Living in the fast (forward) lane

I first experienced the power of a set-top box with the recording facility on a Hindi film. By fast-forwarding my way through the titles, advertising breaks, song sequences and several long-winded dialogues that did nothing to augment story-telling, I delivered a four-hour capsule to my family in an hour and 18 minutes. But when I turned to my wife for praise I didn’t get it.

In fact she declared that she would watch the recorded movie again “like a normal human being”. But I was not discouraged. I’m sure Marina Gamba, Galileo Galilei’s partner, would have given him a similarly lukewarm response when he declared that he had discovered four new moons of Jupiter (“That’s nice. But have you taken the dog out for an evening walk?”).

Having learnt how to enjoy a movie, I turned my attention to sports, starting with the obvious one: cricket. The game goes on for hours, but the actual action of bowling, batting and fielding occupies only a fraction of the time, the rest being mostly spent on Preparing for the Next Ball.

Once the fielder is sure the batsmen are not going to take a run, he relaxes and formally starts this phase by turning his attention to the ball in his hand and examining it lovingly for a few seconds. He then rubs it vigorously against his trouser and caresses it again. After a few more endearing rubs, he passes it to the fielder a few feet from him, who repeats the rubbing-and-examining procedure before passing it on to his friend.

In this desultory fashion the ball travels from fielder to fielder, receiving a healthy rub each time, till it reaches the bowler, who looks at it with dissatisfaction and begins to really rub it for about five minutes.

Meanwhile the umpire formally announces the break in the action by holding his hand up parallel to the ground.

Now the batsman begins his rigmarole. He carefully examines every corner of the field to see what changes have taken place since he last addressed the ball a few minutes ago. Satisfied that no new building has come up to block the path of his stroke, he turns his attention to the fielders and stares at them, one at a time.

Usually these are the same people who have been standing in the same places for the whole day (or, if it’s a test match, the whole week; or, if it’s a two-nation series, the whole month), but the batsman still repeats this procedure after every ball. He knows that sometimes the dastardly fellow at silly point may swap places with the man at cover or (even more diabolical!) the third slip may quietly move back to become third man.

With a grim nod, he finally settles down at the crease and asks the umpire to help him adjust his position with respect to the stumps. Following the umpire’s gestures, he adjusts the position of his feet and makes a mark on the ground with this bat (not too prominently: he needs to repeat the delicious procedure every few balls) and finally settles down to bat. The umpire gives the go-ahead. The bowler — after giving the ball a few last rubs against this trouser — begins
to run…

With a stop-watch I recorded the time taken for Preparing for the Next Ball: 98 seconds. The next time, I pressed ‘fast-forward’ on the remote and ‘start’ on my stop-watch as soon as the fielder collected the ball. The ball jumped from fielder to fielder (the rubbing-on-trouser a mere blur) and was in the bowler’s hand in no time; similarly the batsman’s examination of the ground and the opposition was done in two ticks; I made the bowler trot to his starting point and only when he had taken two steps of his run, did I press ‘play’ on the remote and ‘stop’ on the stop-watch. Only eight seconds had elapsed.

The end of the over is when everyone really unwinds. The fielders change positions, ambling from left to right and top to bottom like shoppers in a mall, chatting, watching the scenery and pointing out interesting sights to each other; the batsmen join each other in the centre of the pitch and exchange pleasantries; the umpires do the same. But not this time, not with me in control. I made them rush through the procedure in 11 seconds.

“Wow!” I said, “Even cricket can move fast.”

It was time to experiment with another notoriously slow-moving sport: golf. As I turned to the golf channel, the players were walking slowly towards the tee for the next hole. Of course my first task was to make then sprint. As the first player prepared to strike the ball, I attacked the remote again because, left to himself, I knew he would first confer with his caddie to select a club, then change his mind and pick a new one; place the tee carefully in the grass and smoothen the area around; examine the fairway; check the direction and strength of the wind; nod to the fans; take four practice strokes a foot away from the ball; and take two practice strokes from the correct place. Only then would he finally strike the ball.

I did not allow him any of this nonsense. Reducing his preparation to a blur, I hit ‘play’ only when his club went up on its final backswing. As the ball rose leisurely in the air, I pressed my favourite button again to send it speeding like a bullet down the fairway.

Having practised on cricket and golf, I rubbed my hands in glee. Nursing the remote in my hand the way Harry Potter might nurse his wand, I thought it was time to try my newfound magic on some real games like tennis and football.

The author is a freelance writer based in Singapore.