Chennai Super Kings' Feminist Karma

Chennai Super Kings, my home town cricket team, just won IPL 4 in style. They have clearly been the best team on show since the inception of the IPL, with two trophies, one runner up spot, and one semi-final finish.

Many reasons have been ascribed to this performance, from MS Dhoni's captaincy, to the stability of the squad, to Stephen Fleming's coaching. I really like the tactical intelligence of CSK's game plans - Ashwin opening the bowling, Hussey and Vijay playing traditional cricket shots rather than low percentage slogs and Dil-scoops, Badrinath's clear role as the crisis man, Dougie Bollinger's yorkers at the death, shuffling the batting order to maintain left-right pairs - good, smart cricket.

But, as the many erudite Mylapore Mamis in CSK's fan base will be happy to explain, success does not derive only from one's tactics, from the flow of one's deeds on the field of action, from one's karyas on the dharmakshetra. Success also derives from karma, from the stock of goodness accumulated through many small acts of kindness and decency. These acts happened long before the men in yellow stepped onto the dharmakshetra of Chepauk.

One of these karmic factors working for CSK, which mainstream cricket commentators seem to have completely missed, is their co-ed cheering squad. CSK were the only IPL team with both men and women in their cheering squad. They were led by a shaven-headed fifty one year old drummer called Sivamani.

I certainly don't mean to pass judgment on the all-girl cheerleading squads, or on their admirers, as "bad". But CSK's co-ed approach just feels better, more comfortable, more natural. There is no obvious reason why leading a cheer for a sports team should be sexually charged. Cricket has long had a tradition of colourful, noisy and committed fans: Sri Lanka's Percy Abeysekara, India's Sudhir Gautam, West Indies' Trini Posse, England's Barmy Army. This cheering was never sexy (though the Barmy Army's chat with an Aussie fielder at the boundary line could involve pointed references to his sexuality). Sex and cricket always were fulfilling, but distinct, aspects of life.

When cheerleading was invented in America, at Princeton University in 1884, it was an all-male activity. Presidents Dwight Eisenhower and Franklin Roosevelt were cheerleaders in their time. Somewhere along the way, cheering a sports team morphed into the stylized sexual displays put on in the USA today in football and basketball (but not in cricket's cousin baseball). The IPL imported this into cricket in the name of "marketing".

Perhaps the greatest failure of NFL style cheerleading at the IPL is not moral but material: it doesn't seem to work in marketing terms. Several teams with great looking all-girl cheering squads are failing to fill their stadiums, or to animate their crowds. Ultimately, people who want to watch dancing girls can watch them elsewhere, without the annoying bat-ball distractions. The men and women who pitch up at cricket matches are there to enjoy the cricket. Sivamani and his co-ed troop successfully orchestrated the cheering of these real fans. CSK's fans were easily the most passionate and vocal in the IPL, effectively adding another player to CSK, making them almost invincible at home. Long may the force remain with CSK, and with Sivamani.

Alfred North Whitehead on Civilization

Loved this quote by Alfred North Whitehead:

"Civilization advances by extending the number of important operations which we can perform without thinking of them".

By this formulation, civilization is about being able to drink water out of a tap without worrying about infectious diseases. It is about being able to click I Agree to credit card or iTunes terms and conditions without worrying about nasties lurking in the fine print.

The Schengen Agreement, which makes possible paper free travel between 25 countries in Western Europe, is an advance for civilization. That feels like a more important standard than some pseudo-scientific "cost benefit analysis".

By contract, the American tax code - the 70000 page document which keeps an army of tax lawyers in profitable (but profoundly unfulfilling) employment – is not just a drag on the world economy. It is an assault on civilization itself.

BBC North collaboration pods. Or speed dating wheels?

BBC's plush and stylish new offices in Salford, near Manchester, are sprinkled with "collaboration pods".

The idea is that useful work happens when people talk to each other, face to face, rather than sit around in closed-door offices. Doing away with offices and having these collaboration pods should encourage people to do just that. However, having sufferred in new-age work spaces for decades, I have a hunch these pods aren't really going to foster collaboration.

Collaboration generally happens when people sit at right angles to each other, or in an arc, facing a white-board. It happens at coffee machines or water coolers, when people stand at right angles to each other, or in an arc, and the space above the coffee machine or water cooler becomes an air white-board.

Collaboration doesn't happen when two people are sitting squarely opposite each other. This is how people sit at an interview, when they are assessing or evaluating each other. These collaboration pods feel too open for most recruitment interviews, and anyway the interviews I give usually need a table-top work surface and a whiteboard. But these collaboration pods might just have struck the perfect balance between openness and privacy for a speed date. Perhaps speed-romance will now bloom amongst BBC staffers in Salford, near Manchester.

Pippa Middleton's Cricketing Boyfriend

Know who Pippa is dating, dahling? She's with England's finest doosra-man. Palace sources inform us that Pippa Middleton's boyfriend, and date at the Royal Wedding, is former England off spinner Alex Loudon.

