Farewell to runs

"Sachin aura about him", I punned shamelessly, while headlining one of his performances in the 1992 World Cup. We already knew how gifted he was, but it was his batting at the top of the order in that tournament that gave the first indications that he was probably superhuman. I was working for an eveninger then, and what better way of blackening white pages than going gaga over the premier one-day tournament in the world!

The young Tendulkar still looked ridiculously boyish. He gave the impression he believed he could hit every ball to the boundary or over it. True, he did not quite annihilate bowling attacks in quite the ruthless way he was to hammer the likes of Glenn McGrath and Shane Warne years later, but his straight drives and cover drives were gorgeous—a sign of things to come.

The boy wonder took a while to earn the sobriquet of The Little Master, which had belonged to Hanif Mohammed and Sunil Gavaskar before him. Though his first Test hundred arrived a year after his debut, at Old Trafford in England, we had to wait for two more years before he repeated the feat in Sydney and Perth, in the same year as the World Cup.

By the end of that decade, he had scored 22 Test hundreds, including three marvellous efforts at Chepauk, every one of which I was privileged to watch. His 165 against England and 155 not out against Australia had resulted in Indian wins, but his peerless 136 amidst excruciating back spasms in January 1999 ended in tragedy for India and a lap of honour by the triumphant Pakistani team to thunderous applause from a Chennai crowd that did India proud. By that time, his batting in One Day Internationals had already assumed awesome proportions, with his two hundreds against Australia in successive matches at Sharjah going into the annals of cricket history as fables.

An Australian writer, Christine Williams, interviewed me about Tendulkar a few years ago, when many of us were wondering why he was prolonging his career, so obviously over the hill was he. Or so we foolishly thought. I said to her then, "He has remained for the major part of his career a completely natural cricketer; he follows his instincts." I had, however, found him going through an annoying phase. "He's trying to be a different kind of player—very watchful, extremely, irritatingly watchful," I had told her.

I was convinced it was the end of the road for him. In all fairness to Indian cricket, he must retire, I strongly felt. But even amidst the gloom of his scratchy, tentative ways, he was still scoring more runs than most, at a faster pace than most. The redeeming feature of that depressing phase was that the little boy in Sachin Tendulkar would break through every now and then in ever so many playful ways, when he would launch into outright aggression all of a sudden.

He came back so strongly that he seemed to return to full bloom, with a seemingly unending flow of runs, a rediscovery of the joys of batting, and irrepressible pleasure in the success of his peers and juniors.

Sachin Tendulkar has done everything on a cricket field, except perhaps keep wickets. Or has he? His bowling when he was younger and fitter must rank as perhaps the most versatile on a cricket field, with the exception of the magic of Sir Garfield Sobers. The same boyishness that made him attempt every variation as a bowler, except extreme pace (though he did try to learn that as well, from Dennis Lillee at the MRF Pace Foundation) was also perhaps behind his occasional reluctance to walk when he knew he was out. The same boyishness also gave the game away almost every time that happened, because his facial expression said it all. The 2011 World Cup showed him in a new light when he walked in the match against the West Indies, though the umpire had declared him not out.

Followed the final phase of his grand career, when even his wellwishers began to wish he would announce his retirement. That has been a sad part of a wonderful career. It is painful to watch him struggle like a mortal, often surprised by ordinary bowlers. What new record is he chasing, has been the question his critics are asking? Though Sachin has stoutly denied that he was ever interested in records, we all know how he tends to slow down in the nineties, how agonizing the wait for his hundredth hundred was. Yet, if that charge were true, how come he has never scored a triple hundred in Test cricket, when carefree Sehwag achieved that feat apparently effortlessly? Had Tendulkar wanted, could he not have scaled that peak?

As Ian Chappell has said, Sachin Tendulkar is the reason why millions watch cricket today; every Test cricketer in the world owes him for that. Millions will probably stop watching the game (Test cricket, at least), the way they used to desert the stadium in an exodus the moment he was dismissed in a match. 

How will he remain connected to the game after his 200^th Test? As a television commentator? As a captain on the field, Tendulkar spoke constantly to the bowlers, overdid it perhaps. Did he do the same thing in the dressing room? So many young cricketers have spoken of how he has motivated them, cheered them up when the chips are down. Will he give us glimpses of his cricket wisdom, his world view, as a commentator? Or will he choose a different role to play—as a mentor, as an administrator? 

