Too Classy to have been left out

Too classy to have been left out
Anand Vasu
February 4, 2003

On November 10, 1985, Rhona Petrosyan, widow of chess legend Tigran Petrosyan, told Garry Kasparov: "Garry, I am sorry for you." Kasparov was stunned; just the previous day, he had won the world title to become the youngest-ever chess champion in history at the age of 22. A dazed, uncomprehending Kasparov shot back: "And what is there to feel sorry about?" The truly wise Petrosyan replied: "I am sorry for you, Garry, because the best day of your life is already over."

Much the same could - and perhaps should - have been said to VVS Laxman on March 15, 2001, when he carved himself a splendiferous place in history with a match-winning 281 against Australia at the Eden Gardens. That single innings rocked his world; nothing has been the same for Laxman, and the knock now almost two years past, his critics insist that he has done nothing of note since then. Laxman would point out that he has scored almost 1,500 Test runs at an average of more than 47, with two centuries and nine fifties, but in the fever-pitch speculation that inevitably precedes one-day cricket's greatest bonanza, Test records count for little.

That supreme quadrennial circus - the World Cup - is upon us once again. Television screens blare on about contests that fly winners to South Africa. The media relives, rehashes and regurgitates old victories - the 1983 triumph alone has been viewed more in the last fortnight than in the 20 preceding years. Newspapers line up more celebrity columnists than correspondents, and glossy supplements promising to keep you on the ball have duly been released. From roadside chai shops to overpriced bars, no sentence escapes lips without the word "cricket" worming its way into it.

The devoted cricket fan, however, must spot one incongruity amidst all the pomp - VVS Laxman is on a plane to Bridgetown, Barbados, rather than Cape Town, South Africa. Not considered good enough to make the final cut for the World Cup 15, Laxman instead finds himself leading India 'A' in the Carib Beer Cup rather than bolstering the Indian top-order in South Africa.

How much will this decision cost India in the final analysis? It is, of course, difficult to tell before a ball has been bowled, but the selectors still have much explaining to do vis-a-vis their choice of replacement for a man who oozes class every time he puts bat to ball. But even avoiding the well-worn cliché about the temporariness of form and the permanence of class, one look at Dinesh Mongia's recent record will reveal much. After being drafted into the Indian side for the last two games of the ICC Champions Trophy ­ and being asked to open the innings - Mongia did his best impression of a deer in the headlights and was promptly dropped for the tour of New Zealand.

But soon after, the Indian selectors picked the squad for the World Cup, leaving out Laxman and flying Mongia to New Zealand to get some international cricket ahead of his trip to South Africa for the World Cup. Confused selection? You make up your mind, for it certainly looks as though the selectors could not.

In his last 10 one-day internationals, 351 runs have flowed off Laxman's blade at an average of a touch under 40. Although he scored no hundreds, he got as close as is humanly possible with his 99 against the West Indies at Nagpur. Other scores of 47, 66 and 71 in the same series ensured that the men from the Caribbean developed a healthy respect for the Hyderabadi stylist.
A pity the selectors chose to think otherwise.

Judging Mongia by the same yardstick gives new life to the phrase "odious comparison." In his last 10 outings, the left-hander has managed a meagre 97 runs at an average of a shade over 10. The man who will bat for India in the world's premier one-day competition could not even manage a half-century in this period. And yet, there has been hardly a whimper about this bit of selection madness, one that could very well cost India dear in a crunch match.

Perhaps that is only because people do actually believe that Laxman has done little of note since his epic 281, despite evidence to the contrary. Or perhaps it is because Laxman has always been the scapegoat, the one "expendable" batsman, in recent times. Or perhaps even because many of Laxman's brightest moments have come when he did not even expect to be in the side. Rumour has it that he was not slated to play the second Test against the Australians at Kolkata till the very last moment, and he certainly was not drafted into the team for the West Indies until Virender Sehwag was injured.

By the same logic, perhaps there is still a chance he will make it to the World Cup, courtesy a last-minute crock-of-the-hamstring to a fringe player in the squad? Sadly, it must be this kind of straw that wishful thinkers will be clutching onto. When it comes to a cricketer of Laxman's class, however, one cannot help but feel that this should not be the case. Laxman may not care for the game of chess, but he might want to read Rhona Petrosyan's words carefully. "I am sorry for you, because the best day of your life is already over." For Laxman, it may be time to look beyond 281 and start afresh.

