Published on LastWordOnSports (1 Aug 2015)

England’s Enviable Depth and Balance


Published on LastWordOnSports (27 Jun 2015)

Good, Can Be Better – The New One Day Cricket Rules


Published on LastWordOnSports (18 May 2015)

When England Enjoyed One Day Cricket


Published on LastWordOnSports (12 Apr 2015)

The Nearly Men: Zimbabwe at the World Cup


Published on LastWordOnSports (14 Mar 2015)

Last Strains of the Calypso: West Indies’ World Cup Hopes


My LastWordOnSports article on what is wrong with the Cricket World Cup 2015 format and what can be done about it.

Getting the Cricket World Cup Format Right


The morning sunlight streams in to the spacious grounds of Shri. N.Srinivasan’s palatial residence in Chennai. It is the day after the final of the 2014 WT20 and the mood is one of restfulness. The CSK boys are clustered around a fruit that has fallen from a tree and are debating over the type of fruit that it is. A balanced commentator (on a branch, that is) remarks, ‘Now, to some it is a Mango, to some it is an Orange. The whole thing is subjective, that’s the beauty of this garden.’ When prodded further, he testily asks, ‘Why do you always insist that I take a stand on things?’ and fades away into the higher branches. Another commentator opines, ‘This one is going to the wire. All 1,47,238 results are possible’, but none takes notice of him. A couple of ex-cricketers who are around say, ‘The matter is sub-gustation. We cannot comment on this at the moment’ and walk away.

Casting an indulgent smile on the group, Srinivasan walks across and into the shade of a Margosa tree, followed by Giles Clarke and Wally Edwards. With a brass cup of Kumbakonam Degree coffee and the following day’s newspaper in hand, he seats himself on an easy-chair. Clarke and Edwards sit cross-legged on one side of him on the ground. Having raised his hand to silence a gent who is mumbling enthusiastically into a phone nearby (‘I bet today’s coffee has 40% chicory’), he turns his attention back to the ECB and CA supremos and begins the proceedings.

‘I hereby call to order the official ICC Review Meeting of the 2014 World T20. As there isn’t sufficient shade under this tree to cover all of the Full Members’ representatives, this meeting comprises of one each from Asia, Europe and Oceania. (South Africa? England represents them adequately. West Indies? They’re all here in the IPL, so India should do.) So, be assured that we represent the interests of all of the cricketing boards, which are, anyway, determined by us in the first place. Now, this tournament was an unqualified success. The only part that didn’t go to plan was the special big-screen countdown that we had planned for the final. From the New Zealand board’s chairman setting things off by saying ’10’ till the South African one saying ‘4’, it went smoothly enough. Then, when I said ‘3’, both of you, unfortunately, kept repeating after me instead of counting down further. I do understand your sentiments but your saying ‘2’, ‘1’ would not necessarily have signified disagreement.’

He pauses to throw darts at papers from a report, that are pinned to a nearby tree and is about to resume talking when raised voices are heard from the CSK group – ‘Well, of course, there are newer, bigger dogs here’. Srinivasan stands up to walk towards them and sighs, ‘There they go again’. Then, remembering the unfinished business at hand, asks, ‘Now then, where were we with the review?’ Edwards answers, ‘You were saying that the tournament was an unqualified success’. Srini nods, ‘Yes, it indeed was. Isn’t that enough? I mean, this isn’t the IPL’. Giles assents, ‘Yes, SIRnivasan. It’s getting quite sunny too’. Srini smiles, ‘That reminds me. He’s been at the gate for a while. Send him in as you leave’.


It is widely believed that when the cricket administrators get some time away from whatever they do to take more control of the game, they set out on their favourite pursuit, that of tweaking the rules of one-day cricket. It will be a surprise to me if I am pointed to any form of any sport that has seen such a slew of changes in years so few.

First and foremost are the Powerplays. The earlier form of having only two fielders outside the inner circle for the first 15 overs had to be necessarily done away with, for it placed the fielding side utterly in the mercy of a rampaging batsman for so long a period. Bringing that period down to 10 overs was a near-perfect change. It is the other part that has been consistently got wrong. From two floating sets of five overs each, both in the control of the bowling side, to relinquishing control of one to the batting side, to doing away with the bowling set altogether and restricting the batting set to within 40 overs, this is one rule that the administrators have certainly been engrossed with. Yet, it remains largely imperfect because not many teams are ready to accelerate away right after 35 overs. And, because the Powerplay begins not later than the 36th over, there is a greater need now than before to preserve wickets, thereby lessening the risk taken by teams during overs 11-35, resulting in the cricket becoming more monotonous than before during this phase. Ironically, the intent of introducing Powerplays was to make the middle overs more exciting. The solution? Perhaps, allowing the second Powerplay to be taken even for overs 41-45 should do some good to the flow of the game, as that will coincide with the upward swing of the batting team’s momentum. More introspection should surely yield a solution that betters the existing rule.

The practice of allowing not more than four fielders outside the circle at any point in the game has done some good and a lot of bad. Batsmen now need to be more inventive than before to steal singles in the middle overs. But, come the slog overs, they can help themselves to a bounty of runs, with only four of the standard eight boundary positions manned. On any decent batting wicket, particularly in the subcontinent, 300 is now only a par score. Run feasts can excite the fans but can also jade them just as quickly.

Next is the free-hit. Whatever is this T20 theatrical rule doing in one-day cricket? A bowler who oversteps is already penalised by declaring the ball in question an illegal one, granting an extra run to the batting side, and discounting most forms of dismissals that he may have effected with that delivery. Does he really need to be punished the next ball too for this minor transgression? To put it in perspective, the same bowler can bowl a beamer, which is infinitely more dangerous to a batsman and be penalised just a single run.

