the first over or the last, whether the boundary is short or long, whether the batsman is new or well-set, I always answer the call of my captain. I would never say, hey, that's a short boundary over there, I don't want to bowl from this end. That's just not me. I have a sense of duty about it. Whenever I'm called upon, my answer always is, come on, give me the ball.

You can never relax in cricket. You have to keep working at the game all the time, keep trying and learning new things. If you allow yourself to relax, you'll be swept away. It's an unpredictable game. You can never be sure of what's going to happen next. It can also be a cruel game. It can give you a lot of heartache.

You have never played Test cricket in your country. How does that feel?
It is perhaps the greatest misfortune of my career that I have been forced to play nearly all my international matches outside Pakistan. I have played over 200 international matches by now and only three have been in Pakistan. None of my 33 Tests has been in Pakistan.

I grew up watching many Tests at Iqbal Stadium, in my home town of Faisalabad, and used to dream of one day playing there myself. That has yet to happen. I can't say if it ever will. I am extremely keen to play in front of my own people. Few things would give me greater joy. I keep praying for the quick return of international cricket to Pakistan. If it happens after my retirement, it will leave me very sad indeed. I do agree that our team has nicely managed to adopt the UAE as a second home, but my heart still aches with the desire to play at home. I want to see the intensity of support I am able to attract here. That is something I would like to experience. We have played our so-called home matches in a number of locations, including the UAE, England, Sri Lanka, and even New Zealand. These locations have all been welcoming and provided top-notch facilities, but they aren't home. It's different when I come to Pakistan. Just breathing the air here makes me feel better.

As one of the world's top spinners, do you miss playing in the IPL?
No doubt it would be better for us if we could be included in the IPL. But the loss is only financial. We're all playing a good deal of cricket as it is, so we're not losing out on that count. But yes, Pakistani players fully deserve to be included in the IPL. I can understand why they might want to exclude us from matches inside India, but the IPL has now been exported to South Africa and the UAE. There should be no hesitation in including us when the games are being played outside India. I would even ask the IPL organisers to host matches in Pakistan. Why not? It would be good for the fans and our players would benefit. It will reveal the close bond and mutual affection that exists between Indians and Pakistanis. That is what should be allowed to truly define the relationship between our countries.

There has lately been some talk about reviving bilateral series between India and Pakistan. I would love to see that. I dearly hope it happens.

You predicted you'd take a ten-wicket haul in Cape Town last year before the start of the match. How did you feel it coming?
The first thing I do whenever I arrive at any ground is to go look at the pitch. At the start of the Cape Town Test, a commentator and a TV cameraman were standing there doing a pitch report. When I saw the surface I couldn't help rubbing my hands in glee. The camera managed to get a shot of me rubbing my hands together. It appeared to be a pitch tailor-made for me. I can't explain it in words and I can't tell you what I saw in that pitch that made me feel this way, but I sensed I would be taking wickets.

It was just this realisation that arose from somewhere deep inside. It just happens that way sometimes in cricket. If you're a batsman, there are days when you'll play your first scoring shot and right away you can sense you'll be making a hundred today. That's the kind of feeling that Cape Town pitch gave me. I took ten wickets in that game, so it proved correct.

Did you lose faith in technology in cricket after Sachin Tendulkar was not given out off your bowling in the 2011 World Cup?
I was left dumbfounded when Hawk-Eye gave Tendulkar not out in the semi-final in Mohali. As I understand it, the way the system was set up back then, it was controlled by a producer who could influence the images. Now it has been improved and the technical people are required to present all the available angles to the third umpire without editing.

I am telling you: Sachin was 100% out. He was lbw. As far as I am concerned, it did not reflect the truth of the event. In fact, this is not just my view, it is what the entire cricket world thinks. But we move on and so does the technology. I believe it is evolving and learning from its mistakes. I am fine with it.

What encouraged you to start a cricket academy in Faisalabad?
Pakistan has immense cricketing talent but we lack proper facilities. This is where the PCB should place its energies and focus. My effort to establish a properly equipped and organised cricket academy is also motivated by this concern. I am eager to get it done while I am still active internationally. I know nobody will give me the time of day after I retire. So time is short and I need to be efficient and take advantage of the opportunity. The Faisalabad authorities and the leadership of the Agricultural University have been most helpful. I am extremely grateful to them.

