THE BANALITY OF THE INDIANCRICKET FAN

DK is reproducing a wonderful piece
regarding Indian Cricket, Indian
Commentators and The Indian Crowd
by Aakar Patel. It appeared in the
Livemint on March 31, 2011.
THE BANALITY
OF THE INDIAN CRICKET FAN
One of the disappointing things about
the World Cup was that it was played
on the subcontinent. It is thought that
India loves cricket. This is incorrect.
India loves India. Cricket gives us the
opportunity to express this affection.
The local cricket match in India is
unattended. Even World Cup matches
featuring two other sides will be
played without spectators, no matter
what the calibre of the players. This is
unlike World Cup football, or
American football and basketball.
What attracts Indian spectators isn’t
cricket the sport in that sense.
Let us observe the pattern of crowd
behaviour.
Indian spectators express themselves
physically, through dancing,
screaming and jumping about. This is
done communally, in groups often
including middle-aged men. It is done
emotionally, with strong facial
expression. Sunil Gavaskar says he
was amazed to first play at Lord ’s 40
years ago because of the way the
audience applauded. It was, he said,
always three claps. Clap-clap-clap-
silence. But that is why cricket is an
English sport. We behave like a WWF
audience. Strange things excite us.
Like Kolkatans setting their stands
alight at the end of a match, a
neanderthal fascination with fire.
In European nations (I mean race, not
geography and so: England, Australia,
South Africa, New Zealand), spectator
behaviour is more individual. Where
communication is visual, it is not
through facial expression, but fancy
dress.
Instead of screaming, expression is
through the written word: banners.
In India, signs are held up which are
either obvious or embarrassingly
banal. A decade ago, they were also
poorly spelled. These days they ’re not
because advertisers hand out printed
ones. This defeats the purpose of
spectator banners, and that is
spontaneity. There is never real
humour, which can only come when
we are able to laugh at ourselves.
In February 1993, South Africa were
chasing 208 against Pakistan at
Durban. From 158 for 1 they were all
out for 198, five of them clean-bowled
by the great Waqar Younis.
As his yorkers were bringing doom to
the last few, a South African held up a
large sheet on which she had
scrawled “WAQAR THE SPRINGBOK
FAQAR”. So clever, I remember it 18
years later. Indians write rubbish.
Foreign commentators often say that
the crowd in Chennai is
“ knowledgeable”. In saying this, they
mean that they don’t go off on bump
balls, like the crowd does elsewhere in
India.
One unique thing is how Indian
spectators are silent when the other
team scores. On television it ’s as if the
screen has gone mute. It’s not about
enjoying a sport and appreciating the
ability of professionals to play it. It ’s
about nationalism, which in India is
narrow and zero-sum. If they score
even a little victory, a boundary, our
tumescence droops. The Bengali
thinks he ’s different, but this is untrue.
Imminent defeat against the Lankans
in 1996 ’s World Cup resulted in
Kolkatans rioting in Eden Gardens,
and, as Indians tend to do, damaging
the property that they could barely
afford.
The Indian team is overrated because
our fierce nationalism inflates its
capacity. This has been amplified
recently because of our economic
power. Ten years ago, opponents
thought little of us, and rightly.
Against the quality team, India ’s
record is to fold. We regularly get a
thrashing from Australia (won 36, lost
61), old enemy Pakistan (47:69), and
newcomers South Africa (24:40). Even
West Indies, 25 years in decline, have
a superior record (39:54).
Usually, Indians are happy if their
team wins the skirmish and loses the
battle. This is because national
honour is often safeguarded by the
hero. The astute Ian Chappell noticed
that Indians were content if Sachin
Tendulkar scored his hundred even if
India then lost. In Australia, this
would never happen, he said, and it
would be seen as defeat, which it is.
Since his audience telegraphs this, the
Indian cricketer plays for himself
much more than players of other
sides. An analysis of Tendulkar ’s
scoring pattern between 90 and 100
will be interesting.
The other thing that separates the
Indian audience from the European is
the level of security.
David Gower remarked on why
Indians flung things at fielders on the
boundary. The intent wasn ’t to hurt,
he said generously, just to distract,
“ though there were one or two good
arms out there”.
