What I love more than a good Test match is a good Test series and the India-England series which starts this Thursday promises to be a cracking one. Two summers ago, with the same anticipated delight I looked forward to Australia’s tour of England, the series in which England won back the Ashes after the ignominy of the 2006-07 series. And last winter they lay to rest all doubts about their quest for Test supremacy when they beat Australia resoundingly in their own backyard. It is now common knowledge that the Aussies are a spent force. Now the eyes of the cricketing world are focused on the triumvirate of India, England and South Africa. In theory, India is the no.1 team but all the statistics worth your Wisden count for nothing on the playing field. For me, there isn’t a more tormenting dilemma than choosing between England and South Africa but India vs. England brings out the best and worst of the partisan in me. England would be my team even if I had to watch the Test matches in a room full of Shiv Sainiks.
Of course that doesn’t mean I haven’t entertained the romantic notion that must pervade every cricketing head right now, that of Sachin scoring his hundredth hundred on the hallowed turf of Lord’s in the opening Test which to a statistician’s delight is also the 2000th Test match in cricket’s history. Sachin’s highest score at Lord’s is a paltry 37 and one would certainly wish that the little master would remove this numerical anomaly in his otherwise stellar record. But cricket, like life, is seldom fair and respectful of our deeply cherished wishes. The great Don Bradman, needing to score only 4 runs in his final innings to establish a mind boggling career average of 100, was bowled out for a duck and his average remained an eternally exasperating (though still mind boggling) 99.94! But Sachin, of all people, would know better. When he walks out to bat wearing that all-too-familiar helmet, no one would know, as no one has ever known, what thoughts are wrought in that head and what emotions are played on that half hidden face barred behind the grill. Only time will tell whether it is the joy of celebration or the disappointment of failure.
And I think of Alastair Cook, England’s opening bat and hero of the last Ashes series. Cook is currently in the form of his life but the more he succeeds the more I fear for his failure. I dread the onset of the slump which must inevitably occur. Watching him play I revisit the same apprehensions and nervousness that preyed on my mind while watching my hero Brian Lara bat in his flamboyant brilliance. When Lara batted, he always looked like he would get out. Perhaps the vulnerability that I sensed had more to do with my own mind than with anything on that mercurial genius’ part. Cook is lot more staid and solid and has yet to scale the greatness similar to that of Lara but with his current form, he is very suitably placed to rewrite the record books, something which the great West Indian did so often with panache.
Then there are the little battles to look forward to. England skipper Andrew Strauss fighting his own demons to end his drought of runs, and Zaheer Khan, with his special appetite for left-handers, won’t make it too easy for him. Kevin Pietersen with his own albatross of dubious record against slow left-armers and Yuvraj and Harbhajan Singh with their own north Indian’s gift for getting under the skin of people, leave alone someone as highly strung as KP. Ishant Sharma, after the high of a good comeback in the Caribbeans, would strive for his best to make most of the helpful English conditions. Graeme Swann, the no.1 spinner in the world, against a battling line-up boasting of some of the best players of spin. And Stuart Broad, that petulant poster boy of English cricket, with critics calling for his head, would look to reach that peak of his trade with which he destroyed Australia at the Oval in the 2009 series, the reruns of which I have spent the better part of last week watching on Youtube.
And finally, prudence demands that we mention the recalcitrant English weather, capable of washing out any Test match without the slightest regard for its stature or importance and rudely reminding us that cricket, in the end, is just a game.
Of course that doesn’t mean I haven’t entertained the romantic notion that must pervade every cricketing head right now, that of Sachin scoring his hundredth hundred on the hallowed turf of Lord’s in the opening Test which to a statistician’s delight is also the 2000th Test match in cricket’s history. Sachin’s highest score at Lord’s is a paltry 37 and one would certainly wish that the little master would remove this numerical anomaly in his otherwise stellar record. But cricket, like life, is seldom fair and respectful of our deeply cherished wishes. The great Don Bradman, needing to score only 4 runs in his final innings to establish a mind boggling career average of 100, was bowled out for a duck and his average remained an eternally exasperating (though still mind boggling) 99.94! But Sachin, of all people, would know better. When he walks out to bat wearing that all-too-familiar helmet, no one would know, as no one has ever known, what thoughts are wrought in that head and what emotions are played on that half hidden face barred behind the grill. Only time will tell whether it is the joy of celebration or the disappointment of failure.
And I think of Alastair Cook, England’s opening bat and hero of the last Ashes series. Cook is currently in the form of his life but the more he succeeds the more I fear for his failure. I dread the onset of the slump which must inevitably occur. Watching him play I revisit the same apprehensions and nervousness that preyed on my mind while watching my hero Brian Lara bat in his flamboyant brilliance. When Lara batted, he always looked like he would get out. Perhaps the vulnerability that I sensed had more to do with my own mind than with anything on that mercurial genius’ part. Cook is lot more staid and solid and has yet to scale the greatness similar to that of Lara but with his current form, he is very suitably placed to rewrite the record books, something which the great West Indian did so often with panache.
Then there are the little battles to look forward to. England skipper Andrew Strauss fighting his own demons to end his drought of runs, and Zaheer Khan, with his special appetite for left-handers, won’t make it too easy for him. Kevin Pietersen with his own albatross of dubious record against slow left-armers and Yuvraj and Harbhajan Singh with their own north Indian’s gift for getting under the skin of people, leave alone someone as highly strung as KP. Ishant Sharma, after the high of a good comeback in the Caribbeans, would strive for his best to make most of the helpful English conditions. Graeme Swann, the no.1 spinner in the world, against a battling line-up boasting of some of the best players of spin. And Stuart Broad, that petulant poster boy of English cricket, with critics calling for his head, would look to reach that peak of his trade with which he destroyed Australia at the Oval in the 2009 series, the reruns of which I have spent the better part of last week watching on Youtube.
And finally, prudence demands that we mention the recalcitrant English weather, capable of washing out any Test match without the slightest regard for its stature or importance and rudely reminding us that cricket, in the end, is just a game.
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