Romancing the game: Real cricket lovers show us how

Many of us have forgotten what it is like to be crazy about cricket. Perhaps we are still heartbroken by its persistent treachery. Either way, we have reached that point where we feel inured to its upheavals. But then, the hopefuls enter the fray with their unstinting faith in the game, and we are served reminders of why we fell in love in the first place. I got mine from the latest addition to my bookshelf. Mid-Wicket Tales — From Trumper To Tendulkar by S Giridhar and VJ Raghunath is a nostalgic journey through Test cricket, one which took me back to the 1980s, when I first started reading cricket books and magazines: It was the pre-internet age or, as our kids would call it, the real stone age. I remember pouring through the writings of sports reporters and cricketers alike, devouring statistics and understanding jargon. It was the age of innocence, of simply getting immersed in a passion. [caption id=“attachment_1603193” align=“alignleft” width=“380”] Mid-Wicket Tales is a real labour of love. Firstpost[/caption] If, like me, you miss that time, this book by two bona fide fans and observers will generously fill that void. Mid-Wicket Tales is an unabashed ode to Test cricket. Or as the authors call it, their “love story”. It is also an antidote for the cynicism of today. The tone is earnest, informed and unpretentious. It assumes a mutual affection for the sport, seeking kindred spirits who will get as excited as Giridhar and Raghunath obviously were when digging out novel statistics and recounting unusual anecdotes. Their engagement with the sport is consistently visible through the book—as is their rapport with each other, reminiscent of friends parrying opinions on a suspect LBW decision over cups of chai. That both have played cricket at competitive levels is obvious. Non-cricketers would be incapable of dedicating chapters on focussed subjects such as close-in catching, leg before wicket decisions and left-arm bowling. Nor would they be able to handle technical topics with erudition and unpretentious clarity. Consider a section called ‘Big Hitting Is Not New: Ask Trumper And Jessop’ which dismisses the notion that the Indian Premier League is the nursery for the big-hitter. While the authors admit that “modern cricket is in a league of its own” when it comes to sixes and fours and towering strike rates, they also point out: “For 100 years of Test cricket, there have been only four occasions when a century has been scored before lunch on opening day. Three of these four feats were from the bats of the golden oldies — Trumper, Macartney and Bradman.” This little nugget is representative of the sense of history that the authors have invoked in their approach. And since no book on Test cricket can be complete without recognising the little master, they saved the country’s best for the last. Employing the smartest tool any writer on Sachin Tendulkar can find, they chose the words of his peer and long-time colleague Rahul Dravid to great effect: “So when you ask me which would be the greatest Tendulkar innings, I will possibly pick his 248 not out at Sydney in 2004. Why do I say that? Because it was an innings that came after a sequence of failures, at a time when he was struggling and Sachin was determined to succeed despite this. I saw Sachin’s character in that innings, humble, realistic about his form, cutting out his off-side strokes, accepting his weakness and playing around it. In a word that innings was truly inspirational.” The optimism is infectious and remarkable for a book about cricket in the modern era. This is possibly because it has dwelled on the sport and not on the politics and commerce around it. And there might be a lesson in that for fans. That watching cricket is supposed to be a labour of love. Much like this book is.