Sir Donald George Bradman

Don Bradman has been an unusual victim all his life. He faced a barrage of criticisms from his contemporaries for reasons that were never fully substantiated. He was criticized for being unsocial, for not mixing with his mates as much as they would have liked him to. Yes, Bradman hardly ever went to the pub with the boys after the day’s game was over. The fact that he was a strict teetotaler never seemed to cross the minds of his vehement critics. Even beer, he abhorred. A rare exception would be to have a glass of wine in an ambience of western classical music.

Bradman was hauled over burning coal because of his supposed fondness for wealth. His team-mates harped that he utilized his image to reap huge financial dividends. The fact was that he being the greatest-ever batman in the world induced sponsors and influential people to make a beeline towards him. Bradman never went out of his way to curry favour with anyone. Rather he accepted, on his own highly-principled terms whatever was offered to him. Most appropriately, he received financial bonanzas which were beyond the imagination of his compatriots. No wonder they were jealous of his stature and wealth.

Bradman was thought to be arrogant and standoffish. Quite true, he did not embrace people and make a great show of camaraderie. At the beginning of his career he was extremely shy. Born and brought up in rural surroundings, he took time to settle down to city life in Sydney. His dress, his manner, his rustic background came in for constant bullying from his fellow New South Wales players. Being reticent by nature and quite devoid of city sophistication, he became almost a recluse. He went deep into his shell and would respond only when absolutely necessary.

A massive hullabaloo was made of Bradman’s refusal to meet Lord Tennyson, the former England captain. Tennyson, who never had a high regard for Bradman’s batting ability, once went across to the Australian dressing room to meet Bradman at the end of a day’s game. Bradman, who had just returned to the pavilion after scoring his customary century, informed that he did not wish to meet anyone as he was resting his limbs. This too was considered to be Bradman’s way of insulting another cricketer!

Whatever he did or achieved came in for vindictive verbal reprisals. When he declined to play a Test match because of illness, he was supposed to be avoiding for fear of failure. When he changed his technique to play deliveries directed at his body, he was supposed to be a coward. When he was in earnest conversation with King George VI at the latter’s castle he had casually placed his hand in his pocket. This insignificant act became a headline that Bradman was rude towards the royalty.

If he was scoring heavily and consistently, as he invariably did (Test average 99.94), he was supposed to be hankering for individual records and personal glory. Whenever his team defeated opponents, it was claimed that he had no mercy for the opposition. Bradman never got a moment’s rest during his playing career that stretched for two decades from 1928 to 1948, except the War years. He was perpetually bombarded with vitriol and worse. Ironically the principal detractors were his peers, particularly Victor Richardson (Ian and Greg Chappel’s maternal grandfather), Jack Fingleton and Bill O’Rielly.

During his heydays, some Englishmen said that Don Bradman would never be a Grace or a Ranji or even a Woolley. To this the Australian cricket writer who first highlighted young Don’s immense genius, Johny Moyes replied, “Why should he become a mere mortal. He is and will always be the numero uno among batsmen.”

Even after his cricketing days were over, he never seemed to get the recognition he deserved from the Australian cricketing fraternity. If Keith Miller’s exclusion from the South Africa tour and the overlooking of Miller as the national captain had some validity, there was precious little praise for Bradman’s visionary outlook. He almost single-handedly banned throw bowling from Australian cricket; he encouraged sponsorship deals; he promoted district and school cricket; he formulated innovative laws. Yet he never got any credit.

Despite all the criticisms, the image of the man hardly suffered around the world. In Australia he was voted the most popular personality ahead of prime ministers and film stars. People of all hues and sections from all over the cricketing world held him in highest acclaim. They remembered not only the phenomenal numerical superiority of the man but also the softer elements of his character. He allowed young Bill Edrich to reach the milestone of 1000 runs in May in 1938. On the last day of May if Australia had batted on, Middlesex would have had no scope to bat and Edrich would have had no opportunity to reach the coveted target. The ‘cruel’ Bradman declared Australia’s innings closed so that the young Edrich at least got the chance to aim for the milestone.

It was none other than Bradman who went into raptures about the ability of the Indian cricketers in Australia in 1947-48. India was badly defeated in the Tests, but the supposedly ‘arrogant’ Bradman picked Vijay Hazare, Lala Amarnath and Vinoo Mankad for special mention and painted a positive picture of Indian cricket in general. In his book Farewell to Cricket, he highly praised the India team manager Pankaj Gupta, whom he fondly called ‘Peter Gupta’.