I can’t wait to watch Tendulkar Version II in action.

CD Gopinath: An aristocrat among cricketers

CD Gopinath was the aristocrat of the Madras team of the 1950s. Not only was he from an elite social background—his father CP Doraikannu was general manager of Indian Overseas Bank—his cricket too was quite regal. He batted with panache, and seemed to have the kind of time to play his shots that tends to invest batting with an air of majesty. Of erect stance and equipped with a range of shots all around the wicket, he averaged over 50 in Ranji Trophy cricket during an era of uncovered turf wickets and matting. He scored two brilliant hundreds in the year Madras won the national championship for the first time under Balu Alaganan’s stewardship, sharing the batting honours with his younger teammate AG Kripal Singh. He scored 122 against Bengal in the semifinal and 133 against Holkar in the final. Remarkably, those were the only two Ranji matches he played that season, and they also happened to be his first two hundreds in the championship. He had debuted as far back as the 1949-50 season, starting most inauspiciously with a pair against Mysore. His 74 and unbeaten 53 against Mysore at Bangalore in the 1950-51 season must have cemented his place in the side.

The late Alaganan who lauded Gopinath’s role in that success—along with those played by Kripal Singh, indubitably the star of the season, MK Murugesh, AK Sarangapani and others—also credited Gopinath with vital tactical inputs. He said, “In the semifinal, C D Gopinath plotted Pankaj Roy’s dismissal on the hook shot off the bowling of BC Alva with his fastish offbreaks. We had a fielder about halfway to the boundary, Alva bowled short and Roy could not resist the temptation.” (Alaganan and Gopinath had played for college and club together as well. In an interview, Alaganan once related with much delight an anecdote involving young Gopinath, who did not see eye to eye with the Madras Christian College principal’s view that his cricketers could not play for other teams. According to Balu, Gopinath played for a club under an assumed name and scored a hundred once).

Gopinath who became state captain the very next season following Alaganan’s retirement, came to be known for his capable leadership, but could not repeat Alaganan’s success, though he continued in his role till 1963. He had been much more successful as captain of the Madras Cricket Club in the local league, leading the team to the Palayampatti Shield title in his very first season as captain in 1957-58. He repeated the feat the following season, and twice again in 1960-61 and 1965-66. As captain of Madras, Gopinath relied on his spinners led by the champion leg spinner VV Kumar, and played a key role in the development of his bowlers. In the league, however he had to rely on swing and seam, with N Kannayiram, all rounders MK Balakrishnan and MM Kumar, and Burmah Shell’s HW Joynt leading an effective pace attack.

Gopinath’s nine first class hundreds included a highest of 234 against Mysore in the Ranji Trophy and a grand 175 versus the touring New Zealand team in 1955.

He made an impressive Test debut in 1951-52, playing two lovely innings of 50 not out and 42 against England in a drawn match at Bombay. It must have been a daunting experience for the young man to bat at No. 8 in a line-up that had Roy, Mantri, Umrigar, Hazare, Amarnath and Sarwate and Adhikari bat ahead of him in the order and Vinoo Mankad after him! He seemed to have coped very well, scoring a fluent half-century in a first innings total of 485. The story was different in the second innings. India were 77 for 6 when Gopinath went in, and soon 88 for 7, before he and Mankad put on 71 for the eighth wicket. He made 35 in the final Test at Madras, which India won, its first Test victory over England.

Gopinath fared quite well in an unofficial Test series against the touring Commonwealth team, a fighting unbeaten 67 that helped India to ward off an innings defeat the highlight of his performances.  He made a few runs in the limited opportunities that came his way in Pakistan in 1954-55, after declining an invitation to tour the West Indies a couple of seasons earlier! Those days, it was not unthinkable for a player to make himself unavailable for Test cricket for business reaons.

Omitted for the tour of England in 1959, but brought into the team again in the final Test against Australia at Calcutta in the 1959-60 season, he played a fighting knock of 39, topscoring in the first innings as India collapsed, but made no run in the second innings—when India fared much better. He was Richie Benaud’s victim in both innings. He never played for India again.

