"I can't quite understand what motive one can have to kill a person like Bob Woolmer." crooned former Pakistani great Imran Khan.
A youngster seated next to me, snorted in derision - "Can't quite understand?? Kya bakwaas hai. It is obvious that the betting mafia used the underworld dons to eliminate him because he was about to spill the beans."
Really? Is this what cricket has become? Is the "murder" of a cricket coach during the World Cup the culmination of years of corruption that has seeped in or is it just the tip of the iceberg? And to think that when my father used to watch cricket avidly, teams didn't even have coaches !!
Indeed, so much has changed for the game. Hanif Cadbury, Saleem Langda, Arshad Pappu - are these then, the characters that decide the fate of international matches today instead of the Brian Laras and Glenn McGraths, that we are made to believe? Why, the names remind me of typical Bollywood masala flicks and indeed, that is typical of the drama that is now unfolding in the Caribbean.
"It is time for cricket to exorcize the ghosts of yore once and for all and start afresh" says Alan Border. But who will do that? Is anybody beyond reproach? Pardon me, but all the conspiracy theories have demented my rational thinking - can it be possible that just like in a typical Hindi film flick, when our honest cop finds out that even the Police Commissioner is in cahoots with the bad boys (recollect all those insufferable rehashes), perhaps all and sundry are involved - perhaps, Malcolm Speed is the very Head Honcho who is driving this all??? Not plausible? But then, what is? That gun-toting mafia dons who are planning to blow up railway stations and World Trade Centers are also determining the outcome of cricket matches? Perhaps, this is the example of the growing clout of cricket internationally that the ICC boasts of !!
There was a time when cricket was just a sport. Or at least, most of the times back then. And it was not too long ago - I was a kid then and I am still a young guy. When one would be all pumped up for a cricket match and invite anybody and everybody in the neighborhood for a good day of cricket watching. There were no odd coloured Pepsi colas or batsmen with weird drawings under their eyelids. But it was still enjoyable. Television channels did not disseminate information about the details of the Thai cuisine that the newest kid on the block likes or which brand of toilet paper he uses to wipe his ass in the morning, but then we still liked our players. Cricketers did not endorse everything from multi-grain biscuits to flavoured condoms, but people still bought those products. When 250 was a winning total in 50 overs and the first 10 overs were still about consolidation and not inane power-hitting without any semblance of technique on subcontinental dustbowls - one still had exciting matches. Dickie Bird would not raise crooked fingers at people or spectators were not addled by concepts like Power Plays - fixed and flexible and what not. One did not have telvision channels like Set Max which is all so eager to air the same ads zillions of times, that it often eats up the last delivery of an over or the first of the next one and God save you, if that last ball ended up as a wide or a no-ball. Don't even expect to watch the extra ball which was about to be bowled because by then the idiot box is spewing out some cranky ad where a bunch of ruffians are shouting "Ooh - Aah India" [how obscenely kinky words :)]and cricketers are transmogrified to tigers - the fact that they are soon to become lambs for slaughter only increases the irritation levels.
I had read somewhere that Erapalli Prasanna took a break from cricket to complete his education so that he has some recourse to good jobs once the cricket days were over. The other day, Lala Amarnath was recounting the early days and how cricketers from different parts of Mumbai would catch the train that would take them to their next test match venue, at different local stations depending on where their residence were. Now, with a huge army of support staff that does everything from massaging their legs to pressing their underwears, with stays in the most deluxe of hotels in the most elite of company, with brand endorsement moolah rivalling those of the Bollywood Badshahs, are the cricketers still not satisfied? Perhaps, such is the slavery of Mammon.
A youngster seated next to me, snorted in derision - "Can't quite understand?? Kya bakwaas hai. It is obvious that the betting mafia used the underworld dons to eliminate him because he was about to spill the beans."
Really? Is this what cricket has become? Is the "murder" of a cricket coach during the World Cup the culmination of years of corruption that has seeped in or is it just the tip of the iceberg? And to think that when my father used to watch cricket avidly, teams didn't even have coaches !!
Indeed, so much has changed for the game. Hanif Cadbury, Saleem Langda, Arshad Pappu - are these then, the characters that decide the fate of international matches today instead of the Brian Laras and Glenn McGraths, that we are made to believe? Why, the names remind me of typical Bollywood masala flicks and indeed, that is typical of the drama that is now unfolding in the Caribbean.
"It is time for cricket to exorcize the ghosts of yore once and for all and start afresh" says Alan Border. But who will do that? Is anybody beyond reproach? Pardon me, but all the conspiracy theories have demented my rational thinking - can it be possible that just like in a typical Hindi film flick, when our honest cop finds out that even the Police Commissioner is in cahoots with the bad boys (recollect all those insufferable rehashes), perhaps all and sundry are involved - perhaps, Malcolm Speed is the very Head Honcho who is driving this all??? Not plausible? But then, what is? That gun-toting mafia dons who are planning to blow up railway stations and World Trade Centers are also determining the outcome of cricket matches? Perhaps, this is the example of the growing clout of cricket internationally that the ICC boasts of !!
There was a time when cricket was just a sport. Or at least, most of the times back then. And it was not too long ago - I was a kid then and I am still a young guy. When one would be all pumped up for a cricket match and invite anybody and everybody in the neighborhood for a good day of cricket watching. There were no odd coloured Pepsi colas or batsmen with weird drawings under their eyelids. But it was still enjoyable. Television channels did not disseminate information about the details of the Thai cuisine that the newest kid on the block likes or which brand of toilet paper he uses to wipe his ass in the morning, but then we still liked our players. Cricketers did not endorse everything from multi-grain biscuits to flavoured condoms, but people still bought those products. When 250 was a winning total in 50 overs and the first 10 overs were still about consolidation and not inane power-hitting without any semblance of technique on subcontinental dustbowls - one still had exciting matches. Dickie Bird would not raise crooked fingers at people or spectators were not addled by concepts like Power Plays - fixed and flexible and what not. One did not have telvision channels like Set Max which is all so eager to air the same ads zillions of times, that it often eats up the last delivery of an over or the first of the next one and God save you, if that last ball ended up as a wide or a no-ball. Don't even expect to watch the extra ball which was about to be bowled because by then the idiot box is spewing out some cranky ad where a bunch of ruffians are shouting "Ooh - Aah India" [how obscenely kinky words :)]and cricketers are transmogrified to tigers - the fact that they are soon to become lambs for slaughter only increases the irritation levels.
I had read somewhere that Erapalli Prasanna took a break from cricket to complete his education so that he has some recourse to good jobs once the cricket days were over. The other day, Lala Amarnath was recounting the early days and how cricketers from different parts of Mumbai would catch the train that would take them to their next test match venue, at different local stations depending on where their residence were. Now, with a huge army of support staff that does everything from massaging their legs to pressing their underwears, with stays in the most deluxe of hotels in the most elite of company, with brand endorsement moolah rivalling those of the Bollywood Badshahs, are the cricketers still not satisfied? Perhaps, such is the slavery of Mammon.
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