Why do we throw things? It’s difficult
for others to follow our manner of
forcibly inserting ourselves into the
action through such simian
behaviour.
The Indian is deeply prejudiced
against Africans and black players
have always been targeted (some will
be offended by this sweeping
allegation. I am open to the
suggestion that the Indian is an
equal-opportunity vandal). A bottle
hit Vasbert Drakes at Rajkot in 2002.
This sort of thing has now stopped.
Why? Because Indian spectators are
watched over, like inmates.
On all Indian grounds, a wire mesh
now separates players from the
unpredictable Indian audience. This is
shameful, but passes unnoticed in our
culture. In Australia, New Zealand,
South Africa, West Indies and England,
this isn ’t needed.
The policing here is excessive, but
necessary. Geoffrey Boycott was upset
after his sandwiches were confiscated
by security in Delhi in February. I
sympathize with him for being forced
to eat the crew ’s Mughlai lunch. Sir
Geoffrey is working class and sees no
appeal in the exotic. I think a bit of
racial profiling is fine, and we should
be firm only with Indians.
The greatest commentators in sport
are Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen who
for years have guided Tour de France
viewers through the countryside.
Their quality has elevated the event.
Second best is Channel 9 ’s team of
Richie Benaud and Ian Chappell (I
don ’t like Bill Lawry: too excitable). Of
the others, West Indians Michael
Holding and Ian Bishop are first rate:
polished, elegant speakers.
Sunil Gavaskar and Ravi Shastri are
second rate: no lucidity, little insight
and speaking only in stock phrase and
cliche. In Shastri’s case, this is often
incorrect cliche: “You can be rest
assured...” Sanjay Manjrekar is better
and so, though more evidence is
needed, is Sourav Ganguly.
Navjot Singh Sidhu is original, and
perfect for Indians. He ’s
Wodehousian, spouting rubbish with
an air of magnificence. A sort of
developing world ’s Psmith. It is why
he’s so popular with us, because the
equation is: content < spectacle.
Harsha Bhogle works on his language,
and is committed enough to wear a
hairpiece, but he ’s fluffy and boring—
a unique double whammy. If we must
have fluff, I prefer Mandira Bedi.
Lovely body and she puts it on display
well.
The one way Indian commentators
could immediately improve would be
to talk less. Gavaskar says his best
lesson in commentary was in
Australia when he was with Benaud.
When an Indian batsman hit his
hundred, the crowd applauded.
Gavaskar brought the microphone to
his mouth, but stopped when he felt
Benaud ’s hand on his wrist. Gavaskar
said later he realized Benaud wanted
the TV audience to take in the
moment of the batsman in his
solitude, a gladiator in an arena.
Lesson not learnt and no chance of
enjoying this in India, with Bhogle
and Shastri twittering over
everything, and the crowd screaming
all the time (silent only during enemy
advance).
Between its spectators and
commentators, Indians have ruined
cricket for everybody. With the
growth of our economy, this has got
worse. Indian money has been
poured into cricket, sloshing in its
crevices, spilling out of its guts.
For Indian players this has meant
more cash—vast sums from
advertising. For Indian spectators it
has meant more advertising.
Advertisements between overs,
advertisements between balls.
Intrusive, invasive, relentless,
shameless flogging. Strokes renamed
by sponsors, sixes renamed after
sponsors. Such vulgarity is not off-
putting to Indians, which is why it
continues and has increased in time.
This could never happen in Australia
or England. These places are the
refuge for fundamentalists who like
cricket played, shown and seen in the
orthodox fashion.
Those who wake early to watch the
beautiful Test match telecast from
Australia are inevitably rewarded. The
crunch of the ball hitting the pitch is
always clear. The ads for cricket
memorabilia are always tasteful.
There is the restrained commentary,
the women in bikinis (unthinkable in
Delhi), the glasses of cold beer
(unthinkable in Ahmedabad). Relaxed
bodies on sloping green knolls.
No danger of such small rewards of
civilization ever reaching our shores,
but at least we have Sachin.
Aakar Patel is a director with Hill Road
Media.