Column

To paraphrase an immortal Dickensian expression, these are the best of times for cricket, these are the most uncertain of times. The game has never been more robust, exciting or richer — yet perhaps also never more vulnerable.

New players, new zeal and a new attitude are redefining the idiom of the sport. More runs being scored more flamboyantly and more quickly than ever before; more wickets being taken by bowlers displaying greater skill and variety, more matches being won and lost, more money being made by players and administrators.

Test cricket, so often the despair of administrators and spectators for more than four decades because of its soporific pace and the plethora of draws, has suddenly acquired a competitive flavour and intensity that has had both traditionalists and new converts enthralled.

Australia’s two-decade long stranglehold has been dismantled, and this year four teams are running neck and neck for the top spot in Tests and four in ODIs.

Twenty20 has added an exciting new dimension that has not only widened spectator appeal by cutting across genders and age groups, but could also be the route for a more comprehensive globalisation of the sport — and in its wake, zillions of bucks. In other words, cricket has never had it so good.

And yet, there are disturbing developments which need the urgent attention of administrators and aficionados. The collapse of Allen Stanford’s enterprise is not just a grim reminder of the global recession, but also a moral lesson that easy money cannot be so easily trusted.

Indeed, the IPL too, which began with so much fanfare last season, is confronted with several issues already even before the second has taken off. The ill-effects of recession is obviously one of them, but misplaced arrogance of power could create its own whirplool of controversies. Like so much else in the corporate world, the IPL too has been as transparent as a teakwood door.

All said and done though, it is the future of bilateral cricket that is under most threat. Cricket can ill afford to lose the West Indies — for reasons of romance, tradition and the fact that this game still accommodates only very few countries.

Of the established quorum, Zimbabwe and Bangladesh are still embarrassing stragglers and Pakistan badly stuck in no-go zone: since sides are unwilling to go to that country, Pakistan is restricted from going anywhere else.

That leaves only six other countries which can have regular cricket ties with each other, which is just not good enough to sustain long term interest.
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At the BCCI’s function the other night, I met up with Gundappa Vishwanath, recipient of the CK Nayudu Award. His hair has thinned, but the handshake remains firm even at 60. The sense of humour has acquired greater edge because of vintage, and his popularity with fellow cricketers remains undiminished.

The last mentioned aspect has never ceased to fascinate me. Vishwanath was just about everyone’s favourite even in the dressing room, where interpersonal differences and competition can often take over camraderie. But even those who disagreed or disliked each other agreed to love Vishy.

For instance, he is the favourite of Bedi, Wadekar, Vengsarkar, Pataudi, Gavaskar, Shastri, Kapil Dev all of whom were on different wavelengths otherwise.

Of course, geniality of disposition was not the only reason why Vishy was remarkable. His rasping square cuts and whiplash flicks, the delectable use of tensile wrists and the ability to play his best under pressure is now part of Indian cricket lore. Several who saw Vishy in his prime will still argue that he was peerless, not excluding the great Gavaskar.

Talking of whom, I asked him at the function to once-and-for-all tell the world whether he or Vishy is the shorter fella. “We never measured ourselves together,’’ replied Gavaskar, “but when we sat together in the dressing room bench, my feet could just about reach the floor while Vishy’s remained just a wee bit above.’’

So there you go, a 40-year-old mystery finally resolved.