Sachin Tendulkar : I love cricket

While attending the World Association of Newspapers' global summit at the Swedish city of Gothenburg in 2008, I was invited to a luncheon hosted by Ole Danbolt Mjoes, former president of the Norwegian Nobel Peace Prize Committee. Mjoes's agenda was evident: talk up the accomplishments of the Nobel Peace Committee and advocate the lofty ideals that form the bulwark of this prestigious institution. The decision to bestow the Nobel Peace Prize on a deserving candidate invites in-depth and lengthy discussions. Care is taken to guarantee that the choice is not motivated by any other consideration except that the contender is deserving. Even governments lobby furiously for their candidates — subtly or otherwise. The committee is trained to rebuff such approaches and always opt for the moral high ground. Mjoes gave the sense that he and his band of wise men and women carried every cause that was worthy in this world on their shoulders. He spoke of his colleagues' accomplishments in an eloquent tongue — their credibility could never be in doubt. The lecture was followed by a sumptuous repast, after which I decided to approach Mjoes with a query — my curiosity being sufficiently piqued that such an esteemed body could be so infallible. Making my way through the motley crowd I approached him and shook his hand. The grip was firm and assured. What can I do for you?" Mjoes asked. "I wanted to ask you a question that has been nagging me throughout your lecture," I replied. "But of course," he replied as his eyes lasered into me. "Where are you from," he asked, beating me to my question. India," I replied. "You have given the world quite a few Nobel laureates," he admitted. "That would be correct," I replied. "So, what is your question?" he countered. "I am curious to know if the Nobel Peace committee ever overlooked an outstanding individual who was more deserving of the Peace Prize than anyone else in a particular year. Have you ever considered that the committee can be prone to making errors?" I asked. There is something to be said about the furrowing of the brow when a man is deep in thought. Mjoes was engaged in a gruelling battle with his mind which was being pushed to go back in time to gather information. The brow then cleared, as if to signify he had found the answer. "There was a moment like that once," he said clearing his throat nervously. Everybody around him had gone silent. Was the Peace Committee indeed fallible? Biggest failure "Our biggest failure," said Mjoes, "was in failing to award the Nobel Peace Prize to Mahatma Gandhi in 1947." History will record that the Committee never got a second chance to atone for that momentous lapse. Upon realising their blunder they rallied to bestow the prize to Gandhi in 1948 but that was not to be. Gandhi succumbed to an assassin's bullets that year. The Committee considered a posthumous award, but later changed their mind and took a decision not to give the Peace Prize to anyone. The decision was a silent tribute to a man whose passive form of resistance secured India's independence from the British. I walked back to the hotel reliving the day's proceedings. Perhaps a Nobel Peace Prize would have done nothing to enhance Gandhi's status in the world. There are times in the life of an icon when no amount of adulation, or honour, can make or break them. Those are just props, for the individual has simply grown to be larger than life itself. There is a slight similarity here between the Nobel Peace Committee decision in 1947 and the International Cricket Council's pronouncement to confer the ICC Cricketer of the Year award to Sachin Tendulkar in 2010. The ICC awards were in their seventh edition and Tendulkar was following, though one is loathe to use such a term as reference, in the footsteps of Rahul Dravid (2004); Andrew Flintoff and Jacques Kallis (joint winners in 2005); Ricky Ponting (2006 and 2007); Shivnarine Chanderpaul (2008); and Mitchell Johnson (2009). During the voting period, the 37-year-old Tendulkar had played in ten Test matches, scoring 1,064 runs, including six centuries, at an average of 81.84. He also played in 17 one-dayers, accumulating 914 runs at an average of 65.28 in a period that included his record-breaking double-century against South Africa in Gwalior. The ICC managed to save face by recognising Tendulkar's annual contribution and achievement in the game though one can subscribe to the view that the award, coming as it did in the 21st year of his career, would have done little to alter his iconic status in contemporary cricket. The same argument now holds true on conferring Tendulkar with the Bharat Ratna, India's highest civilian award which does not have a category for sportsmen and women. At an age when most cricketers would be rendered arthritic, Tendulkar hates to lose and is running out of records to set. There has been continuous debate in cricketing circles on the greatest batsman ever to have played the game. The vote has, more often than not, gone in favour of Donald Bradman seemingly because to think otherwise would be sacrilege, especially if