	"If I find that a batsman is uncomfortable against the doosra, I'll bowl exactly that to him, even if I end up bowling ten doosras in a row" © AFP  Enlarge

The country used to be known for its fast bowlers but your success might change that.
I would agree that the quality of seam bowlers from Pakistan has declined somewhat. I think the reason is that we have started making green and bowler-friendly wickets in domestic matches. In the old days, the wickets were dead and bowlers had to try hard to succeed. They were forced to learn tricks and skills. After all this toil they would come into the international arena and find helpful wickets and they would be able to dominate easily. Now the situation is reversed. Our bowlers are being raised on seaming surfaces. They perform adequately on green pitches, but if they come across a batting wicket they are unable to adjust and end up getting badly punished. I would advise the PCB to favour batting surfaces in our domestic set-up. It will certainly be good for the bowlers - both spinners and seamers - and I am sure it will produce a few great batsmen too.

What have been the highs and lows of your career so far?
The best moment of my career, I will say, is the 3-0 Test whitewash over England in the UAE in early 2012.

There have, of course, been a number of bad moments too. Losing last year's Cape Town Test against South Africa, despite my ten wickets, was a terrible blow. There is the ODI against South Africa in Sharjah last year, where I took four wickets and we had a modest target to chase, but we had an awful collapse, losing the last six batsmen for only 16 or 17.

And of course, there is the last over I bowled to Michael Hussey in the 2010 World T20 semi-final.

But I would say the absolute worst match of my career was a Test against West Indies in the summer of 2011. I took 11 wickets in that game. Despite conceding a first-innings lead, we had a reasonably modest fourth-innings target and we still lost. That hurt deeply. It still hurts when I think about it. I had this bagful of wickets but it gave me no real sense of achievement.

How do you expect Pakistan to do in the 2015 World Cup?
The next World Cup remains less than a year away. I have a feeling its location in Australia and New Zealand is going to suit us. My prediction is we are going to do well. Our batsmen have a flair for playing shots on bouncy wickets. They love to cut, for example. The Akmal brothers Umar and Kamran, opener Ahmad Shehzad, even Hafeez, and the newcomer Sohaib Maqsood - they are all happy on bouncy tracks. They all love it when the ball comes quickly onto the bat.

The Tendulkar Prism

Hassan Cheema

 | 

11 April 2014 

In the 90s, Pakistan were just vastly better at cricket than India, and Pakistanis assumed it had always been so. They viewed Sachin Tendulkar as the leader of a group of wannabes and never-will-bes, not a match-winner. © AFP

Sachin Tendulkar’s retirement from limited-overs cricket in December 2012 brought them out in full force. By the time he said goodbye to Test cricket, nearly a year later, they were tired and outnumbered, but clung desperately to their self-created bubble. Beyond the plethora of heartfelt eulogies was a world – mostly confined to the privacy of living rooms and online message boards – where Tendulkar wasn’t the God worshipped by a billion. Here, where contrarians and trolls live, he was far from the match-winner he was made out to be. Inevitably, this universe consisted overwhelmingly of Pakistanis. For a generation of them, Tendulkar’s career wasn’t just the story of arguably the greatest batsman of his era, and unarguably the biggest star in modern cricket, but the story of the prism through which Pakistanis saw their place in the world – though they’d be loathe to admit it.

It seems odd to argue that a foreign sportsman could have such a far-reaching influence on a country’s youth, but the view that Pakistanis had of India – and by extension of Tendulkar – is unique. Their attitude towards the Indian team was how Pakistanis proved they were Pakistani, as the post-Zia nation over the last three decades went from isolation, and in search of recognition, to a place the world knows about – not necessarily for the right reasons. It’s no coincidence that at the time the rest of the cricketing firmament prostrated before Tendulkar, a major Pakistani news channel ran a segment about how Javed Miandad, Younis Khan and Mohammad Yousuf were each his equal.

