July 31, 2011

Stereotyping Dravid

I write this as the second day's play ends in the Test-match at Trentbridge. I wrote an article on Cricinfo comparing Dravid and Ganguly a couple of years ago in which I predicted that Dravid may not have a swansong end to his career for the one thing he lacked which his co-debutante had in plenty was a sense of timing and occasion. Over the last two years, watching Dravid falter against good bowling attacks on most occasions, I feared that I had been right. Whether Rahul Dravid is scripting a fairy-tale final few chapters of his career or this is a second wind that may yet last another season or two, only time will tell. What his last three centuries have done is reinstate my belief in something that has been true for Dravid through most of his career. He is the most constantly evolving batsman of this generation.

One of my major grouses in recent years has been how unimaginative and cliche-ridden cricket journalism, in general and cricket commentary, in particular has been. I have always believed Rahul Dravid to be a prime victim of this. Over the years, he has been stereotyped as the defensive wall in a line up of more attractive and flamboyant stroke-makers. I am really tired of expressions like solid, orthodox and straight-from-MCC-coaching manuals being used to describe Dravid's technique. These descriptions are not only inaccurate but have been a disservice to Dravid, for by stereotyping him as such, we have made him too easy and consequently, boring to analyse.

Dravid is a defensive batsman, an old school batsman who puts a greater price on his wicket but he is not an orthodox batsman. An orthodox technique is based largely on the idea of economy and efficiency of movement. Dravid's technique is his own. He gets beside the line of the ball rather than behind it like say,  Tendulkar, a much more orthodox batsman, does. He has a high back-lift which comes down at an angle from the direction of the third man, something the coaching manuals would frown upon. Most Indian batsmen like Tendulkar, Sehwag and Laxman rely greatly on a steady balance for strokeplay. Dravid has always been more in the mould of Lara and Ponting in his high backlift and shuffle. Yet, unlike them and other batsmen with high backlift like Yuvraj and Yusouf, Dravid doesn't rely on great bat speed. His bat comes down more cautiously, more watchfully and with lesser flourish. He plays often with an angled bat outside the off stump, a recipe for disaster on seaming tracks some would say, but Dravid makes it work by watching the ball till the last moment and softening his grip if the ball jumps or moves away late.

What makes Dravid's technique work, especially his method of getting beside the line of the ball is that he plays the cricket ball later than I have seen anyone do. This allows him to control the height better and the angle at which is bats meets the balls most often ensures that he keep it on the ground. That is what ties together his entire technique. Everything he does, every adjustment he seems to have made over the years seems to be devoted to that one objective of keeping the ball on the ground. This is what makes his technique so different from any other batsman. 

An aspect of Dravid's batting largely ignored around all this talk of him being an orthodox, defensive wall is his strokeplay. Lara, who I always thought was the most attractive strokemaker of this generation was all about the high back-lift, great bat-speed, twinkle toes and an extravagant flourish. He brandished his bat like a sword, swiping and thrusting. Dravid's strokemaking lacks that violence but is replaced by an ornate quality. His batting is a lot about the curves and angles that his bats makes. It has a carefully constructed beauty as opposed to Laxman's careless drives and flicks, which often escapes us for Dravid, being the wall is not associated with beauty. His on-drive in second only to Mahela Jayawardena's in modern times. His bat comes down at its usual angle and he plays it very late, his front foot across and his entire body leaning on it with the ball right under his eyes. He plays a prettier late cut, I believe than anyone else in this era. Dravid likes to get on to the front foot and commits to an early front foot movement on all his strokes, yet he manages to not get scissor-footed which most who get the front foot across right away might be wont to. For the late cut, once he picks the length, he rocks back using the depth of the crease, shifts his weight on the back foot and plays it very fine and late. 