Loudon is an old-Etonian friend of Prince William who captained England under 19s. He turned pro and played county cricket for Kent and Warwickshire with some success, when he morphed from a batsman into an off-spinner with a cunning doosra. He was picked for England and toured Pakistan in 2005, but didn't get a game. He played his only ODI in 2006 against Sri Lanka, and was run-out without facing a ball, as a part of a crushing 0-5 series loss to Mahela's Marauders.

He retired in 2007, the ripe old age of 27, to attend London Business School and subsequently pursue a career as a broker in the City. That may have been a very good call, given Swanny's success. It can't be easy to maintain an Old Etonian's lifestyle on a county pro's income.

Is there an event-marketing opportunity here? Prince William plays a bit of cricket too. Wills and A-Lo captaining...rival teams in whites...Kate and Pippa in the pavilion-tent...boaters and floaty dresses...Pimm's No. 1...Wills Navy Cut...Lady Di's favourite charity...no liveried servants, too colonial...Dave and Sam Cam...His Highness Jyotiraditya Scindia might grace the occasion... Live TV coverage might be embarrassing, an edited 10 minute news clip could do the job nicely. An antidote to the IPL. Sure, the IPL is more good than bad. But cricket needs more cultural-flavours than the IPL can provide.

Regardless, well played Alex Loudon. Bowled the doosra maiden over.

Wills Navy Cut @ The Royal Wedding

The Imperial Tobacco Company will launch Wills Navy Cut in the UK tomorrow, to mark the happy and auspicious occasion of the Royal Wedding.

Brand spokesperson Yogi Tobaccowallah explained "The future Emperor William is lovingly referred to as 'Wills' by his subjects. He will be getting married in his smart Navy Cut suit. He and his beloved are perfectly matched, made for each other, just like the filter and tobacco in Wills Navy Cut cigarettes. We have every confidence that the future Emperor and Empress will make Wills Navy Cut their smoke of choice".

Mr Tobaccowallah will be at Westminster Abbey tomorrow to present the UK's first carton of Wills Navy Cut to the royal couple, as a special wedding gift.





Also made for each other...

Gamla Stan, Stockholm, and proto Indo-European

My flight had started boarding. I was gathering up my laptop, iPod, magazine and assorted paraphernalia to head to the gate when my cell phone rang. It was my wife. I told her I'd reached Istanbul airport, was heading to my flight, and that I'd be home soon.

My wife was surprised. She thought I was in Stockholm, Sweden, not in Istanbul, Turkey. As always, my wife was right. I was, in fact, in Stockholm.

In my defence, I had had a long day. And, the part of Stockholm I'd just walked through was called Gamla Stan, which sounds like it could be in Istanbul. How did the heart of the capital of Scandinavia wind up with such an oriental sounding name?

It turns out that Gamla Stan, which means Old Town in Swedish, has familiar Indo-European roots. Stan is a contraction of the Swedish "staden" (sta'n), meaning "the town". This derives from the proto Indo European root sta - to stand, set down or be firm- ; the same root as English words like stand, stance, status or stadium and Sanskrit/ Indian words like sthal, stapit, stupa or Hindustan.

The origins of Gamla are a bit more tricky. Gamla meant camel in ancient Aramaic or Syrian. Gamla morphed into the Hebrew kamal which led to camel. It is tempting to think of Gamla Stan as Camel Town; perhaps ancient caravans from the Sahara trekked right across Europe to do business with the Norsemen of Scandinavia. Unfortunately, linguists seem to think there is no link between camels and Gamla Stan.

Gamla comes from the old Norse gammel, which means old. I find it easier to recognize the comparative forms of gammel: alder and aldest which lead to the modern English elder and eldest . Wikitionary tells me that gammel might be from the proto Indo European word for winter. If so, Gamla Stan could be understood as Winter Town, or perhaps even the Town Nourished Through Many Winters, which would be more evocative of the heart of the Scandinavian capital than just Old Town.

It also turns out that Turkish is not a part of the Indo-European language family at all. While Turkish has borrowed through the Ottoman years from Persian, Arabic and possibly even Sanskrit, it is from a completely distinct family of Turkic central Asian languages.

Hindi and Swedish, however, are cousins. Locating Gamla Stan in Delhi rather than in Istanbul may have made more sense. Gamla Stan sounds like a natural fit in old Delhi...Gamla Stan could roughly translate to Garden City...maybe a few miles past Hazrat Nizamuddin...

Sachin's Century, Zizou Zidane and Slumdog Millionaire

India won the World Cup. Wow!

How did we do it? (A) we cheated (B) we were lucky (C) we have a team of geniuses (D) it is written. And yes! Ladies and gentlemen, you are right. The correct answer is (D). We won the World Cup for the same reason that a chai wallah called Jamal Malik won Rs 2,00,00,000 in a quiz show. We won the World Cup because - it is written.

I didn't just make that up when I was celebrating our win. I have it on good authority that we won because it is written. The authority in question is India's coach Gary Kirsten. Here is what he had to say to Cricinfo:

As the tournament progressed in those knockout stages, I just felt a sense of destiny there. I felt we were going to do this thing. To the point that, the day before the final we knew were going to win. We actually even spoke into it. That we were going to win this thing. It's how we prepare to deal with the success, because we are going to win. Mike spoke about it: we are going to win this thing tomorrow. There was never any doubt at that stage.

