He Must Go, Must He?

The cheer gets louder when Murali Vijay, batting on a 167, gets out. Surely, the Australians must have thought that they were hearing wrong or that they were in a surreal cosmos which was haunting in many ways. They should have seen this coming for the Master was to come in next. 

You have to admit that His performance in the recent past has been below par. Perhaps, age is catching up with Him! Or perhaps, concentration is hard to come by after having achieved almost everything there was to achieve! Now that Australia have been handed a 4-0 score, there is hardly any overt scrutiny of His performance.

Although, you will come across the odd article from noteworthy sports journalists suggesting that He should hang his boots. You will also come across ex-cricketers insinuating that his time has come. You may even come across legends of the game diplomatically putting it across that the old horse must give way to new blood.

Surely, carrying the aspirations of nation on his shoulders for 23 years 4 months and 12 days have given the Man, the right to decide when He should go. 662 international matches and 34273 international runs have also added weight to that right. So unless one has numbers better than His, it would be a wee-bit improper to even insinuate that He must go! Wouldn't it?

A highly revered ex-India captain recently stated that since Virender Sehwag had been dropped on poor form, He must also go. May be there is some merit in that argument for Sehwag is one of the greatest opening batsmen from India and perhaps, also, in the world. Who hasn't loved Sehwag tear  attacks apart and re-write the rules of cricket. Surely many from the "cover the swing and play straight" school must have switched to " see the ball, hit the ball" school of batting. May be Sehwag was given the short end of the stick. But does that justify that He must also go? After all, is it not true that even Virender Sehwag and is still not Sachin Tendulkar. 

Turning It Square

Everything stood in readiness as I reached the top of my bowling mark. I was unsure if I could bowl at all, considering I had not played cricket for a long time. The close-in fielders stood bending at their knees. I begin my short run-up, trying to concentrate on the grip with which I held the ball. The ball is delivered, it is air-borne for what seemed like an eternity. My gaze fixed on the revolving ball. The line is awry. It lands far outside leg stump. I cringe. It grips and turns with the wicket-keeper collecting it outside off stump. I burst in to a huge smile. It did not matter whether the line was wrong, or the ball was too flighted. The square turn was still there and that is what mattered. I am pumped up. I remove my heavy sweater disregarding the acute winter and reached the top of my bowling mark a lot more confident. The second ball pitches on middle stump and turns square, a wide is called. I correct my line and bowl a flipper on the third ball. The ball skids on. The arm movements are slowing falling in place. The fourth ball is pitched way outside leg stump, this time intentionally. The batsman leaves the ball alone and doesn't bother until he hears the sound of timber. The ball gripped and bowled the batsman from behind the legs. I was back and so was the spin.