The rejection of the Hindu – and by definition of India – was how you became Pakistani. From Pakistan’s first tour in 1952-53, when Test captain Abdul Hafeez Kardar took his team only to “monuments and museums that reflected Muslim glories in India, while ignoring the rest” – as described in Shashi Tharoor’s Shadows Across the Playing Fields – to their acceptance of Imran Khan’s opinion that Inzamam-ul-Haq was a better player of pace than Tendulkar, this view of India as the other is hardly restricted to cricket. Ayub Khan (the President of Pakistan 1958 to 1969) was a Sandhurst-trained army officer who said a Muslim soldier was equal to ten Hindu soldiers. He worried about how much of East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) was under “Hindu culture and influence.” Pakistani academic Aasim Sajjad Akhtar believes the country’s ideology “is an anti-Indian ideology. It’s a negation, rather than something that stands up on its own.” Defined by what one is not, rather than what one is.

I grew up in the 1990s, when everyone, barring elite Pakistanis, had access to only one source of news (beyond the dailies): the 9pm TV bulletin Khabarnama. Every day it began with the headlines, followed by the latest from around the country. Ten minutes in, we had the Kashmir update – this was our war, but it wasn’t being fought by us or in our cities (unlike the wars in the 2000s, which aren’t our wars – supposedly – but are being fought by us, in our streets). Popular Urdu literature for children at the time focused on the constant state of war Pakistan found themselves in – Afghanistan in the ’80s, Kashmir in the ’90s, and the whole world in the 2000s, if you read author Ishtiaq Ahmed. The only thing the children of the ’90s, regardless of class and economics, could agree on was that Pakistan was in danger and India was the enemy.

It is in this context that one has to consider Pakistan’s view of Tendulkar. Omar Kureishi, the late Pakistani journalist, once said the only two things that could unite his country were war and cricket – incidentally the only two areas in which Pakistan was directly pitted against its neighbour. For all the mistrust and animosity of India cultivated in us, there were no avenues to release it. The only interaction a Pakistani had then with anything Indian was cricket or Bollywood. The latter was overwhelmingly popular and could never be shunned by the majority; it was, and still is, a guilty pleasure. Uncles and aunties may complain all day about India’s soft power eroding Pakistani culture, and yet, the same uncles and aunties watch every Shah Rukh Khan film that hits the theatres. Thus, the cricket team was how one became Pakistani. As the world changed, the opinions shifted but never the ideologies – until 2004, when India toured Pakistan for the Friendship Series and we were struck by the realisation that those two decades of fostering hostility may have been for naught. History seemed irrelevant during that 40-day tour and India’s Lakshmipathy Balaji became an ironic icon.

But I digress. The Indian cricket team of the ’90s wasn’t even worthy of our revulsion; condescension was more apt. Ayub Khan may have been wrong about the inequality of soldiers but the inequality of the cricketers was obvious. From Javed Miandad hitting the six at Sharjah in 1986 until the 2003 World Cup, Pakistan’s ODI record against India read 44 wins and 21 losses – this is what we saw growing up. Pakistan were just better at cricket than India – and we assumed this had always been so. It was through this barometer that Tendulkar was judged – he was the leader of a group of wannabes and never-will-bes and, therefore, not a match-winner.

As if to lend credence to this hypothesis, Tendulkar didn’t exactly prove us wrong when India played Pakistan. Until that 2003 World Cup, he had scored just two centuries in 41 ODI innings against Pakistan – both in the space of a fortnight in 1996, hence lessening their impact, and one of them in a losing cause. He averaged in the mid-30s. Even more significant for the casual Pakistani fan was that both those hundreds came in the first innings of day games, a time when viewership is much lower than usual. Pakistanis had a simple formula by which they judged India: batting second in day/night matches. This scenario saw Pakistan play to their strength and viewership was at its maximum as well (add Friday in Sharjah to the picture and it would be the most stereotypical of Pakistan-India face-offs in the ’90s). It was here that Tendulkar struggled most. During this phase, he averaged under 30 in 21 innings – batting second against Pakistan – with no hundreds. India won only seven of these 21 matches, with Tendulkar scoring just three fifties. His role in this narrative served only to reinforce biases: India were hopeless at chasing and Tendulkar was not a match-winner.

Pakistan cricketers were macho; they were in-your-face, aggressive and only borderline legal. Tendulkar, on the contrary, was cherubic, slightly effeminate (in voice) and squeaky clean. © Getty Images

By comparison, his greatest contemporary Brian Lara punished Pakistan like few others. Lara averaged over 50 batting second, and over 70 in games West Indies won – they won more games than they lost against Pakistan during this time. To a Pakistani, the Lara-Tendulkar debate was never a debate.