But the most important feature of Dravid's technique is its constant state of evolution. For instance, in the last few months, with his reflexes having slowed down, he shuffles much less, staying on the leg-stump and looks to score much more through the steer to the third man. He is undoubtedly someone very deeply aware of his game and more than anything else that is what makes me doubt my prediction of two years ago. Someone who tinkers with and works on his arsenal in such detail even at this stage certainly continues to enjoy his game. This could well be Dravid's second wind.

July 16, 2011

Disappointments

In 1951, there wasn't a more passionate rivalry in sports than between the Brooklyn Dodgers and the New York Giants. Giants fans hated Dodgers fans. Dodger fans hated Giants fans. Fathers passed it onto sons! In August 1951, the Giants were 13 and a 1/2 games behind the Dodgers. That was considered insurmountable. But, Giants make a comeback and put together a streak unequalled in history, winning 37 out of 44 games and the last 7 in a row to end with a first place tie with the Brooklyn Dodgers. They play a play-off game to see who goes to the world series. The Dodgers had it won, until a guy named Bobby Thompson hit what since has been known as the 'shot heard 'round the world' to win the game 5-4. Russ Hodges, broadcaster immortalised the hit with his famous words, "The Giants win the Pennant!!The Giants win the Pennant!!The Giants win the Pennant!!The Giants win the Pennant!!"

In an episode of Sports Night, not surprisingly titled "The Giants Win the Pennat, The Giants Win the Pennant", Issac Jaffey recalls how he attended the game in 1951. He had been in the press-box standing all through the game for there was no place to sit. Ralph Branca was notorious for taking his time warming up and Issac rushed to the men's room knowing he had time. Except Branca warmed up a lot faster that day. Issac didn't see the home run. 

Only a true sports fan can understand the mammoth disappointment of missing an event like that. Imagine, if you can, being there and yet for some reason not being there for Dhoni's emphatic six off Nuwan Kulasekara to win the World Cup. 

July 08, 2011

Rain and I

The best things in life, I have come to realize, are always very brief and transitory. The first sips of cold water when thirsty, the brief moments of triumph when you crack a difficult question, the last bits of chocolate in Cornettos ice-cream, the last forty or so seconds in Schubert's Ave Maria. My favorite kind of weather is the 15-20 minutes just before it begins to rain. The sky changes colour faster than at dusk or dawn, the breeze is swift and cool, there is a sense that it could start raining any second, of anticipation or apprehension depending on whether you want it to rain or not. Then, the rains come down and at times, for me, it spoils everything. 

Someone told me today that she thinks that she shares a special relationship with rain as it always rains on her birthday. Come to think of it, I cannot remember any birthday of mine either when it hasn't rained for at least a little bit. And, yet my relationship with rain has always been a turbulent one. I love to watch it rain. I like the sound of it. I like the little splatters it makes on concrete, as a kid I used to pretend they were dancing dwarfs with a life-span of a fraction of a second, one emerging and disappearing immediately, with the next one following on its heels. I love the idea of a raaga like Megh-Malhar or Amritavarshini bringing about rain. Rains, I find provide the best sort of backdrop to a certain kind of writing. Stories need their own weather, just like they need they own music. Dark themes need the night, horror need the chill, the ambiguous ones require cloudy weather. Maybe its a reflection on too many Yash Chopra movies at an impressionable age, but I think love stories need the rain. 

But I hate being in the rain. I hate getting caught in the rain, the grainy dirty feel on my chappals, the splash and the muck and most of all, droplets dripping down my hair to my forehead. I have watched people getting drenched in the rain and enjoying it with feeling ranging from curious amusement to exasperation to distaste to perplexity. Its something I have never understood. My love for rain is that of a homophobe for a friend of the same gender - at an arm's length. Rain foils plans, causes road blocks and gives you a cold. They are meant to be watched from the protection of indoors, preferably if they are of the cats and dogs variety, not the effeminate and persistent Bangalore drizzle. But I still like the monsoons, mostly for those 15-20 minutes before it rains.