It is difficult to resist the conclusion after studying Gopinath’s career records, and having watched him bat with great style and confidence, that he did not receive a fair deal from the selectors. His was certainly a talent worth nurturing. In domestic cricket, he continued to bring joy to the Madras partisan, with several top innings of great authority. This writer had the pleasure of bowling to him in a local match in the 1960s. None of his skill had left him, though he was by now essentially a Sunday cricketer.

After his playing days, Gopinath became a national selector and toured England in 1979 as the manager of the Indian team. Today, he comes across as a thoughtful commentator on the game, when approached for his views. At a recent function to launch the Wisden India almanac, he gave the audience some amusing glimpses into the past by recalling the infinitesimal “smoke allowance” Test players received in his days, and the nature of the accommodation they enjoyed in Pakistan: a railway compartment! He also suggested that 20-20 cricket be renamed as something else than cricket, just like snooker and pool as different from billiards.

Nowadays 83-year-old Gopinath and his wife Comala, a champion golfer in her day, live at their Coonoor residence.

Bishan again! From DNA as modified from an earlier post

http://epaper.dnaindia.com/story.aspx?id=49355&boxid=16796&ed_date=2013-7-27&ed_code=820009&ed_page=18

At the Madras Cricket Club

An excerpt from "The Spirit of Chepauk", 1998.

I first set my eyes on the beautiful English village green-like outfield of that elite Cricket club of Madras, the Madras CC, in the Sixties. Every youngster dreamt of playing there one day, of diving full length on its springy, velvety grass, without bruising himself badly as he was likely to on any other ground. The only other exception to the general rule of matting wickets and less than adequately grassed outfields prevalent then in all of Madras was another lovely ground, this one in distant Tambaram, inside the sylvan campus of the Madras Christian College.

There was magic in the air as I stepped into the old pavilion of pre-stadium vintage. Everything looked as I had imagined an English clubhouse would look like, from years of being brought up on a diet of Wisdens, Sport and Pastimes and Test Match Specials. There were wrought iron chairs — and cane ones — there was a coir carpet on the wooden floor, the bathrooms were tiled and there were lockers for players to keep their stuff in. It all seemed luxurious and ever so stylish. The names of Indians and Europeans, Test teams and other first class cricket elevens who played at Chepauk inscribed on the wooden panels on the walls lent just the right touch of nostalgia and enchantment. C P Johnstone and H P Ward figured in so many places. Nailer was someone I had heard my uncle P N Sundaresan describe, with rapture in his voice, for the daring of his strokeplay. There were other names which ex­cited my interest for more immediate reasons. A W Stansfeld was someone who lived not very far from my home and to realise that he had batted, bowled and fielded on this very ground all those aeons ago was to feel a quickening of the pulse.

I could not wait to change into my cricket gear and run on to the ground to knock a few around or take some catches or merely take in lungfuls of Chepauk air. I dashed out of the gracious old clubhouse, past the lawn and on to the tree-shaded ground only to find that half my teammates were already there showing rare alacrity and athleticism while they were making the most of a rare opportunity. Can today's young cricketer who has so many first rate cricket grounds and such splendid facilities to choose from, ever un­derstand the thrill we felt in our hearts on our first outing at Chepauk?

It was what is known in Madras cricket parlance as a practice match, meaning nothing was at stake beyond aching bones and good natured leg pulling at the end of the match — no trophy, no title, no points won or lost. My team, Nungambakkam Sports Club 'A', was led by the irrepressible D Ranganathan, popu­larly known as 'Don' Rangan, a fiercely competitive wicketkeeper-batsman who singlehandedly leased the Pithapuram ground at present day Nandanam and provided top class practice facilities for his players as well as anyone else who wanted to have a regular net. Rangan felt his team could beat just about any side and entered every match with that kind of cocky self-assur­ance. It was hardly surprising then that he approached the Madras CC pavilion that morning more than 30 years ago and announced to all and sundry how we proposed to pulverise the opposition.

Talking to Rangan recently, I came away with the story that we had thrashed the Madras CC in that match, though my own memory suggests that it was a drawn encounter in which we finished on more or less level terms with our redoubtable opponents. Whatever the result, the match was an unforgettable experience. For most of us, it was our first experience of a turf wicket. I remember that fielding was an undiluted plea­sure that day and we all chased, dived and picked and threw as we had only seen happen in Test matches.