you are an Australian. The Don's staggering Test average of 99.94 is an insurmountable landmark that no cricketer can possibly overhaul, but must revere. Tendulkar was just 24 years old when he met Bradman and expressed a feeling of awe in the presence of the master. He is nothing if not humble. To stand face to face with none other than the then presiding deity of cricket can be a daunting task for most cricketers and Tendulkar was no exception. If he were shrewd, however, he would have interpreted the signs that Bradman had virtually anointed him as his successor. It is possible that Bradman, who had a keen eye for cricket and cricketers, had already comprehended the indicator for Tendulkar's greatness, having scaled those peaks before. He recognised the connective thread of similarity, after making a mental checklist of their individual attributes that sometimes tie up generations and styles among great cricketers. Bradman added his thoughts up at an opportune moment by watching Tendulkar bat on television after which he turned to his wife Jessie to simply ask: "Don't you think that he [Tendulkar] reminds me of me?." Mrs Bradman nodded in the affirmative and in that simple, but momentous instant, unbeknownst to Tendulkar, the Don had passed on his crown to him. So perhaps it is necessary to tinker with the basic premise of the Bradman-Tendulkar debate. Who is the greater of the two? If one factors in longevity in the game and the rapidly swelling numbers (runs and centuries) he has amassed in Tests and One Day Internationals the title of ‘best batsman ever' should belong to Tendulkar, no questions asked and no disrespect to Bradman. The Little Master has surpassed The Don. Sadly, Bradman never played in the era of ‘quick cricket', but Tendulkar shouldn't have to apologise for that — since each era was unique. Can Tendulkar, in turn, ever come close to touching Bradman's staggering average? The answer is no, but if Bradman had played the number of games Tendulkar did, home and away against ten Test playing nations on varying surfaces, his average would have been more modest If a few hubris-driven misses and dismissals are the cost of doing business, well, that's a small price that Tendulkar has to pay. "I am still a student of the game," he confesses to this very day. The analysis is correct except that Tendulkar forgets to mention that he is a student who virtually has two shots in his repertoire for every delivery that is bowled to him. The problem of plenty sometimes becomes the great leveller for Tendulkar. It keeps him real, but also justifies his insatiable appetite for the game and his abhorrence for defeat. While the world is in awe of Tendulkar, he is in awe of cricket. As for pressure, let's not go there. Somehow, he manages to outwit even the fates: they kept him waiting for 34 innings before granting him cricketing immortality on Friday on an occasion that turned out to be more bittersweet — thanks to India's loss against Bangladesh — than euphoric but then again, that's sport. Tendulkar is acutely aware that the world does not believe in his capabilities all the time. There are times when he lives it, breathes it, he takes it with him to the practice nets and to the crease when he steps out to bat for India. He has experienced this lack of faith at varying moments in his career, especially when he made a habit of getting out in the nervous 90s and had to undergo elbow surgery and take a sabbatical from the game. Everybody judged him and epitaphs were being written. Take the golden handshake was the common form of counsel. He admitted to being beset by self-doubt at times, but found succour by doing what he does best: returning to the crease, keeping his batting average steady and staying humble to the game which had given him so much. In times of self-doubt, the answers always lie in going back to the basics. Tendulkar has, at times, grappled with loss of form in his career, for some reason or another, but the rumblings of a comeback could always be felt until they gathered a ferocious momentum. He has always looked at his checklist and driven past the milestones. Like overhauling Brian Lara's record as the highest run-getter in Test cricket. A softly touched square drive put that issue beyond debate. After 19 years in Test cricket, 151 Tests and 246 innings, Tendulkar went on the front foot and instructed the ball to reach the boundary behind point against England at Mohali. He removed his helmet, looked up at the heavens to send a silent prayer of gratitude to his father and spread his arms out like a pterodactyl to acknowledge the love of the crowd. The first steps taken to remind the fraternity that he was willing to grind it out were taken on that occasion. In Trinidad, Lara, his good friend and former contemporary, simply shrugged his shoulders and stated, "The man is a genius". Tendulkar summed up this feat simply. "I took the stones that people threw at me and converted them into milestones," he said, as his eyes stared deep into the television camera as if trying to connect with his doubters. He knew who they were. The rehabilitation of