The hubris of cricket gods: Chappell and Tendulkar share the same great flaw

There is a lesson for us to draw from Sachin Tendulkar’s disclosure about former Indian coach Greg Chappell’s machinations and abrasive attitude. In cricket, as in life, geniuses rarely make for good coaches or guides. To turn to them for assistance is to court bloated egos, risk your confidence, and encounter incredible pettiness. Chappell was considered a cricketing genius in his playing days, arguably the best to wear the Baggy Green after Donald Bradman. Even his fiercest critics considered him prodigiously talented, because of which he brimmed with confidence and audacity. Like all cricketing geniuses, he had that extra fraction of time than others to judge the length and line of deliveries, enabling him to dispatch them to the fence with the disdain bowlers found humiliating. Obviously, he practiced to hone his skills – even the best talent rarely flowers without perseverance. But for every hour devoted to the nets, he drew more from it than others. And because he was so good, fate couldn’t but bless him. As Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi, in another context, once pointed, “The better you are, the less luck you need.” [caption id=“attachment_1789371” align=“alignleft” width=“380”] Greg Chappell and Sachin Tendulkar. Reuters[/caption] Chappell was among the best, which isn’t quite captured in his Test average of 53.86 and 24 centuries. He achieved this during the time the Tests weren’t played so frequently, and slow pitches and instant cricket hadn’t tamed bowlers. For men such as Chappell, doubts and fears are rare visitors. It is not that they are born mentally resilient, but that they don’t require this attribute only because their awesome talent guarantees success consistently. No need for them to claw back from a lean patch, overcoming the fear of failure and sweeping aside the cobwebs of doubts. Chappell’s supreme confidence can be discerned from this astonishing fact – he scored a century on his debut as well in the last Test of his career, having announced his retirement before the match. Those who haven’t experienced failure and its debilitating impact on a person can scarcely have empathy for the less gifted. From our experiences we learn the methods of harnessing fate to our ambitions and dreams. Since Chappell didn’t know failure, he couldn’t have experienced the crippling fear accompanying it. And he couldn’t have mustered empathy for the struggling Indian players because his own successful career ensured this emotion did not mature in him. In fact, it must have been the reverse. He would have come across to the players as remote and overbearing. For the life of him, Chappell couldn’t have fathomed the inability of Indian players to handle short fast balls or viciously swinging deliveries. He stood up to the famous fast bowling quartet of West Indies, averaging 56.19 in 17 Tests, before pitches in Australia and the Caribbean slowed down appreciably. Sure, Chappell must have provided them tips to negotiate thunderbolts, as he famously did to Saurav Ganguly before he was appointed the Indian coach. But playing genuine speedsters is more than just technique; it requires eyesight and footwork no coach can provide you. Chappell must have been horrified to discover the Indian batsmen struggle at what came so easily to him. Disdain always follows horror – and it must have shown on his face. This overbearing personality of his must have been also partly because he was a member of a great Australian team. He saw the great fast bowler Dennis Lillie overcome fractured vertebrae, cut down on his run-up and speed, to emerge as among the deadliest speedsters ever. Indeed, for Chappell, Zaheer Khan would have been a strange sight with his ungainly ways, his reported reluctance to work on his fitness, and his frequent breakdowns because of muscle tears. And remembering Lillie’s travails, Chappell must have wondered what the burly Khan was all about. The controversy over Chappell should tell us how wrong we are to assume geniuses can make for good coaches. In fact, the good and the mediocre who surpass themselves are likely to have better coaching potential. They have known the struggle for excellence, overcoming doubts and fears and setbacks on their slow climb to the pinnacle of their glory. This enables them to empathize with the less endowed and inspire them to rise beyond what their talent warrants. At the international level, players don’t need basic coaching, apart from having someone point to faults which intermittently creep in, often because of playing excessive cricket. They need the coach to nurture in them the belief in themselves, of being good, of possessing the requisite qualities to have a flowering career in cricket. This is precisely why the Indian players loved John Wright and Gary Kirsten. They weren’t called great in their playing days. Wright had a Test average of 37.82 and Kirsten a respectable 45.27. They could fathom the human frailties because these had been part of them, too. How could Wright, for instance, turn livid on seeing players take their eyes off rising deliveries, or swat at the ball outside off stump? These had been his foibles as well. ‘It happens at times,’ he, unlike Chappell, must have told them, not condoning the manner of dismissal, but hoping they would learn from their mistakes, as he did too. In life, too, it is a bad idea to turn to geniuses for tips. Success comes relatively easier to them because of their innate talent. A student who, say, habitually scores 99 per cent can’t provide useful tips to a mate whose scores around 75 per cent. Perhaps the former wouldn’t even know the ease with which the mind can he distracted and, therefore, the method of controlling it. Or even the optimum time required to prepare for an examination. Better to turn to the student known to have improved his grades from 75 per cent to 85-90 per cent. Greatness does often produce bloated egos. Even greatness long past leaves its imprint on the personality of the great. It imbues them with a sense of superiority, inculcates in them the belief they belong to a superior league. Chappell, obviously, had this personality trait. And he couldn’t but be himself. This must brought him into conflict with the Indian players who, accustomed to exceptional adulation and riches, have egos no less than his. This was more so because the Indian team during Chappell’s tenure boasted players who could justifiably think they deserve the honorific of ‘great’. We erroneously assume great players or individuals are exalted souls, in whom there can be no trace of pettiness, who are above playing games. Forget Chappell, think of Tendulkar and ask him: Did he confide in Rahul Dravid the conspiracy Chappell was hatching to supplant him as India’s captain? I think not, judging from Dravid’s tepid response to Tendulkar’s disclosure. Nor has the great batsman been particularly conscientious about his duties as a Rajya Sabha, his attendance there still not above one percent. Hope the cricket board never thinks of offering the post of coach to Tendulkar – the god of cricket, like Chappell, just won’t be able to understand ordinary mortals, whose fate it is to rise and fall and rise again. (A Delhi-based journalist, Ajaz Ashraf is the author of The Hour Before Dawn, HarperCollins India, releasing December 2014. Email:ashrafajaz3@gmail.com)