But why judge Tendulkar only on his record against Pakistan? For a parallel to this story, you have to look no further than Swedish footballer Zlatan Ibrahimovic’s career (until 2012). During the 2006 football World Cup, the English-based Northern Irish manager Martin O’Neill called him the most overrated player in the world and this was accepted as the establishment line. Zlatan dominated the Italian game like few before him, yet the English believed he was far from world class because he never did it against them; a brace against Arsenal for Barcelona did not count, nor did winners in the Milan derby or the El Clásico have any affect. But then he scored four goals in 90 minutes against England (including that overhead kick) in 2012 and the English begrudgingly acknowledged his genius.

It was this line of thinking that Pakistani fans indulged in too. Our bowling attack was the best in the world – until you did it against them you weren’t worthy. The decade saw Pakistan boast probably the most complete generation of bowlers a country has ever had. Thus while the attitude smacked of superiority, unlike that of English football fans, it felt well-earned.

But it’s not merely what he did, but who he was, that alienated Pakistanis. Social conditioning had taught us that the way to live your life was to go for what you believed you deserved rather than waiting for it to come to you. Our cricketers, like our image of Pakistan, were macho; they were in-your-face, aggressive and only borderline legal. Tendulkar, on the contrary, was cherubic, slightly effeminate (in voice) and squeaky clean. While our players were standing in Justice Qayyum’s court to answer allegations of match-fixing, everyone in India was sure Tendulkar would never do such a thing. And it is no surprise that Pakistanis never warmed to Tendulkar. The two great heroes of the post-Wasim generation were Shahid Afridi and Shoaib Akhtar. They were ephemeral, inconsistent, unorthodox and over the top. He was not.

Yet Tendulkar was much more than a cricketer. He became the face of post-liberalisation India – the rise of the country’s middle class coinciding with his own. In cricket writer Ayaz Memon’s words, “Tendulkar became a metaphor of what is now called the new India… where achievement, and reward, and fate all go hand in hand.” He also became the cornerstone of India’s growth as a cricketing power – on and off the field.

Lest we forget, Australia played only three series against India between 1981 and 1996 (and only one of them in India), while England visited India once between 1985 and 2000. The turn of the century saw an extraordinary rise in these match-ups, not only because India were now the cash cow, but because the Indian team with its newfound confidence – led by Tendulkar – had earned the respect of the cricketing world, except Pakistan perhaps. His debut series, the seventh between Pakistan and India in 11 years, was followed by a nine-year hiatus. At the peak of his career, India played only one Test series against Pakistan, and that series crystallised how Pakistanis saw him.

I refer, of course, to the three-Test series in 1999 (Pakistanis regard the first Test of the Asian Test Championship in February 1999 as the third of the series against India since it came immediately after the Kolkata and Chennai Tests earlier in the year – taking that result into account means Pakistan won the series 2-1 rather than drawing it 1-1). This series featured one of Tendulkar’s greatest Test innings. A fourth-innings masterpiece on a fifth-day pitch while batting with the lower order against Wasim, Waqar and Saqlain – that was how the world saw it. But across the border it was Tendulkar being the gallant batsman he always was and failing to win the match as he always did. The fact that this was his only 30-plus score in six innings of the series merely confirmed the bias: when India won Tendulkar didn’t play a part; India lost despite what he could offer.

***

Until the late 1990s, PTV (Pakistan Television), ruled the roost – except for those who could afford a satellite dish, or an array of similar but cheaper options which were almost always exclusive to Karachi. But the turn of the millennium saw the rise of cable television, providing a whole host of Indian channels. Within five years we went from watching whatever was available on one channel to complaining about not having anything to watch on 80. Among them were a pair of Indian sports networks which brought us the other perspective on Tendulkar and the Indian team. It didn’t take long for the Pakistani attitude towards India to become the same as the Irish attitude towards the English. The average Irishman can support any English football club he likes, but their national team is to be reviled – a dislike fuelled by the irritation with the one-eyed, jingoistic and hypocritical English media.