I also remember that the Chepauk wicket was a truly sporting one. It had some purchase for the quicker bowlers as well as the spinners, without offering much turn, but the bowlers could hardly complain of lack of life in the turf. Batting on it was sheer delight. Even I, normally a tailender, enjoyed a measure of success, driving off both front and back foot. I had on that occasion my first glimpse of the teasing swing of Bala, the accurate medium pace of M Subramaniam and the relatively quick bowling of Prabhakar Rao. I was to play strokes with a freedom seldom experienced by me on matting.

There were loud guffaws from the close-in fielders every time I sent the ball to the boundary and I was puzzled if not hurt by their seeming amusement at the way I batted. It took me a while to realise that they were actually pulling the legs of their bowlers; it was all part of the camaraderie and sense of fun that characterised the Madras CC's matches — the practice matches at any rate.

Before all that, I had my first and, perhaps, last glimpse of C D Gopinath's batting. The veteran was no longer very active in cricket, but all of us could easily see that he had been a class batsman, very correct and stylish. His timing was admirable as was that of M K Balakrishnan, whose elegance and assurance took my breath away. Bala was easily the best batsman I had seen up to that point at close quar­ters, and why this versatile sportsman did not play for India was a mystery to me that day. It still is.

I don't remember achieving any great success as a bowler on the occasion, though that was my area of specialisation. Rangan, however, assures me that I bagged six of the best. I think I got one or two wickets at the most — and if that was hardly sensational, I didn't disgrace myself either.

That was my first encounter in a match situation with one of the most popular characters of the Club, the late Phil 'Clubby' Clubwala. Clubby was the sort of person you had to see to believe. His close-cropped hair, soupstrainer moustache and ruddy complexion gave him a distinct, military bearing even if his bow-legged walk and easy affability did not. His essential good nature, sense of humour and gregariousness made him popular in more than one sport at the Club, but, here, I shall try to paint a picture only of the extraor­dinary devotion with which he pursued cricket. Clubby practised with the singlemindedness of a Bradman. He would be the first person to arrive at the BS Nets on the north side of the ground and get his quota of bat­ting on the coir mat wicket there. Playing and missing countless times, he would frustrate the poor bowlers who, being the optimists most of us are, lived in hope — hope that one day they would find that elusive edge or that, when they did, the snick would go to hand. Then he would send down some elaborately delivered off-breaks which, more often than not, went straight as an arrow. Clubby wouldn't be satisfied with all the huffing and puffing that went into all this hectic activ­ity. He would troop off to the Madras CC net and get a solid 45 minutes of batting on turf, engaging the markers and ballboys and some unsuspecting college crick­eter he whisked away from the BS Nets.

For all the practice he did, Clubby was a strokeless wonder in matches, once remaining 37 n.o. in a full day's batting. His bowling had more sting than did his batting and everyone admired his wholehearted effort and cheerful demeanour, regardless of success or fail­ure.

From 1981 to 1990, I played regularly against the Madras CC in the TNCA League and, while the oldtimers of the Club fought gamely on, the inroads made by corporate teams could not be resisted for long. And the Club eventually got relegated to the Second Division.

I had the pleasure of accompanying to Australia the Madras Occasionals, consisting mostly of Madras CC members and led by Ram Ramesh. I was one of two guest bowlers who bore the burden of the attack, much in the manner of the early professionals in En­glish and Australian cricket, while the Madras CC bats­men made merry at the expense of club teams in Austra­lia. The two Arvinds, Gopinath and Subramaniam, made tons of runs. Arvind Gopinath looked particu­larly stylish and classy as he dominated some quality attacks on that tour. He, like many of his teammates, was an excellent ambassador for his country with his polished demeanour on and off the field, but his laidback attitude to cricket, though blessed with oodles of talent which should have taken him much farther, puzzled me. When I probed further, he admitted he didn't pursue cricket with the dedication of his father because he did not wish to face the heartbreak of disap­pointments and dejection that can befall any sports­man.