In an effort to make the game friendlier to the bowlers, the two-bouncers-an-over rule was introduced. Although it has obvious merits, I, and a few international batsmen, dread the day when a bowling-heavy side delivers 100 bouncers out of 300 legitimate deliveries in bowling-friendly conditions. Maybe it is just me being cynical, but I believe one-bouncer-an-over is quite adequate.

There are no runners allowed for batsmen in one-day cricket now. This is plainly an unnecessarily harsh rule. Never to my knowledge in any bilateral series or tournament, have we had such a proliferation of batsmen using runners, that it had to be curbed totally. No batsman would want to use a runner unless he necessarily needs to, simply because a runner increases the chances of a run-out. And, in the past, the fielding captain and the umpires could always turn down a request for a runner, if the grounds for asking one were not justifiable to their eyes. This rule is so unfair, that, as recently as in the ongoing Asia Cup, an accomplished cricketer could scarcely believe it had been implemented and felt compelled to ask the umpire for a runner.

A lot of cricket grounds have very short boundaries these days for ODIs too. Although this produces more fours and sixes, it perilously blurs the difference between a hit and a mishit, between skill and luck. A bowler can have two moral victories over a batsman over the course of two deliveries but he could still have gone for two sixes and lost the match for his team. In a cricketing ecosystem where quality spinners are becoming scarce, this is a malady that has to be swiftly remedied.

One-day cricket is certainly not dying now. The popularity and interest generated by recent bilateral series’ and multi-nation tournaments can be taken as an indicator that it is, in fact, a thriving form. It should pay well to remember that ODI cricket has prospered not necessarily due to the administrator-infused changes but, more likely, despite those changes. At least, I am thankful there are no SuperSubs now.

Published at http://www.espncricinfo.com/thestands/content/story/726743.html


The ritual starts every year around the beginning of October. I look up the Ranji Trophy fixtures on Cricinfo, extract the ‘Tamil Nadu’ matches and mail them to a friend, highlighting the matches that are scheduled to happen at Chennai. Sometimes, he does the same before I do. Either way, for the last few years, we have managed to get together to watch a day, or at the least, a couple of sessions, of Ranji Trophy cricket at the ground every season.

The crowd, if it can be called that, at a Ranji match is a diverse one. There are fathers bringing their young sons for their first taste of cricket viewing at the ground, old-timers who have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the history and evolution of Tamil Nadu cricket, people who come solely to look at the ‘India Stars’ from close quarters (and almost unfailingly call out their names with encouraging remarks as they walk back into the pavilion), casual visitors who drop in for just a couple of hours, folks who would rather be anywhere but at their school/college/office and a few souls who simply would be anywhere.

The cricket is often unhurried, almost never frenetic and occasionally testing the boundaries of tolerance, like the 2011-12 Tamil Nadu – Rajasthan final did. The atmosphere in the stands is generally relaxed and, as is usually the case, reflects the pace and state of the game that is in progress. For a well-played shot, the sweet sound of the ball hitting the bat is clearly audible, and is followed by a smattering of applause that is pleasant to the ears. More often than not, there is genuine appreciation and admiration for good cricket in general and not just frenzied support for the home team.

Matches that are not played at the M.A. Chidambaram stadium, which is Chennai’s premier venue, are instead usually held at one of two venues – the well-maintained Guru Nanak College Ground or the very picturesque IIT Chemplast Ground. I always find these smaller venues to be more appealing from a spectator’s perspective. They are less imposing as there are no stands and you are much closer to the action – in fact, the boundary rope that separates you from the players is more of a mental restraint than a physical one. There are grassy areas beyond the boundary rope where you can seat or stretch yourself cozily, have leisurely talks with your companions and keep an eye on the action that unfolds on the field. Only when you get too close to the sightscreen that you are politely, almost apologetically, requested by an attendant to move aside.

My patronage of Ranji cricket provides me with both joy and disappointment. Disappointment that our country’s premier first-class tournament generates so less an interest and following that does not do justice to its rich history and contribution in producing players for the national team. The India and Chennai (IPL) teams are immensely popular but when it comes to Tamil Nadu, there is a huge void in spectator interest and support. Still, there is joy in the fact that a Ranji match is so unlike an India or IPL match – this is cricket with no frills and no jingoism, cricket that is pure and largely unadulterated by commercial compulsions, cricket at its simplest, where it is treated essentially as a game and not as a spectacle to behold.

Also published at  http://www.espncricinfo.com/thestands/content/story/704797.html


Two minutes into most team meetings at the office, you get to know what is going to happen in the next fifty-eight minutes and so tend to lose interest in the proceedings. So what do you do? Unless you are the mobile-fiddling type, you really have no choice but to gaze on at your fellow-attendees. Five minutes pass by and then someone’s phone rings. When I say it rings, I mean, it lets out such a blast of sound that is sure to make even the most thick-headed sleeper in the room to shift in his chair and mumble an incomprehensible couple of words. The guy who has gotten the call looks at people apologetically and switches his mobile to the Vibrate mode as some people frown at him for the disturbance. It needs no mention that most of these frowners (!) have set their mobiles (by design or by chance) to a non-ringing mode. One is sure to find in this group someone who has set his/her mobile to the Vibrate mode and placed it on the table. Then comes the interesting part – this person gets a call. There are few things in life as displeasing to the senses as a mobile vibrating on top of a woodish table. (Perhaps scraping a metal plate with a metal spoon. Or rubbing one’s nails on a hard concrete wall.) It does not end here. This person has absolutely no intention of stopping this assault to the senses. That is because the meeting decorum calls for mobiles to be put in a non-ringing mode and the Vibrate mode it is that the mobile is in. All’s well in his world. This trait of compliance without the necessary understanding is unfortunately fast becoming the defining feature of this generation. Not all’s well.