I don't think Gary Kirsten is seeing ghosts here. He is talking about something real, a very tangible spirit that was present in this Indian team, that helped them raise their game when it mattered. This spirit is most apparent when it is absent, like when a team or player can't summon up the self-belief to win, and therefore crumbles or chokes, like Jana Novotna at Wimbledon 93 or South Africa in the cricket World Cup 99. But the converse is also true. The presence of this spirit, this deeply experienced sense of destiny, gives a team or player resiliency, an extra edge.

India didn't have this spirit in 83. After that win, Kapil Dev told the media that he had brought champagne into the dressing room before the final, because even if India lost, we'd done quite well to reach the finals, and that was something to celebrate. That quiet sense of destiny was a lot more apparent in Gavaskar's team in 85. Of course, a sense of destiny doesn't guarantee success. Saurav Ganguly's team had a potent sense of destiny in 04, pushing for an epoch-making win at the SCG. But it was not to be, as Steve Waugh denied fate in his final test match.

Destiny's intent for this World Cup was for Sachin Tendulkar to score his hundredth hundred in a World Cup final in Bombay, to lead India to victory. Over thirty thousand India fans at Wankhede had read this destiny in the stars, and in the palms of their hands, and were fervently willing it to happen. It didn't. Malinga punctured that dream.

The aspect of India's performance in the finals I was most impressed with was the calm, purposeful confidence with which we played even after that dream had been punctured. That tells me that the team's dream, the sense of destiny Kirsten talks about, was not about individual performances but about winning the World Cup. Because if the team had believed deeply that Sachin was destined to score his hundredth hundred that day, they would have been shattered by Sachin's dismissal. They would have been shattered like Zizou Zidane was when he head-butted the Italian Materazzi during a football World Cup final.

Here is former England batsman and Kent and Middlesex captain Ed Smith's take on Zidane's World Cup final:

"Scratch a brilliant sportsman deeply enough and you reach a layer of self-certainty in his own destiny. The greater the sportsman, usually the more convinced he is of his own predestined greatness. The big stage means it must be his stage, victory has been prearranged on his terms, it is his destiny to win the World Cup or the Olympics or the Ashes. It might be perfectly rational for a great player to believe he has a good chance of decisively influencing the big occasion. But that isn't what he thinks. He thinks it is inevitable. After all, well-balanced self-awareness and genius seem so rarely to co-exist.

If you could bottle that self-certainty you would have the most potent winning drug. That is why champion teams so often have a talismanic force at their centre - someone who believes the match, the day and the championship have been set up in accordance with his own destiny. His self-belief radiates to the rest of the team. Zidane had exactly that quality. When France really needed something special, he believed he would do it. That belief can be so strong that not only your own team but even the opposition can fall under its spell.

In extra time of the World Cup final, with Thierry Henri off substituted, France again looked to Zidane, almost exclusively to Zidane. We can be sure that Zidane, despite being unusually exhausted and having played longer than he would in normal circumstances, shared that view...the script had gone according to plan. Zidane had taken France to the final... one last moment of pre-destined brilliance was all he required.

And he almost did it. In the 104th minute, summoning up one last effort, Zidane made a decisive run into the penalty box, a cross was delivered just in time, and Zidane's soaring header sailed inevitably towards the top of the goal...Just as it was meant to be.

Having complied with Zidane's will so far, the gods finally made a mistake. The Italian goalkeeper Buffon made an inspired save in response to an inspired header. What followed was the most revealing and desperate image of the World Cup. Aimed at no one in particular, not at the keeper, not at himself, perhaps at the heavens, Zidane's face contorted into an agonized scream. This should not have happened, cannot have happened, must not be allowed to stand. Zidane's face resembled Edvard Munch's famous painting.

Having come this far with him, how could the gods now abandon him? But they finally went their own way, and left Zidane in solitary despair... Which would weigh more heavily on a champion's mood - a verbal insult to his family (the kind of insult that sportsmen hear all too often and nearly always manage to ignore) or being denied, in a state of physical and mental exhaustion, what he considered to be rightfully his: the winning goal, the perfect narrative, his destiny...

Zidane wasn't thinking logically when he headbutted Materazzi. He wasn't thinking at all. He was acting at a level, as he often did, which was beyond the bounds of normality."

It was written, yet it was not. Zidane was not grieving a game, or even a trophy. He was grieving an entire world. The world in which he had lived had broken apart, the fabric of fate had been shredded. Buffon's unbelievable save threw Zidane squarely within the twisted reach of crazy sorrow. Headbutting Materazzi was only a part, and not an especially important part, of Zidane's experience of crazy sorrow. In Ed Smith's words, "it's not a long journey from extreme self-belief to madness".

Fortunately, the Indian team believed in their destiny to win a World Cup, but they didn't really believe in Sachin's hundredth hundred in the World Cup final. Sure, that would have be nice, but that was icing on the cake. That lack of belief let them keep their heads when Sachin fell. That lack of belief allowed them to give Sachin a glorious World Cup winner's send-off. Zizou Zidane also deserved a send off like that. It was written, even if it didn't come to be.