Cronje capitalism

Or so spectators on the subcontinent would believe. After all, why else do they continue to devote time and attention for days and weeks and seasons on end to the slow-paced and languorous movements of 22 young men? After the Indian team has wrapped up four months of high-voltage cricket by comprehensively laying claim to the wooden spoon, why is it taken for granted that all of us will resume our television vigil when they take to the field in the Asia Cup in Dhaka next month?

And yet, something has tragically and conclusively changed this weekend. In the quest to understand why the cliche that cricket is an Indian game discovered in England sounds so very logical, social scientists and laymen alike have zeroed in on the ambiguities intrinsic to the game. The eclectic mix of elements that determines outcomes in this game of glorious uncertainties, it is deemed, is in tune with the concepts of karma and dharma. There are no simple equations in cricket, there is a complex swirl of variables. The character of the pitch, the outfield, weather, crowd interference, team coordination, individual flashes of brilliance, egoistic hangovers and clashes, burdensome expectations, ability to innovate, patriotic fervour, capricious lady luck who is to decide which one element decides the fate of the playing XI? No wonder then that a cricket match in India is not just a sporting event and takes on dimensions of a morality play; here is a sport that gives couch potatoes and raucous spectators asemblance of participation without having to move a limb. And here is a sport whose soul-threatening fortunes are so conveniently amenable to our favourite lament: simply blame it on the system, or on us.

This explains the widespread dismay and shock across the country over the Hansie Cronje brand of capitalism that came to light on Friday. It confirmed an open secret no one was willing to acknowledge, that the cracks in the pitch we were examining for deeper significance had no bearing on the few redeeming performances of Saurav Ganguly’s team, that the desperate reclamation of national pride may well have been facilitated by the greedy designs of bookies.

What effect this will have on a nation of 100 million selectors-cum-coaches is not clear, but certainly how we watch cricket will change forever. Examine for a moment the spectators’ mindset. If batsmen like Ganguly tend to hang about and admire their elegant pull shots for a second or two before they set off for a run, it is because we the spectators, we who have bumbled along through half a century of independent nationhood, have bequeathed to them a whimsical disregard for deadlines and urgency not because these cricketers, who achieve fortune and long-lasting fame, fail to make the obvious link between athleticism and performance, a link that even chess players swear by.

Hence, in this not-so-sprawling global village, even as the men in blue failed to acclimatise Do-wn Under and followed up J.Y. Lele’s prophecy come true with the ignominy of losing a home series to the now disgraced South Africans, the fault lies with us the spectators for not transmitting to them our patriotic credentials. Sample what a columnist for a popular website had to offer by way of solution: "Perhaps as followers of this game, we lack the spirit and initiative that is needed to make a team rise higher than its worth. Perhaps we should take matters into our own hands and without being asked to turn out en masse, in blue. It is disturbing to read that while the Australians continue wearing their caps and colours with pride after a match and during the presentation, the Indians can’t wait to change into their normal attire… It shouldn’t be allowed to happen, but patriotism cannot be endorsed by a group which itself cannot stand up to the scrutiny. Let’s start thinking of ways to change from beingmere spectators to `part of the crisis management group.’"

It is this intimate exchange of national pride and personal guilt between willow talkers and living room commentators that has been endangered by Cronje’s chatty conversations with his bookie. When the Indian skipper next turns out for the toss, transforming a day in front of the idiot box into a session with a cosmic shrink will now be that much more difficult.

If we the spectators, with our edginess about touring foreign lands without a regular diet of aloo ka paranthas and curd rice, are responsible for the team’s poor travel temperament, what do Cronje’s alleged shenanigans say about our moral tenacity? If forsaking the art form that is Test cricket for the frenetic run chases in one-day ties is justified by pointing to modern fast-forward, accumulative lifestyles, what in the spectator’s little universe accounts for the muck in the Indian cricketing establishment? Rot in the Indian camp has so far not been articulated, but innuendo has surely acquired grim dimensions after the Cronje transcript.

Maybe spectators would be better advised to eschew navel-gazing and instead scrutinise the patrons of the game. In his 1980 socio-economic-cultural inquiry Patrons, Players and the Crowd: The Phenomenon of Indian Cricket, Richard Cashman noted that two of the reasons English aristocracy took to the sport were that (1) it was conducive to gambling, and (2) it helped them further social contacts and keep abreast of news, gossip, scandal and intrigue. Maybe spectators should ask whether the solution lies in a professional cricket administration not dominated by a new Indian elite seeking to further social contacts. It’s a thought, they may just discover that the fault does not lie with them.