World Cup final: A battle of styles

On the eve of the 1996 semifinal against India, Sri Lanka captain Arjuna Ranatunga said, “We don’t take India lightly. It is not good to underestimate them, they are a decent team.” For so long had other captains said that of the Sri Lankan team, speaking with a mixture of condescension and political correctness that it was stunning, but refreshing, to hear that being said of the then favourites!

Perhaps that was turning point in the cricketing relations between the two countries. Of 89 matches since then, India have won only five more than Sri Lanka’s 38.

In the last couple of years, every time you switched on the television, India seemed to be playing Sri Lanka. They met 17 times (each team winning eight matches). All that experience seems to have led to this moment.

Familiarity has bred intimacy. And vice versa.

Neither team can afford to let the intimacy lead to imitation, for down that road lies disaster. It is a mistake to assume that the Asian teams play the same brand of cricket. Yes, spin is important, playing spin well is a common skill, fielding is not always seen as crucial, and there is a suppleness about the wrists that seems to derive from a common ancestor, but India and Sri Lanka will not be playing mirror images of themselves in the World Cup final. In fact, as the semifinal on Wednesday showed, India and Pakistan have more in common with each other’s cricket than either has with Sri Lanka’s.

No other team’s bowling is led by such mavericks as Muttiah Muralitharan, Lasith Malinga and Ajantha Mendis — respectively the man with the helicopter wrists, the master of controlled sling and the one whose carrom ball jumps at the striker. Sri Lanka, who began, like all teams, by imitating the English, in just three decades of international cricket have brought their own unique character to it.

A Mahela Jayawardene might belong to the old school of straight bats and high elbows, but even he is capable of moving his front foot away from the line of the ball and giving it a good, hearty thump.

Still, it is the bowling that is fascinating. Orthodoxy is boring to the man for whom the umpire’s shirt acts as the sightscreen when he releases the ball; already Malinga has shown himself to be the most dangerous bowler in power play.

There is a joy to his approach, and the satisfaction that comes from knowing he is the only black-and-yellow haired slinger in world cricket.

It takes rare confidence to allow a bunch of unconventional players to evolve into world-beaters by the simple expedient of keeping out of their way. Coaches must be praised as much for what they do, as for what they don’t do. To know when to change the follow through and when to leave everything alone is a gift.

By not trying to force feed the textbook down the throats of the unorthodox, coaches have done Sri Lankan cricket a great service.

This is the essential difference between the two finalists. Indians worship at the altar of orthodoxy. This may be partly because the British influence seeped in deeper than we are willing to admit, partly because the true maverick has not been successful (success forgives unorthodoxy), and partly because coaches themselves emerge from cookie-cutter institutions where the emphasis is on assembly-line products than encouraging the true original.

Also, India were blessed with players who could walk into a coaching manual, and frequently did. The beauty of Sunil Gavaskar’s batting was built on the straight and narrow; likewise the poetry of Bishan Bedi’s bowling or the smooth effectiveness of Kapil Dev’s action. A nation already enamoured of the accepted way of doing things was vindicated when orthodoxy was seen as the secret of success.

Sri Lanka too laid great store by the straight and narrow, especially since the early generation of players all came from English-speaking backgrounds in and around the capital. The maverick was discouraged, till such a player responded by being successful, and then acceptance followed. When Sanath Jayasuriya was rewriting the job description of the opening batsman in the mid-1990s, he showed there was comfort in being different.

While India’s batting has flirted with the unconventional, most of the innovations have been built on the bedrock of orthodoxy. The upper cut favoured by Sachin Tendulkar and Virender Sehwag, for instance, or the helicopter shot made even more famous by advertisers who contribute to Mahendra Singh Dhoni’s Rs29-crore paycheck.

But the unusual bowler has not had the same success. A Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, his action dictated by an attack of polio in childhood was both unorthodox and successful, the combination that matters, but he was the exception. R Ashwin bowls with a nod towards Mendis and the carrom ball. But the average Indian coach tends to believe it is better to be orthodox and unsuccessful than unconventional and successful. Right is right.

It is appropriate that the World Cup final should be a battle between the unorthodox bowlers of Sri Lanka and the largely orthodox batting of India. Sri Lanka have shown themselves to be one of the most efficient sides in the tournament. But efficiency does not mean they are dull. Sri Lanka have shown there is scope for self-expression, for sheer enjoyment.

They are up against a side who know all about self-expression, and about communicating that enjoyment. It is efficiency that India are looking for, and they seemed to have found it against both Australia, and more profoundly against Pakistan. The two best teams are in the final, and that, ultimately has to be an endorsement of the systems that put them there.

Perhaps a fallout of the recent familiarity has been the absence of the Ranatunga-type mind games. Kumara Sangakkara is a modern captain, tough, uncompromising, and fully aware of what a final means. Like a Buddhist, he focuses his energy inwards in the build-up, and will not provoke unless provoked first. His rival Dhoni is even less likely to cast the first stone, as it were. Mind games are ineffective when teams know each other so well.

India and Sri Lanka meet each other on level terms, and that should make for a good match and wipe away the memories of two unimpressive (cricket-wise, not in terms of emotions expended) semifinals.