The men who surprised me on the tour were those cheerful fringe players who I had assumed had merely come to have a good time. It was an assumption based on their seemingly blase attitude to matters cricketing. I was to soon find out how mistaken I was. On the few occasions their services were required, Jaspal Singh, Navtej Singh and Kumar Calappa showed that for all their casual exterior, they gave 100 per cent on the field. It was important for every one of them that the Club's fair name be protected — and, as a consequence, they, as much as the more regular players, contributed to our unbeaten record on that tour during which we played at some wonderful venues and against at least one Test cricketer, Ross Edwards. A couple of young­sters who showed considerable promise on that tour were leg-spinning all-rounder Renjit Kuruvilla and wicketkeeper-batsman 'Sunny' Ramesh. Both had an excellent tour. Kuruvilla has gone on to do extremely well for the Club, with his clean hitting and his fastish leg-breaks, and still turns out for it, while Ramesh, who has represented the State, no longer plays for the Club.

Speed merchant

Fast bowler CR Rangachari was one of the more outspoken Tamil Nadu cricketers I knew. I had the pleasure of getting to know him when he officiated as the manager of the South Zone cricket team for its Duleep Trophy and Deodhar Trophy matches during the 1978-79 season. The venue, Nagpur, was notorious for being somewhat player-unfriendly. The Indian captain Bishan Bedi for instance had to face the firing squad after he had demanded orange juice for his team at breakfast and hot water for their bath at the MLA hostel where they were staying during a Test match. 

The manager spared nobody with his sharp comments made in a loud voice, be it star batsman Brijesh Patel or the brilliant TE Srinivasan. The all rounder Roger Binny came in for special mention (remember he was some distance from playing for India). Rangachari told me, “This Binny, do you call him an opening bowler? He has no pace and no skill. Later he told Narasimha Rao, “What kind of opening batsman is Roger Binny? He has no technique.” That night, Roger, suitably lubricated during the team meeting in my room, knocked continuously on Rangachari’s door with the long pole kindly provided by the management for us to hang and unhang washed clothes in the tall clotheslines that decorated every room (Yes, the noises made by Bishan Bedi a few years ago had had no effect on the Vidarbha Cricket Association, our hosts, who believed that Spartan conditions brought out the best in cricketers; hot water was still a distant dream, and orange juice was still not part of the menu). 

Rangachari was particularly harsh on the newly married TE Srinivasan who had brought his wife with him. “Has he come to play cricket or enjoy marital bliss? He should have self-control,” he thundered. “When I had a Ranji Trophy match to play soon after marriage, my wife told me, “No mischief (I have censored the word Rangachari actually uttered) before the match!” He was indignation personified when Brijesh Patel was late for a team meeting. “Mr Patel may be a Test player, but I do not tolerate indiscipline from anyone,” he told the assembled team. However, we discovered that Mr Rangachari was something of a paper tiger, because he stopped all the ranting and raving the moment the player in question entered the room.

The team meetings were the best part of that trip, and they invariably took place in my spacious room, which the leg-n-leg players used as their watering hole every evening after a long day in the sun, with the two umpires Piloo Reporter and Rajen Mehra joining us and trading several rollicking stories with us. Reporter’s humour and flair for anecdotes merit a separate chapter.

For all the leg-pulling we indulged in at the manger’s expense, we had healthy respect for his cricketing prowess. His exploits for Madras were good enough for him to lay claim to being the best fast bowler his home state has produced.

With MJ Gopalan, he formed a deadly pair of opening bowlers, with Gopalan growing with the years into a seam and swing specialist and Rangachari himself remaining wedded to sheer space for most of his career.

Born on April 14, 1916, Rangachari learnt his cricket on the streets and bylanes Triplicane very much as his senior M J Gopalan had. Strongly built, Rangachari tried even as a kid to be a genuine fast bowler, and succeeded in generating considerable pace throughout his career. He was also a willing bowler of long spells.

Rangachari first caught the selectors' attention with a fine 9 for 45 against Mysore in the inter-association junior match of 1938. He made his Ranji Trophy debut the same year, and performed reasonably well.

In the very next season, Rangachari took 4 for 38 and helped bundle Mysore out for 108 at Chepauk. In his third season, his splendid bowling against United Provinces. led Madras to a win  by 25 runs,  Rangachari  5 for 75 and 3 for 31.

Rangachari, Ram Singh and leg spinner NJ Venkatesan had the formidable Maharashtra reeling at 56 for 5, before Vijay Hazare (137) and CT Sarwate (33) took the score to 284, gaining a match winning lead in the process.  Ranga's 4 for 71 included the scalps of  openers Bhalekar and Sohoni, as well as the redoubtable Prof. DB Deodhar.