The greatness of Bradman cannot be evaluated by mere statistics. There is a constant fear that the stupendous statistics in his favour would submerge the magic in his batting. He was far, far above any of his contemporaries by any yardstick of evaluation. Similarly he was way ahead of batsmen before and after him by any known perspective. He was and still remains on the highest peak: very singular and very lonely.

His was an amazing career. Hardly any failures ever blotted his genius. In just 80 Test innings he scored no les than 29 centuries, which means for every third visit to the pitch he would get a hundred! These centuries however did also include innumerable double hundreds and two triple centuries. An unique quality of his career has been that his failures invariably attracted attention. So very few were those failures that “Bradman fails” actually became a headline! I doubt if any other sportsman in any other sports arena has ever had such publicity for his failure. No wonder his critics could not stomach his stature.

The greatest tribute paid by the cricket community to Sir Don was the conception, formulation and application of the ‘bodyline’ theory. The aim of ‘bodyline’ theory was to aim fast, rising deliveries at the batsman’s body with the idea to instill fear in him. If the batsman did not lose his wicket out of sheer fright, then he would be exposed to serious injury. The aim was to maim. The target was to achieve victory by whatever means. The history of cricket has never before or after seen anything as dangerous or as disgusting. Cricket during the ‘bodyline’ series was no longer a sport to be enjoyed, but a war to be won.

Since Bradman’s remarkable consistency and high speed of scoring could not be restrained by normal cricketing strategies and techniques, ‘bodyline’ bowling was developed to bring down Bradman to mortal levels. No ‘bodyline’ theory or any particular strategy to injure the batsman was ever devised for Jack Hobbs, Victor Trumper, Sunil Gavaskar, Gary Sobers, Brian Lara or Sachin Tendulkar. It was planned exclusively for the one and only Sir Don. This was the highest accolade that he received.

              On Richie  Benaud

Very, very few cricketers have left behind the kind of all-round legacy that Richie Benaud did. Everything about him was handsome: looks, physique, appearance, gait, mannerisms, voice and demeanour. The man just could not do anything that was inelegant or incongruous.

French revolutionary blood may not have flowed in his veins. But French inheritance he possessed as his surname distinctly reveals. And he was a radical in the most meaningful way: introduced unique innovations into cricket, a passion which ultimately became his profession.

His casual style reflected vibrancy and vivacity. His exuberance rubbed off on others. Women gaped at him while men tried to imitate. His distinctive style was reminiscent of the man he revered: Keith Ross Miller. Benaud followed Miller from playing cricket to cricket journalism and authorship to cricket broadcast.

If Miller was totally anti-establishment, Benaud was both pro and anti depending upon the issue concerned. While the fighter-pilot (2^nd world war veteran) in Keith Miller had little time for discussions and debates, Richie Benaud, a post-war journalist, had enough time at hand to be patient and pragmatic.

Benaud brought all his knowledge and skills to enlighten the cricket world for nearly six decades. His influence on modern cricket has had no parallel. If Grace, Ranji, Fry and Bosanquet were the early influences on the game, and Bradman was among the chief advocate of the changing trends, then contemporary cricket’s major influence has been the man from New South Wales, Richie Benaud.

Richie Benaud was among the premier all-rounders of the cricket world in the late 1950s and early 1960s. His peers happened to be Garfield Sobers and Alan Davidson. But Benaud influence on the game went far beyond the cricket ground. He was on a pedestal of his own making, way above the rest.

 He was a prolific writer on the game, whether it was authorship of books or articles for journals and newspapers. His ideas would always be well-considered and strongly-opinionated. There was nothing vague or secretive about his prose. He wrote from the heart and so was spontaneous. He would willingly stick his neck out and be counted. He knew not sycophancy, nor flattery.

Benaud’s impeccable quality was that he took issue by issue. If he criticized someone one day on an issue, he would be ready to praise the same man on another issue when the person deserved it. This unbiased approach of his made him a most sought after author and critic.

Later Benaud came into radio broadcast. Here he was at his best. Millions around the world would tune in to BBC just to listen to his rendition. He became “the Voice of Cricket”. No bias ever crossed those lips of his. The listeners were conveyed the relevant parts of the history of cricket and its laws without a moment’s hesitation. His tone and tenor; diction and delivery were unmatched. Even the legendary John Arlott would surely agree.

When television arrived, the first person as commentator the channels wanted was the one and only Richie Benaud. He came and conquered the new medium with ease. Now the challenge was different. For radio broadcast, the commentator had to draw the picture for the listeners’ benefit.Now the viewer could himself see the action.

