Samir Chopra
Life outside the cricket stadium
Most fans are familiar with far-flung corners of the globe but often we don't know much about those places apart from the fact that they are cricketing venues
Samir Chopra
19-Jun-2014
A few days ago my wife brought home a copy of NoViolet Bulawayo's We Need New Names - borrowed from a co-worker on the basis of her enthusiastic recommendations. Seeing the book lying on our kitchen table, I asked, "Is she the first Zimbabwean novelist you've read?" My wife, who had not yet even opened the book, replied, "How do you know she's Zimbabwean?" Well, how wouldn't I, when she has a last name like that? It's the name of a place where Test cricket is played in Zimbabwe after all.
Cricket fans have, I think, a curious relationship to the globe. Many locations on it - obscure to others - seem quite familiar to us. Non-cricket fans might never have heard of, say, among others, Port Elizabeth, Dunedin, Faisalabad, Galle, or Cardiff, but cricket fans most certainly have. But curiously enough, quite often, that's all a cricket fan will know about them - that cricket is played there.
The cricket ground, which ostensibly only takes up a few acres within city boundaries (or sometimes outside) has, in our minds, magically expanded to consume the entire urban space. Despite the best efforts of cricket magazine editors to commission articles on life outside the cricket ground, on the city's history and its contemporary social and cultural offerings, those who watch games on television and read scorecards often remain oblivious to the city's doings off the pitch. (Ask yourself how much you know about some of the most prominent centres of cricketing action in the world - say, Georgetown, Brisbane, Chennai, Karachi, Manchester - that transcends easy sound bites.) That privilege and pleasure still remains reserved for those who actually travel to the venues of action.
Full postThe generous lender of cricket magazines
Having a neighbour with a cornucopia of cricket literature can be a life-changing experience
Samir Chopra
06-Jun-2014
During the many years that my family lived in New Delhi, my mother worked a variety of jobs: first as an English teacher, and then as a principal at one of the many vocational colleges that had started to appear in urban spaces in India as an increasing number of women made their way into the workplace. Her teaching and administrative duties brought her into contact with a considerable number of young women, many of whom visited our home and considerably enlivened my time thanks to the good-natured attention and affection they sent my way.
A couple of these young ladies even arranged for my mother to improve their written and spoken English via private lessons. (Among them was an Afghan refugee, who sadly never returned to India after making a desperate dash back home to check on the whereabouts of her family.) One such young woman, after her evening lesson, invited my mother and I back to her house nearby for a meal. We ate dinner in the company of our host family, which included my mother's student's brother. Apparently, he was a serious cricket fan.
Shortly after dinner, he asked me if I was interested in perusing his collection of cricket magazines. I agreed with alacrity, and on walking over to his bedroom, he pointed to a shelf on the wall: "That's all I have."
Full postThe absent cricket ball
A cricket ball at home would make daydreaming a little easier; its concrete, tangible presence would make intangible visions easier to construct
Samir Chopra
24-May-2014
I own cricket books and cricket videos. I own items of clothing used for playing cricket; my whites, still bearing traces of detergent-resistant stains caused by cricket balls and the grasses of many North Sydney cricket grounds, are neatly tucked away in a closet in my bedroom.
But I don't own any cricket equipment: no bats, balls, gloves or guards; everything I used to play cricket when I played it last came from a common pool of club-owned equipment. Of all these missing implements of cricketing destruction, I think I miss a cricket ball the most.
I wish I owned one of those proverbial leather spheres, one I could keep on a bookshelf in my apartment, sitting squarely in front of the spines of a few tomes, obscuring their titles. If I did own one, I would be able to occasionally pick it up and sense its old, familiar, five-and-something ounces weight; I would be able to run my fingers over that lacquered leather, over its hard, threatening seam, the bit that bites the pitch and fizzes off it, that shreds eyebrows, that gets raised and plucked by the fingernails - and bottle-tops - of rogues the world over.