In the second innings, he had the prolific Babu Nimbalkar caught behind by JAGC Law, but Maharashtra won by six wickets. Ranga also distinguished himself in the Presidency match, in which he took 4 for 41 and 4 for 30, helping the Indians win by 97 runs.

Rangachari joined the police force, and his cricket career developed nicely, as naturally fit and healthy, the policeman found in his official training new ways of keeping fit. He soon gained a reputation of being a tireless fast medium bowler and brilliant close-in fielder. He took several smart catches off the bowling of Ram Singh, fielding at silly mid-off. He also batted stubbornly towards the end of the innings.

Selected as a member of the Indian team to  Australia under the captaincy of Lala Amarnath in 1947-48, Ranga forced his way into the Test side with  some good performances in the first class matches including a hat trick against Tasmania. In his first Test at Adelaide, he bowled well without luck, beating Don Bradman a few times, and winning his  appreciation. He dismissed Keith Miller, Neil Harvey, Ray Lindwall and Ian Johnson to emerge as the most successful Indian bowler with four for 141 off 41 eight ball overs. On a visit to Chennai in 1998, Ranga was the first person Neil Harvey remembered from the city.

The Triplicane Express’s best Test performance was his 5 for 107 against West Indies in the New Delhi Test of the 1948-49 series. He claimed the wickets of Allan Rae, Jeff Stollmeyer and George Headley in a fiery opening spell and West Indies were reduced to 27 for 3. He also played in unofficial 'Tests' against the Australian Services team in 1945 and the first Commonwealth team in 1949-50.

In the Ranji Trophy, Rangachari led the Madras attack for many years and his 104 wickets cost him only 20.79 apiece. In a first class career that stretched from the late 1930s to the mid fifties, Rangachari took 200 wickets at an average of 25.98.

As a selector, coach and manager, Rangachari was known to be a good sport who spent considerable time mentoring his young wards, lightening the mood in the dressing room with entertaining if apocryphal stories from his own youth.

During the match at the beginning of this story, a young cricketer asked him if he was quicker than Kapil Dev. “Have you seen Wes Hall? Same speed!” was Rangachari’s instant response. Only it sounded like shame shpeed, thanks to the tobacco he was chewing.  The resultant giggles and tittering were understandable as the young listeners had never seen him in action or even read about his sterling deeds in first class cricket.

Those who actually did, remembered him as a speed merchant, tireless and persistent, even on dead wickets. He was a brave soldier of Madras cricket.

Champions of Madras cricket: MJ Gopalan

http://madrasmusings.com/the-triplicane-legend.html

Left-arm Genius

Dated 1^st June 2003, The New Sunday Express

Wasim Akram was a wonderful competitor.  But he will never be the ultimate role model, says   V Ramnarayan

When Wasim Akram first played at Chennai, way back in 1986-87, he was a wiry, excitable young fast bowler with seemingly inexhaustible energy. He charged in and delivered the ball with an arm speed rarely seen before or since in the Test arena. His captain and mentor, Imran Khan, who came to India with a huge reputation and a past record to defend, had dis­covered his raw talent when he was barely 18 — give or take a couple of years to make allowances for regional varia­tions! — and believed his young protégé would one day be acknowledged as a phenomenon.

How prophetic he proved to be, with the young tearaway developing, in a career span­ning 18 years, into the most complete left handed purveyor of speed, swing and seam the game of cricket has known!

Neither the ustad nor the shagird had much success with the ball in that Chepauk Test, though they were far more productive with the bat, involved, as they were in a century partnership for the eighth wicket, with Imran Khan making an impeccable, unbeaten 135, and each batsman smashing five huge sixes.

Wasim had already shown evidence of huge natural abil­ity with the bat, but in the years that followed, he pre­ferred to concentrate on domi­nating batsmen with pace, though he was still some way yet from 'making the ball talk' as he began doing in his mature years.

He remained a genuine quick for most of his career, sacrific­ing only a little of his pace as he added a whole range of deliveries that no batsman could honestly claim to decode from his action or his grip before the ball was upon him, hissing and spitting fire, swinging one way and seam­ing another.