 Immediately Benaud changed his style. So long he would be a constant conveyor over the radio. Now he would only need to add to the picture. Again he was in his elements. He added subtle touches. Never insulted the viewer by mentioning exactly what he (the viewer) had just seen. He mentioned only the finer points. Perhaps some past similar incidents; or a little of the laws to substantiate the picture; may be a hilarious anecdote or two.

Born in 1930, the Depression Years made him all the more determined. He was an Aussie by birth and spirit. His father had once taken 20 wickets in a grade match, but young Richie was not content to sit and dawdle over that. He cut his own mark. By 21, he was wearing the ‘baggy green’.

 His initial years in international cricket did not set the Sydney Harbour on fire. He was not consistent enough although he had given glimpses of his outstanding all-round credentials. At Scarborough, he had hit 11 sixes and 9 fours in making 135. He had scalped wickets regularly. He had fielded brilliantly, including a magnificent catch at gully to dismiss Colin Cowdrey at Old Trafford.

Any young cricketer would have been happy with this kind of progress. But not Benaud. His performance against West Indies, England and India in his early years was not entirely to his satisfaction in terms of runs and wickets. He was actually a maniac when it came to practice. He would just go on and on. He knew no respite, no relaxation. He had no time for socializing. Such a positive approach could not go unrewarded. By the time he finished the tour of South Africa in 1957-58, the name of Richie Benaud reverberated around the cricketing world. Whether batting or bowling he showed the world that he was among the prime all-rounders.

Around this period Australian cricket was going through a crisis. Bradman’s days as captain were over. Lindsay Hasset was the obvious choice as the next captain. He was followed by Ian Johnson and then Ian Craig. None could bring back the lost laurels of the Bradman era. When Benaud blossomed as an all-rounder of outstanding merit in South Africa, the Aussie selectors wasted no time to elevate him to the leadership.

Immediately Benaud was in his elements. He had shown his flair for captaincy ever since he took over the leadership of his state side, New South Wales. He was a natural leader of men. He proved it very convincingly by defeating a very strong England team under Peter May 4-0 in 1958-59. Within a year his team recorded overwhelming victories away from home over India and Pakistan.

 In 1960-61, in collaboration with Frank Worrell, Benaud produced a series that would go down in the history of Test cricket as the greatest series ever. Both West Indies and Australia dueled as if there was no morrow. They battled eye-lid to eye-lid. No quarter was given, none asked for. Both the teams were epitome of sportsmanship. They transformed cricket as no series had done before or since.

Richie Benaud’s credentials as among the greatest of all Test captains were enshrined forever. The following series in England was won in splendid style with a magnificent victory at Manchester, where England cruising at 150 for 1, collapsed to 201 all out. The brilliant strategist Benaud took 6 for 70, bowling round the wicket on the rough and having the strong England batters in complete disarray.

Frank to a fault, he abhorred hypocrisy. When Aussie umpire Col Egar “called” Ian Meckiff for throwing, the Australian captain was Richie Benaud. The incident occurred at Brisbane in 1963-64 against South Africa. Like a true sportsman, Benaud did not dispute the umpire’s decision. On the contrary he sided with Sir Don and saw to it that ‘throw bowling’ never recurred in Australia. Today when almost every nation encourages the presence of throw bowlers in its arsenal, ironically the most dominant cricketing nation, Australia, does not depend on such underhand tactics. This change came about because of Bradman and Benaud.

Being a natural athlete, the six feet two elegant frame was a magnificent fielder anywhere, especially so at gully from where he marshaled his forces. The picture of the ‘Cowdrey catch’ at Old Trafford is still to be seen in the cricket museums around the world.

Benaud spent hours practicing the difficult art of wrist spin. His wide repertoire included two varieties of leg spin, top spin and googly. He developed a unique in-dipper where he used the seam to make the leg-spinning ball dip in to the right-hander. At Eden in 1959-60, Pankaj Roy was trapped leg-before-wicket with a similar delivery.

He had a flipper, too, which he used sparingly. But his prime ability was to extract bounce and to trap the batter with his curving, deceptive flight. He was a master strategist and would crowd the batter with close-in fielders at the slightest opportunity.

With the bat in hand he was a typical Australian. Never thought of the ‘willow’ as an implement of defence. He used it to give vent to his aggressive intent. Very strong on the drive, he would lift the ball with power and grace. Once at Eden he hit Bapu Nadkarni for three straight sixes over the sight-screen while playing for Swanton’s XI. Like all Australians he was extremely strong on the cut and the pull, but his front-foot driving was a connoisseur’s delight. He relished stepping out of the crease and taking the fight to the opposition.