Full postMy Caribbean friend
How tales of West Indies cricket helped forge an enduring friendship between an Indian professor and a Jamaican security guard
Samir Chopra
02-May-2014
I belong to that unfortunate subset of academics who teach at the same universities where they earned their doctorates.
Thus, despite having graduated more than a dozen years ago, I cannot shake the feeling that some of my "colleagues" - who are former professors of mine - still think of me as a graduate student of sorts, one who has hung around just a tad too long. And then, of course, there are the folks in the library who send pitying looks my way, their expressions clearly suggesting they are worried whether I will ever graduate. (It doesn't help, I'm sure, that I still dress like I can't afford a tie, suit or dress shoes.)
There are some advantages to this state of affairs, of course: many old friendships continue to prosper and thrive in these old haunts of mine. Some of those friends - most notably those on the university's staff - have grown old too; their ageing over the years has provided me with many moments of melancholic reflection on the passage of time. Among these friendships is a cricketing one: with a Jamaican security guard, I shall call him H here, whom I first met in 1994.
Full postWhy India are not cricket's Brazil yet
The numbers might be in their favour, but they can neither boast sustained excellence or a distinctive playing style
Samir Chopra
18-Apr-2014
Ed Smith's analogising India with Brazil was an interesting exercise. It works on some levels but not at other, equally crucial, ones.
When football fans think of Brazil, they think primarily of the following: sustained excellence in the game, as evinced by a series of World Cup wins; a tradition of attractive, distinctive, particular styles; a rich local culture of playing football; and a persistent production of high-quality football players revered the world over for their innovative skills.
Brazil's World Cup wins are a crucial part of this picture. They represent wins in football's most prized trophy and indicate an attainment of the game's highest standards.
Full postThe future of close finishes in limited overs
Will last-over chases continue to have the capacity for drama?
Samir Chopra
04-Apr-2014
Limited-overs cricket became much beloved because, among other things, it delivered the close finish. The last-over variant - a desperate scraping together or denial of the runs required in the last six deliveries - is, of course, the one most commented on and written about. Indeed, one not very intelligent claim made for the greater desirability of the T20 format over the 50-overs variant was that it promises more of these kinds of climaxes, leading to the inevitable reductio ad absurdum that we could get last-over finishes in every game by reducing the number of overs to one a side.
But there are other kinds of close finishes in limited-overs cricket: the most prominent in recent times has been the dramatic hard-hitting chase of an improbable number of runs in the last few overs. West Indies' assault on Australia in the current World T20 is but one memorable example. Especially in T20 cricket, the scoring of 20 or 30 runs off the last two overs has become more common; in 50-overs cricket, these are a little rarer. The late collapse of a batting side is not considered as remarkable. I suspect this is because the chasing batsmen are supposed to be taking greater risks in any case and are thus more vulnerable. But Dale Steyn's last-over strangulation of New Zealand in Chittagong did not fail to evoke admiration because the maestro was defending a small number of runs and did so by taking wickets.
The last-minute assault of the kind noted above occurs more frequently not just because batsmen hit harder and further now in limited-overs cricket but because teams bat deeper and carry dangerous hitters well down the order. There are few batting passengers in a limited-overs side. Fielding sides, spectators, and commentators are well aware of these changes. There is little complacency displayed by any of these demographics as a limited-overs game heads towards its denouement.
Full postThe Tendulkar-Brearley conundrum
The stereotype of the hero-worshipping Indian fan ignores evidence that seemingly skewed fandom is also present in supposedly more rational settings
Samir Chopra
21-Mar-2014
A little while ago, in a tribute to Shahid Afridi, Osman Samiuddin wrote:
"… what struck me most about Tendulkar, much more than his batting, was his status as an unqualified hero. In Pakistan I always felt - and loved the fact - that we consider heroes to be a figment of the imagination, a whimsy of the privileged in a hard, mean world. Using Jinnah, the Bhuttos, and the Khans, Jahangir and Imran, to illustrate this tendency, I argued that Pakistan didn't, or couldn't, have the kind of hero Tendulkar was."