© Cricinfo

My Favorite Cricket Articles

My Favourite Cricketer
Going out with a whang
August 3, 2007

John Benaud observed Thommo at close quarters but that did not dim his affection for the bowler with the ballet dancer's feet and a larrikin streak

I was eight years old and, although the Australian Test team listed household names such as Arthur Morris, Lindsay Hassett, Neil Harvey, Ray Lindwall and Keith Miller (and my older brother Richie, although he was a rookie), in my dream matches on the front verandah, played with a ragged tennis ball and a cut-down bat, I was always the South African No.3, Russell Endean. It was 1952, Jack Cheetham's team were visiting Australia and the Springboks, inspired as much as I was by Endean's prodigious run-gathering and electric catching, mugged Australia and drew a series the experts had said they would lose.

These days I wonder if I might have been guilty less of disloyalty than of an immature desire to offer good old Aussie "fair go" to maligned visitors. Down under, the catch-cry of paying fans can sometimes be "We want a contest, not a walkover".

There was a good deal of well-meaning Aussie 'sympathy' in 1960-61 too. The late Frank Worrell's wonderful West Indians were on the receiving end of some harsh predictions, yet proceeded to lead brother Richie's team such a merry, memorable dance that it seemed every Aussie was cheering them from the rafters.

Watched from afar, heroes can come and go as quickly as their halcyon summers; less fleeting is the fancy experienced when one is touched by genius. Fast forward to the start of the 1970s. The scene is Bankstown Oval in the heart of Sydney's west; the outfield is dry and brown but there is a greenish tinge to the pitch. I am on strike with a full-size bat; the bowler, hard, shiny red ball in hand, is standing casually at the end of his run, about 40 yards away, and resembles any other knockabout Aussie bloke - skinny but sinewy, fair hair cropped close, eyes squinting in the bright midday sun.

His name is Jeff Thomson but his circling team-mates in their urgings simply call him "Thommo". While I am surveying the field, it is hard not to think of the latest Thommo rumour on grade cricket's grapevine: the previous weekend the former New South Wales opening batsman Warren Saunders, a champion exponent of the hook shot, was late on a Thommo bouncer. After being treated at hospital Saunders rang Neil Harvey, then a selector, and said: "You've got to pick this bloke, he's the fastest I've ever faced."

It certainly sharpens my focus. I had seen Saunders deal comfortably with Ray Lindwall and Wes Hall. I need a plan and the hook shot is not going to be part of it. So Thommo begins - the highstepping gait of a thoroughbred, bowling hand bobbing at waist level and the ball visible. It is conventional and comforting because facing a strange bowler for the fi rst time invariably generates edginess. Then, in the split second before delivery, at gather, Thommo drags one leg behind the other in a sort of Swan Lake crossover, sways back and hides the ball behind his right knee - unconventional and very unsettling. Upon achieving Test fame, Thommo was asked to explain this unique bowling method to a bunch of wide-eyed schoolboys. "I just run in and go whang,"

Upon achieving Test fame, Thommo was asked to explain this unique bowling method to a bunch of wide-eyed schoolboys. "I just run in and go whang," he said. I can vouch for that. On that day in Bankstown 'whang' meant a ball landing just short of a good length outside off, steepling past my unhelmeted head, up and over the wicketkeeper and one or two bounces into the fence for four byes. In that instant I knew what Ian Chappell would confirm for the world's batsmen years later: you had 0.47sec to react once Thommo delivered. "It didn't allow you time to change your shot. If your first choice was wrong, you had to hope your luck was in," Chappell said.

My favourite Thommo moment was in the Barbados Test of 1977-78, when I saw him tear into Gordon Greenidge, Desmond Haynes, Vivian Richards, Alvin Kallicharran and Clive Lloyd. If those elite batsmen were not intimidated by his pace and aggression, then body language is a flawed yardstick. Thommo took 6 for 77 off 13 overs in one innings. Think about that - a wicket every two overs.

He had an appeal for caught off the gloves rejected against Greenidge, probably because Greenidge rubbed his shoulder. At the end of play that day Thommo said: "That was gutsy, the way Gordon rubbed his shoulder, because his broken hand must have been hurting like hell."
We like our favourites alone on a pedestal. Wishful thinking abounds in Australia that Shaun Tait is "another Thommo". But Tait lacks that sliding foot-cross which enabled Thommo to maintain height at delivery and generate his extreme pace and lethal bounce. However, because technology rules this age of cricket, coaches might be able to create another Thommo. The good news for other Thommo fans, and batsmen, is: I've never seen a bowling machine with a larrikin streak.

John Benaud played three Tests for Australia, has been a Test selector and is currently a journalist. He is the author of Matters of Choice: A Test Selector's Story.
This article was first published in Cricinfo Magazine
© Cricinfo