In times of need, however, he would shift gears. The handsome face would display a grim exterior. He would go behind the ball and play it down as he did so emphatically against the likes of Wesley Hall and Gary Sobers, Freddie Trueman and Brian Statham, Neil Adcock and Peter Heine.

For sheer cricketing wisdom and the courage to reveal the truth, Richie Benaud has had very, very equals. In the contemporary cricket scenario, Benaud has left behind his imprint in no uncertain manner. In modern cricket most of the innovations can be traced back to the Packer era. Kerry Packer’s main advisor was none other than Benaud.

Most of the innovations that we see today, especially in the ODIs and T20s, have their roots in the cricketing mind of Richie Benaud. Benaud’s contribution to cricket will be enshrined in the annals of cricket forever.

On Rahul Dravid , the man .

                                               

 The first time I met Rahul Dravid was at Mumbai in 2005-06. The occasion was the inaugural edition of BCCI’s T20 tournament. BCCI’s inter stateT20 tournament is named after the memory of one of India’s master batsmen, Syed Mushtaq Ali. The match was at Wankhede Stadium and one of the teams happened to be Karnataka.

The day before the match at the pre-match meeting, where the two contesting teams meet the umpires and the match referee, Karnataka was represented by their new captain Yere Gowda, as the original captain Dravid was not certain to play. At the time he was leading India and the national team had just returned from a foreign tour and so the Karnataka manager Sudhakar Rao informed us that their original choice as captain, Rahul Dravid, may not be able to arrive on time for the match.

Next morning, before the toss while the umpires and I, as the match referee, were inspecting the pitch, we saw that Rahul Dravid was walking towards the pitch. As he came near, he exchanged pleasantries and then was about to step on the pitch itself. I quickly blurted out, “Are you leading the team in this match?” He shook his head and said, “No.” I smiled and added, “Probably you have forgotten that as a playing member you are not supposed to walk on the pitch. Only the captain has the prerogative.”

Instantly he stopped and said, “I am sorry. Thanks for reminding me.” I replied, “Cannot blame you, Rahul. As the India captain you have got used to walking on the pitch before the match. Anyway, no harm done. Thanks.”

Suddenly the huge frame of Venkatesh Prasad appeared. He thought I was having a confrontation with Rahul Dravid. He shrugged his shoulders and raised his voice at me, “Do you realize that you are arguing with the India captain.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the India captain Rahul Dravid cut him short, “Ref is correct. As an ordinary player I am not allowed on the pitch.”

This is the real Rahul Dravid. A man of courage; a man of character. Courageous enough to accept that he himself was about to make a mistake. He had no qualms in saying so in front of the curator, the umpires and others who were near us at the time. Revealed exemplary character to silence his colleague for being wrong. I feel proud to see that we still have such men in India.

Later that evening, after our match was over I went across to the Brabourne  Stadium , the home of Cricket Club Of India (CCI), to watch another T20 match in progress. As I entered, Dilip Vengsarkar called me over to the seat beside him. On the other side of Vengsarkar was Rahul Dravid. Vengsarkar introduced me to him saying, “Meet my friend Raju.” Straight-faced Dravid replied, “Met him this morning. A very lenient match referee.” When Dilip furrowed his eyebrows to know what had transpired earlier, Rahul smiled and mentioned the incident. Dilip added sauce, “Even when he was playing he behaved like a match ref.”

As the conversation flowed, Rahul mentioned that he had liked reading my book, “The part about cricket being played during Mahabharata days was an eye-opener.”  I was astounded that he had found the time to read my writing. As if this was not enough, he added, “Rajan Bala told me to read your articles. I usually do.” He was so very matter of fact. No ego. No pretence. I came to learn that he was an avid collector of cricket books.

Later that season, again our paths crossed. This time again at Wankhede. The occasion was a Ranji Trophy tie between Mumbai and Karnataka. Before leaving Calcutta, I had taken a first edition Cardus duplicate that I had in my collection for Rahul. My wife Seema was mad at me, “Do you realize that you would be giving the India captain a moth-eaten, old book? What will he think of you?” I had told her before departure, “If any player would realize its worth, that would be Dravid.”

 How correct I was. The moment he had the tattered copy in his hands, he uttered, “Are you sure you want to part with this original edition Cardus? This is a collector’s item. This will be a treasure in my collection.” The cerebral man did not bother about the non-glossy exterior. Here was a man who could buy new books from all over the world. But he understood the value of antiquity.