Cable television in Pakistan only took off after the turn of the millennium. Most of the nation never watched Tendulkar at his peak, when he took apart Shane Warne during the 1997-98 Border-Gavaskar Trophy and Operation Desert Storm soon after. © AFP

Much the same happened in Pakistan. Most of us never watched Tendulkar at his peak since those matches were never broadcast to the overwhelming majority of the country. We did not get to watch Tendulkar take apart Warne during the 1997-98 Border-Gavaskar Trophy, and Operation Desert Storm soon after was a performance most Pakistanis only read about. In Indian Cricket 2000, Raja Mukherjee described Tendulkar as someone who was “No Indian in his method.” He goes on to say, “His batsmanship was of the West Indian mould. Never before did an Indian treat the ball as he did. His method was aggression, his weapon, power. The niceties of grace and classic conventional technique were not for this valiant kid of the Nineties generation. He was born in independent India… he knew not the uncertainties, nor the enforced servility of the pre-independence era. He was born free, to chart his own course.” This was the Tendulkar that Pakistanis missed. All they saw was a man who struggled against one of the great attacks in limited-overs history, and then the run-machine he became in the second half of his career. But as the cablewalas multiplied, Pakistanis became acquainted with the Indian perception of Tendulkar.

Now, you could watch Indian matches, and you did: India’s failure was a victory in itself, and the greatest possible introduction to Schadenfreude. Every time Pakistan beat India, it tasted sweeter. Between the Sharjah series win in 1998 and the tri-nation series victory in 2008, India played 21 finals, of which they won one. One! Tendulkar averaged 26. Your argument, previously based on just matches against Pakistan, only gained strength as you watched Tendulkar fail in crucial games.

Except, right in the middle of this decade, came Centurion – the day most Indians would think Tendulkar settled the debate. But his performance was easily tossed aside as an aberration, against an ageing team that had been in inexorable decline for three years.

More than Tendulkar, it was Sehwag and his generation who frightened Pakistan. Tendulkar was just the same as he had been for the previous decade – to be respected and admired, but not feared. Which explains why, even after Centurion, the Pakistani view of Tendulkar hardly changed. Instead, the anomalies in his record became more important than the bigger picture. From that innings in 2003 to Mohali in 2011, Tendulkar had seven 50-plus scores against Pakistan – only two of those came in wins. He only scored one 100 in 11 Tests against Pakistan after 1999. Pakistanis have grown up with the idea that if a batsman scores a hundred the team was guaranteed a win. Tendulkar’s four great Pakistani contemporaries – Saeed Anwar, Inzamam, Yousuf and Younis – combined to score 51 ODI 100s, only seven of which resulted in losses. Three of Tendulkar’s five ODI 100s against Pakistan were in a losing cause. Of course, the one-eyed ignored the fact that Pakistan always had a better bowling attack than India did. Flip that stat to see the bigger picture and you realise that the four great Pakistanis combined to score two more ODI hundreds than Tendulkar did on his own. But for the non-believers, even this wouldn’t change their minds.

As Tendulkar retired, Pakistanis biases against him disappeared, at least on the surface. Beyond a couple of exceptions, the reaction to his retirement in Pakistan was overwhelmingly positive, almost sycophantic. © BCCI

But as Tendulkar retired, those biases disappeared, at least on the surface. Beyond a couple of exceptions, the reaction to his retirement in Pakistan was overwhelmingly positive, almost sycophantic. It made sense too. Pakistan is no longer the country it was in the ’90s. No longer is it a paranoid local miscreant, some of whose citizens feel victimised: it is now a paranoid worldwide miscreant, all of whose citizens feel victimised. Since 9/11, and the beginning of the Afghan war, the anger is reserved for the United States rather than India. For the 2013 national elections, the two most popular centre-right parties in Pakistan called for peace and love towards India – a fact that went unnoticed outside war-mongering circles because of how small a deal it was.

It is no surprise that, despite the attacks in Mumbai, the past 12 years have been a relatively peaceful era in the countries’ histories. The media and technology boom may have provided platforms for hate-mongers on both sides, but it has also ensured a level of interaction that never existed before. Perhaps peace is impossible, but coexistence seems achievable.

These developments may have resulted in the Tendulkar of 2013 being respected far more than the Tendulkar of 1998 – though he was now a lesser player. In the end, he played for so long that he was still around by the time the Pakistani attitude towards India changed – well, almost. There can be no greater proof of Tendulkar’s longevity and greatness than that.