Sachin Tendulkar was complete. The best was yet to come. Time may have brought certain modifications in his approach to cricket, but these fixes have only extended his occupancy at the highest level of competition. Tendulkar may be the oldest cricketer in the Indian team today but his work ethic is second to none. He is fitter, faster, more committed and capable of playing longer innings at the crease than his younger counterparts. He is the classic role model for what one can achieve by adopting a disciplined approach to the game for over two decades. Longevity coupled with consistency is the key to overall success. It all sounds easy to put down on paper, but if one considers the punishing schedule that cricketers are exposed to — the travel, jet-lag, agonisingly long tours and hours spent at the crease punishing the body — then the point gets magnified. Which is why the Tendulkar who occupies the crease today concentrates on the percentages coupled with an approach which is more cerebral. When he was younger, his batting was punctuated with aggression designed to gain the maximum returns. Today the older and experienced cricketer collects higher profits with minimum effort. There is a surety of movement in his footwork and a casual elegance in his strokeplay, like a ballet dancer. The fours and sixes are still coming, but the ferocity has been replaced with fluidity. Occasionally he will break through this mental setup and adopt the hostile approach of his youth but, strictly for fun. There are two key ingredients in his current approach to batting: timing and anticipation. Perhaps it is time to strip down the bare essentials that make up Sachin Tendulkar. There will never be another like him. His ability to hit the ball is only a fraction of the reason why. He is a role model for budding cricketers all over the world. The hysteria, or reverence, with which he is greeted each time he steps out to bat, by rabid fans or die-hard purists, illustrates that he is loved by all. For over two decades Tendulkar has held his own against all others. Each time one worthy competitor — and there have been quite a few — has upped the ante he has raised his own game to set new benchmarks. There was a time when Ricky Ponting showed why he could rule the world, carving out one century after another. The Ponting-Tendulkar battle was about to go the distance when the latter suddenly unveiled a new range of tricks. At a casual glance of the stats sheet Tendulkar has sped past Ponting by setting a pace so gruelling that the Australian would now have to play virtually on another planet to keep the competition on an even keel. It does not help that he no longer plays in One Day Internationals.It all happened with a new found stealth and an unwavering focus towards his craft and to his image. Tendulkar has exhibited dignity in temperament coupled with a feverish passion that is on display whenever he walks out to bat for India. Pressure is not alien to him, the expectations of a billion people rest on his shoulders. It's a lot like Atlas carrying the world and trying not to shrug. They have asked him to do the impossible and he has paid back with interest. This is why he must be absolved of the moments when he looks human. Tendulkar's dominion is vast and his subjects are nothing if not ardent. Each time the Indian team leave the stadium after a game, or attend a social gathering, the security detail set aside for him is mind-numbing. He doesn't want to be treated as special, if anything he is embarrassed by the undue attention and has, over the years, learnt to block his mind out to the adulation that greets his arrival anywhere. He finds his sanctuary in the safe confines of the team dressing room where the legend is accepted and understood, but few dare to believe that he is their equal. Cricketers like Tendulkar are not just participants in their sport; they are fully absorbed in its culture. They compete not with others, but with themselves, pushing their abilities to the limit and making sure that in the quest for excellence the team never gets shortchanged. His mind isn't fixed on retirement yet. But he is running out of tomorrows and knows it. It was fairly evident during the highly publicised tours of England and Australia which is why he is playing like a man possessed. There is virtually no end to the things that he can do with a bat in his hand, but is there enough time? Does he often think about how much longer it would make sense to keep playing? The answer is an unequivocal yes. Tendulkar wants to end his career the way it began. One suspects he is taking his fans for a ride, right to the top of the summit so they can get a glimpse of what being in his world feels like. I suspect that it will be the journey of their lives. It is Tendulkar's way of giving back for those moments of failure (the root of his greatness lies right there) — and there have been a few of those. He's just trying to minimise those memories by replacing them with superhuman feats. But for the most part let us accept the fact that Sachin Tendulkar is going out on his own terms, one game at a time.