Another incident revealed the man all the more. At Mysore city Karnataka were hosting Punjab to a Ranji Trophy tie. Manish Pandey, a young talented batter, was playing an excellent innings and remained unbeaten on 80 at the end of the penultimate day, with his team needing around 50 plus to win the tie. While they were doing their cooling-down drills, I called Pandey and asked him the reason for wearing light grey coloured shoes while batting. Skipper Rahul was more embarrassed than the culprit, Pandey. Rahul, however, asked me if it was possible to allow him to continue with those shoes as he had no other pair.

I told Dravid that if he felt it was perfect, I would allow Pandey to continue with those shoes. Rahul replied, “No, no I do not think these shoes are ok. He should be wearing white shoes. Will you please accept if he puts white plaster on the shoes while batting?” I understood the problem, “Fair enough, skip. Out of sheer respect for you, I will allow it.”

Next day Pandey got his hundred and Karnataka won the match. After the conclusion, skipper Rahul came to the referee’s room and thanked me, “You have opened my eyes. I found most of my lads do not possess proper white cricket shoes. I assure you from next match Karnataka players will wear absolutely proper white shoes.” I was stunned to say the least. Here was a captain who had the courtesy to acknowledge even a minor problem and willing to admit it in public. Not many captains would uphold the traditional values of cricket in this manner.

Another incident revealed another dimension of his persona. At Jaipur, Rajasthan Royals was involved in a match with Delhi Daredevils. It was an IPL match in 2012. As match referee, I walked in for the toss. The commentator was Sanjay Manjrekar. He asked me, “Sir, I just want to get the pronunciation of your name correctly. Is it MUKHERJI?” He proceeded to repeat my surname so that he got the pronunciation right. Instantly Dravid, the RR skipper, smiled, “No, his real name is not MUKHERJI. It is MUKHOPADHYAY. ” I was taken aback for a moment, then replied, “Rahul is absolutely right. Since I am in tie and jacket I call myself Mukherji. In dhoti-kurta, I call myself Mukhopadhyay.” With a smile, Rahul wagged his finger at Sanjay meaning I told you so.

The man is really amazing. How did he come to know that the Mukherjis are actually Mukhopadhyays. For a man from Karnataka to know the origin of Bengali surnames is quite astounding. His awareness of the world around goes far beyond the comprehension of most sportsmen. Bright, well-read and articulate, the man is actually one in a million.

Rahul Dravid is a man of gratitude. He is known to have told the world time and again that Keki Tarapore was his coach, even though he has come under the guidance of far more famous cricket personalities. I asked Shahvir Trapore, the international umpire and Keki Tarapore’s son, about Dravid’s relationship with his father.

Shahvir said, “My father was his coach at school. Rahul never let anybody forget that. He kept in constant touch with dad even when he was busy with his very tight international schedule. Dad used to feel a little embarrassed when Rahul often praised him publicly. But Rahul always maintained that the early coaches were the real coaches for they help to lay the foundation. To have a proper structure, you need a solid foundation.” How very true. But how many famous players (Sachin Tendulkar excepted) would acknowledge the fact that they should be indebted to their early coaches? Only a man of rare character would have the broad-mindedness to accept the truth.

Dravid’s greatness as a batsman needs no elaboration. Completely selfless, he even volunteered to keep wickets for India. People who have not played the game would not realize how very difficult it is for a non-regular wicket-keeper to do this role and then to succeed at his primary job of batting as well. Rahul achieved the extremely difficult task most commendably and without a word of annoyance.

As a leader of men he proved himself time and again for India. He won Test series  in West Indies and in England. Not many Indian captains have achieved this rare feat.  Initially with Karnataka and later with Rajasthan Royals, captain Dravid kept his profile low but was highly proactive. He was their captain, their mentor, their coach. He accepted every role with grace and graciousness. Players within his orbit progressed not only as cricketers but also as human beings. All those who have played under him whether for Karnataka or Rajasthan Royals have no qualms in acknowledging that they literally worship him.

Rahul Dravid remains the modest self that he has always been. Never a word out of place. Never an act to raise any eyebrow. Never cared for publicity. Never flirted with any controversy. Never tried to draw any attention to himself. Always remained the selfless, low-profile, intelligent and articulate gentleman. In a cricket world that has lost its innocence, Dravid’s presence was the only consolation. He upheld the spirit of cricket and its traditional values on and off the field. He was probably the last of a rare breed. A great cricketer; a greater human being.