By Sham Ali
(Cosmos Celebrating 32nd Anniversary):- If you ever find yourself boxed in by the nostalgia of the early years, and at times wonder out loud what suddenly happened as the century turned the corner, well the sooner you break out of the box and stop wondering the better it will be for your sanity, unless you have decided that amnesia will be your company.
The times have changed and this is a new day, a new era, and a new, a very new breed of cricketers, or so “they” say. That new breed is on display for all to see. Just take a look at league match in the area and you will leave shaking your head after a good dose of the uncouth and raucous exchanges that fill the air on the sidelines about who and what, but then that is an old story. In the middle, it is the not too different; only on this occasion the ‘courtesies” are aimed at each other, and at times to the umpire in a tasteless reminder about why he is there, his fee. Is that too is an old story? The scene is usually one where swollen egos are on parade. That is evidenced even before a catch is taken; you see the bat is flung into the air in disgust, kicking of the poor lifeless dust, or the innocent stumps are knocked over as if they didn’t have their share of knocking over. What did the helmet do for it to be treated like the dry seed flung to the ground from the boundary line to somewhere close to it compartment. Or a pumped up fielder and bowler who released the gangster theatrics at the fall of a wicket. Or the usual “colorful” exchanges between the “men of examples” that could add a page or two to the Webster dictionary.
What was that all about, Gentlemen? Perhaps it was a missed opportunity to milk a little more out of Mr. Sugar Daddy, again, at this recreational level along with do whatever it takes to win attitude. So much for the gentleman and respect for the game or oneself; albeit, that may be asking for respect where it does not exist. All of those antics are in clear view of the 13’s and 15’s years old youngsters who are watching from the sidelines. No respect. It only a game, enjoy yourself. Yep! Or maybe, respect is just a staple phrase that sounds good.
To try to understand the rise of all the actors and antics on field just absorb a T20 tournament and you will have a full dose of the pomp, macho-mania and all the bravado, and on occasions the “over the top gamesmanship” for your entertainment, and enjoyment. Unfortunately, it is the “over the top gamesmanship” that is being mimicked at the domestic and club level with a few village additions that gives the gentleman’s game a bad name. At the local level there are enterprises that glamorize and gave credence to the notion that “foul is fair” or that sauce for the goose is not sauce for the gander. Generally, it is the few who gives the majority a bad name; however, in this time of bravado the reverse seems to takes center stage. And in keeping up with the social and cultural changes in these times may be the reason for the slow but gradual erosion of the nuances of the game, and the “Gentleman” in the game will soon become a minority and eventually homeless. Those ingredients add a bitter taste to cricket. It is the recurring thyme not only in this land, but in some islands not too distance from here that the cricket is not like it used to be anymore. Surely, once continue to foster the class and decorum; those “flavors” which once spiced-up the game will eventually wither away.
So then what has changed? Maybe we are in some bad company that is New York cricket or maybe there are more of the clueless characters on parade than the few gentlemen that is left. Seemingly, in a land that embodied a rich history of the game it is difficult to fathom that the cricket is treated as a second class citizen by the very exponents of the game. There is a yearning among cricketers across this land to preserve some semblance of civility and goodwill in a land where the game is in danger of having indiscipline as the norm. That indiscipline though is encouraged by and coupled with unconcealed impropriety at the administrative table. Administrations have either lost their scruples or have out-lived their usefulness, period. Shockingly, after administrators sacrificed so much time and effort to administer cricket, one is left in awe of how the simplest, rational decisions are blemished and laden with glaring partiality on that dreaded word called color or association. Once those practices are encouraged and allowed to continue the erosion of the gentleman’s game is inevitable,
The cricketer in this era in this land is fully equipped, I mean fully equipped; two bats of good quality with enough wood on it that allow you to shave off a piece to light the fireplace and still have enough of it left to outside edged a six, a couple pairs of uniform, helmet, light-weight pads with velcro straps, and the whole “garage” all driven by a very different mother-board. If you still have a pair of pads with the cane protection and metal buckle that often dug into your foot or a pair of batting glove with the “catahar” looking finger protection send it to the museum. If you still iron your pants, good! However, you won’t get that sharp seam anymore because the material is not tetrex, or made with two back and two side pockets, and a small fabs, in front by the waist to put your money. Your shirt won’t have the sheen or stiff with starch, or buttons running down the front or on the cuff of the sleeve. These days the uniforms are soft and comfy, they absorb the sweat and keep you cool and dry under the sun. We are very fortunate to be living in these times. But somehow the cricketers of yesteryear demonstrate a deep sense respect, pride and principle with much, much less under the same sun.
Yes, the narrative has changed dramatically and color has become the new white and that somehow breathes the divide and indiscipline at this local level. On so many occasions teams appear like a nice bowl of salad gone bad. We have so much difficulty to decipher between Burgundy and Green or between Yellow and Blue. Once you have your color, any color, you are “good to go” The opposition is all decked out in Pink and your team is Technicolor. The umpire inquires where is your Red uniform. “This is arite ump, is color, its addidas, the tag is red.” With that gentlemen, discipline goes out of the window and the “Gentleman” standing behind the wicket may be the only one left, until he makes a decision in the closing stages of a nail biter, until then even he is stifled as to whether the ball above the waist is a free hit in this league.
So, if you are still boxed in that pervasive notion that Cricket is a gentleman’s game, stay there, unless you want to be drowned in the razzmatazz of lights, color, and walking billboards that are on display for the world to see, up there and down here. Those glitz and glamour also comes with an “unwritten” statement that has taken over the cricket world “Today, this is how much my talent is worth, Gentlemen” Enjoy it while it lasts. But for the few who still grace the cricket field; the place where the images of the game are more visible, up there and down here, and do so with dignity, pleasure and that gentleman’s persona, Cricket will be better served. They are truly the custodians of the game whose exchanges of courtesies and graciousness will continue to serve, indisputably, as a stark reminder that there are some things in cricket that will remain priceless.