The speed with which he brought his arm down at the start of his career hardly diminished nor did his bustling run-­up slow down with advancing years, while his wrist stayed supple and strong, changing the angle of delivery and degree of deviation ever so subtly and causing havoc in the minds of unsuspecting batsmen.

Wasim never did make the transition from a fierce, versatile pace bowler who could also on his day demolish most bowling attacks with the power and sweep of his bludgeoning bat into a consistent all rounder in the mould of an Imran Khan, an Ian Botham or a Kapil Dev.

Like that other modern master of fast bowling who found greater meaning in perfecting his bowling craft than in occupation of the crease, Sir Richard Hadlee, Wasim chose to express his genius rather more through the seemingly infinite variety of tricks he played on the best batsmen of the world, than harnessing his explosive batting talent to the prosaic task of building innings.

Yet his immense batting potential flowered occasionally; he is that rarest of bowlers whose batting average column reads 22.64, followed by a highest score of 257 not out!

Indian batsmen seldom enjoyed the prospect of facing Wasim in his prime, or even in the twilight years of his career.  The younger Wasim tended to thud into their rib cage, find the outer edge of their dangling bat or have them scrambling for cover or mishooking, rarely giving them the width or length to score off him.

The older version drew them more often on to the front foot, but the invitation to drive was generally treated with suspicion and rarely accepted with confidence. It needed the genius of Sachin Tendulkar and all the courage of his colleagues to survive his torrid opening spells when he toured India last as captain of Pakistan.

If he continued to bowl with relentless aggression, constant­ly probing batsmen's weakness­es, he captained positively, never giving up a game as lost until the last ball was bowled. An electrifying example was the victory he and his men, led by off spinner Saqlain Mushtaq, fashioned at Chepauk after Tendulkar, in the company of Nayan Mongia, brought India to the doorstep of victory.

If the three Ws, Weekes, Worrell and Walcott dominated the West Indies batting of the 1950s, captivating enthusiasts with both wristy elegance and sheer power, the nineties belonged to Pakistan's two Ws, Wasim and Waqar, two dreaded fast men who perfected the art and science of reverse swing, first unveiled to the world by Sarfaraz Nawaz and Imran Khan in the seventies.

Much praise has been show­ered on the pair and their inventive skills, but equally substantial has been the criti­cism of their methods. Ball-tampering and scuffing up the cricket ball selective­ly to make it do unexpected things when it is old, is perhaps as ancient a prac­tice among weary bowlers doing the county cir­cuit as English cricket itself, but it is the Pakistanis who succeeded in adding a new genre of bowling to the game, a contribution to cricket that rivals the googly and the leg glance for sheer originality.  This they did by teaching the old ball new tricks.

What Wasim and Waqar achieved in the course of mastering reverse swing was to shorten Test innings forever. For nearly a decade they dis­missed an incredible number of batsmen in the lower order for negligible scores. No longer could nine, ten or jack plonk his front foot forward and hope to survive by offering stout resistance. An amazing number of batsmen were out bowled or LBW to Wasim (53 per cent), his partner, Waqar Younis (57 per­ cent) being the only bowler to send a greater percentage of his victims to their doom by the same route.

There are many who believe that Wasim was the greatest left arm pace bowler of all time, even better than Australia's Alan Davidson or Sir Garfield Sobers. Even dissenters will concede that he has been quite the best bowler of all time in one-day limited overs cricket. His 500 wickets in that form of cricket at a miserly rate of under four per over is a monu­mental achievement, and com­ing on top of his 414 Test wick­ets, is unlikely to be bettered by any bowler.

In one-day cricket, Wasim and Waqar were responsible for attracting a new breed of spec­tators to the ground: those who came to watch their bowling in contrast to the usual crowds assembled solely to cheer fours and sixes. At their best, they made the first 15 as well as the slog overs completely irrelevant. Invariably, Wasim man­aged to prise out early wickets and often came back at the death — to spell just that to batsmen hoping to launch an offensive towards the end.

A cricketer of such surpass­ing accomplishments should have been the recipient of the highest accolades, but there's a question mark over Wasim's conduct off the field, as is well known by now. Though charges of abetting match fixing were never conclusively proved, he did not come out of the scam with his reputation untar­nished. And, unlike his mentor Imran, who unearthed and nur­tured some of the best young talent Pakistan has produced, Wasim has not played elder brother to aspiring fast bowlers, nor has he always given 100 per cent to the cap­tains who replaced him. History will remember him as a great competitor and a genius of a bowler, but he will never be the ultimate role model.