I think Osman falls prey here to a common affliction in Pakistani writing about India: the urge to distinguish Pakistani identity by distancing it from an Indian one - no matter how facile the distinction. Here it takes the form of suggesting Tendulkar enjoyed the status of an "unqualified hero" in the Indian imagination. (Osman does not explicitly name India or Indian fandom, but it is implicit in the claim above; certainly, much as Tendulkar might be admired elsewhere in the cricketing world, he isn't a hero anywhere but in India).
Full postTime for a Bengali reunion
The BCCI has missed a golden opportunity by not organising a Test between India and Bangladesh in Kolkata
Samir Chopra
06-Mar-2014
In 1978, less than seven years after the Pakistani Army surrendered in Dhaka and Bangladesh was born, Pakistan and India resumed cricketing ties, playing a three-Test series that ended in a 2-0 win for Pakistan.
Prior to the Test matches, Pakistan announced it would relax some border-crossing restrictions and grant a predetermined number of tourist visas to Indians who wanted to visit Pakistan and watch the games. This offer was taken up with especial alacrity by residents of Punjab, many of whom were keen to visit their old stomping grounds and perhaps even make contact with old friends and acquaintances. Some Sikh families were keen to visit sites of religious pilgrimage - such as Nakana Sahib for instance - and were among the most enthusiastic applicants for Pakistani visas.
These Indian visitors to Pakistan, despite being small in numbers, added some undeniable colour to the proceedings during the Test series. Most memorably, in Lahore, during Kapil Dev's breezy innings of 15 and 43, which included a couple of what were to become his trademark lusty sixes, a Sikh gentleman ran out to the middle of the ground, garlanded Kapil, and ran back to the stands, waving to all and sundry, all the while left blissfully alone by the attending security guards. Those were innocent times indeed.
Full postSandeep Patil: the Bombay Hammer
He only played international cricket for about half a decade, but his brutal, attacking style left its mark on the game in India
Samir Chopra
20-Feb-2014
India versus Australia in Adelaide, January 1981. India have already lost the first Test of the series by an innings. Now, in response to Australia's first-innings score of 528, India are 130 for 4. They eventually score 419 and save the game.
India versus England at Old Trafford, June 1982. India have lost the first Test of the series by seven wickets. In response to England's first-innings total of 425, India are 136 for 5. They eventually recover to 379 and save the game.
India versus England, World Cup semi-final, June 1983. As India chase England's 213, their run rate flags, even as they keep wickets in hand. When the third wicket falls at 142, the game is still in the balance. Barely ten overs later, the game is over, decisively swung India's way.
Full postRebel with a cause
Pietersen has always been an outsider of sorts and the fringe artist was best on display when he was taking on some establishment or the other
Samir Chopra
07-Feb-2014
Aristotle is supposed to have said that there were only two ways to treat an exceptional man: send him into exile or make him king. The English cricket administration, having tried the king option with Kevin Pietersen and witnessed its failure, have now settled on the banishment-into-exile option.
Kevin Pietersen will no longer sport the Three Lions. He will have to rest content with being a mere Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire and will have to forego any ambitions of becoming an Officer, a Commander, a Knight Commander or a Knight Grand Cross of that same Most Excellent Order. As a Scottish friend of mine put it - with perhaps more irreverence than was appropriate or required - no German lady will be tapping him on the shoulder with a sword any time soon.
Pietersen should not be too unhappy, though. His eviction from the confines of the English dressing room - while undeniably a severe personal loss in that it deprives him of the pleasurable company of Stuart Broad's measured gravitas and Alastair Cook's risqué humour - should come as a long-awaited confirmation of an image he has assiduously cultivated for a while now: that of rebel, outcast, loner, and yes, exile.
Full postMost Read
Writers
Terms of Use|Privacy Policy|Your US State Privacy Rights|Children's Online Privacy Policy|Interest - Based Ads|Do Not Sell or Share My Personal Information|Feedback
© 2024 ESPN Sports Media Ltd. All rights reserved