V Ramnarayan is a former Ranji Trophy player who bowled off spin for Hyderabad between 1975-80

WASIM AKRAM

Born: 3 June 1966, Lahore, Punjab;

Major Teams: Pakistan Automobiles Corporation, Lahore Cricket Association, Lancashire, Pakistan International Airlines, Pakistan, Hampshire;

Batting Style: Left hand bat;

Bowling style:  Left arm fast;

Test debut: Pakistan v New Zealand at Auckland, 2^nd test, 1984/85;

Latest test: Pakistan v Bangladesh at Dhaka, 1^st Test, 201/02;

ODI debut: Pakistan v New Zealand at Faisalabad, 2^nd ODI, 1984/85;

Latest ODI: Pakistan v Zimbabwe at Bulawayo, World Cup, 2002/03;

Wisden Cricketer of the Year 1993.

Abdul Jabbar

Abdul Jabbar came to Madras some time in 1972, to join State Bank of India as a cricket recruit, leaving his native Hyderabad where job opportunities for sportsmen were limited. State Bank was a good employer and entry into the Hyderabad Ranji Trophy team did not seem easy. When the talent scouts of State Bank of India, Madras landed in the twin cities, and the captain, VV Kumar walked into the Nizam College ground where Jabbar and his mate Rashid Mirza were playing a match and made them both an offer of a job in Madras, neither had any hesitation in accepting. Jabbar had a brilliant record at the university and junior level.

The young left hander was athletically built and quickfooted. His batting was marked by commonsense rather than any exaggerated notions of style. Compact in defence and fluent in strokeplay, Jabbar played very straight, concentrated hard, but could hit the ball explosively hard, when he chose to. He was a good judge of a single, his sense of timing and placement was sound, and his demeanour on and off the field was sober, alert, conservative. A pious Muslim, Jabbar came from a middle class family with a keen interest in sport. Elder brother Wahed was a more than useful medium pacer and younger brother Abdul Azeem, a successful batsman for Hyderabad, once scored a triple century against a Jabbar-led Tamil Nadu attack.

Once in Madras, Jabbar began to make a positive impact on State Bank's and Tamil Nadu's cricket, lending the middle order unprecedented stability. By temperament, he was a long innings player, and time and again he gave evidence of that in the league, Ranji Trophy and Buchi Babu matches. Tamil Nadu was those days in the process of developing into a good batting side, but not yet so consistent as to provide a No.6 batsman ample opportunity to build innings. Jabbar often ran out of partners, and had to be satisfied with forties and fifties. Only in 1976, did he cross three figures for the first time in the Ranji Trophy, making 201 not out against Karnataka.

In due course, Jabbar accumulated more than 3600 runs at a healthy average of 44.57, and became known for his ability to rise to the occasion whenever the chips were down for his state. Given belated recognition in Duleep Trophy, Jabbar had a reasonable run in the tournament, but it came too late in his career to take him further upwards in his career.

Jabbar developed into a very useful off spinner, in which role he was a huge asset to the State Bank team, in the local league, in intra- State Bank competition and for the all India team in national level tournaments, especially in limited overs cricket. His state captain Venkataraghavan too saw merit in Jabbar as an off spinner in his mature years, and he was a quite a good foil to Venkat and left arm spinner Vasudevan.

Jabbar was a brilliant close-in fielder, a brave short leg in the early years, and a fine catcher in the slips later. He was a team man all through his career, someone the youngest player felt free to go up to for advice and comfort when in trouble.

After serving State Bank for 18 years, Jabbar joined the Sanmar group and turned out for its team Jolly Rovers in the league for a few years, achieving tremendous success with the bat. In the second innings of his career, he began to play some daringly attacking cricket.

After his playing days, Jabbar has turned to coaching youngsters. He is especially good with very young players, grounding them well in the basics, and motivating them with a gentle touch. His coaching clinic is one of the most popular in the city, with pupils and parents alike. He has also been the coach of the Jolly Rovers and the Tamil Nadu teams, besides other state teams.