Gaudi : Architecture :: Grace : Cricket

Gaudi’s work – incredible, phantasmagorical forms set within a city of perfectly straight lines and right angles – captures the spirit of a world gone by, a world that was animated by nature, magic and fantasy, and boldly brings that spirit back into an unremittingly modern world.

Reminds me of the good doctor Grace. Specifically, of CLR James’ take on WG Grace.

CLR James, cricket’s greatest historian, examines WG Grace at length in Beyond A Boundary. James’ interpretation is that Doctor Grace was a creature of an old England, a pre-industrial, pre-Victorian, yeoman England. This England was vanishing by the time WG played. But by embracing and celebrating WG, by deifying the good doctor and giving him, and the game he bestrode like a colossus, a central place in the pantheon, relentlessly modern Victorian England encapsulated and kept alive the best of the spirit of that older time.

Looked at this way, the cultural meaning of cricket in India and England could hardly be more different. Cricket came to India fully formed, as part of an already modern Victorian empire. Princelings played it to express allegiance with their colonial masters. Nationalists played it to realize the virtues which made the empire so powerful, and so to defeat the invaders at their own game. Either way, cricket in the sub-continent always represented modernity, success, power, the glorious future rather than the idyllic past.

As a post-script, some extracts on WG Grace from CLR James’ text:

WG Grace was a Victorian, but the game he transformed into a national institution was not Victorian in either origin or essence. It was a creation of pre-Victorian England, of the two generations which preceeded the accession of the queen…It was an England still unconquered by the industrial revolution. It travelled by saddle and carriage. Whenever it could, it ate and drank prodigiously. It was not finicky about morals. It enjoyed life. It prized the virtues of frankness, independence, individuality, convivality. There were the rulers and the ruled, the educated and the uneducated. If the two groupings could be described as two nations, they were neither of them conscious of the division as a state of things which ought not be.

In all essentials, the modern game was shaped between 1778 and 1830. It was created by the yeoman farmer, the game keeper, the tinker, the Nottingham coal miner, the Yorkshire factory hand. The artisans made it, men of hand and eye. The rich and idle noblemen, and some substantial city people contributed money, organization and prestige…

At their matches, the players ate and drank with the gusto of the time, sang songs, and played for large sums of money. Bookies sat openly before the pavilion at Lord’s taking bets. The unscrupilous nobleman and the poor and dishonest commoner alike bought and sold matches…

The old England had indeed gone. By 1857 a majority of the population lived in cities. This was the generation, the first of many to come, which was "cut off from the natural country pursuits and amusements which had been the heritage of Englishmen for centuries". They probably felt the loss more than the public school boys…In the ten years that followed the Factory Act of 1847, there had come into existance an enormous urban public, proletarian and clerical lower middle class. They had won for themselves one great victory, freedom on Saturday afternoons. They were ‘waiting to be amused’…

The decade of the sixties, with its rush to organize sports associations of every kind, was just around the corner. In 1862, the first team of English cricketers set sail for Australia. In 1863, the MCC authorized overarm bowling, thus removing the last barrier to the development of the game’s full potentialities. In 1863, WG Grace, then fifteen years old, played in a first class match. He had made his first appearance on a stage that all classes of the nation had helped to build, and which was just about ready for the performance WG was about to give…

Through WG Grace, cricket, the most complete expression of popular life in pre-industrial England, was incorporated into the life of the nation. As far as any social activity can be the work of one man, he did it…

What manner of man was he? He was a typical representative of the pre-Victorian age. His was a Gloucestershire country father who made a good wicket in the orchard and the whole family rose at dawn to get in a few hours of cricket. Their dogs were trained to act as retreivers…

Boys of the Grace clan once walked seven miles to school in the morning, seven miles home for lunch, seven miles back to school and seven miles home in the evening. That was the breed, reared in the pre-Victorian days before railways…

Records show that the family in their West Gloucestershire cricketing encounters queried, disputed and did not shrink from fisticuffs. To the end of their days, EM and WG chattered on the field like magpies. Their talking at and even to batsmen was so notorious that young players were warned against them. They were uninhibited with each other and could be furious at fraternal insults or mistakes. They were uninhibited in general.

In his attitude to book learning he belonged entirely to the school of pre-Arnold Browns. He rebuked a fellow player who was always reading in the dressing rooms “How do you expect to score if you are always reading? I would never be caught that way.”

He is said on all sides to have been one of the most typical of Englishmen, to have symbolised John Bull, and so on and so forth. To this, it is claimed, in addition to his deeds, he owed his enormous popularity. I take leave to doubt it. He was English undoubtedly, very much so. But he was typical of an England which was being superseded. He was the yeoman, the country doctor, the squire, the England of yesterday. But he was no relic, no historical or nostalgic curiosity. He was pre-Victorian in the Victorian age, but a pre-Victorian militant...

There he was using his bat like an axe, building as much of that old as possible into the new, and fabulously successful at it. The more simple past was battling with the more complex, more dominant, present, and the present was being forced to yield ground and make room. In any age, he would have been a striking personality and vastly popular. That particular age he hit between wind and water.

Were we ever #1?

Were we ever #1? This feels like a question worth asking after the whipping at South Africa’s hands in Nagpur. Maybe the ICC ratings don’t actually mean anything.

For several years I have trusted the Rediff ratings more than the ICC ratings. The Rediff ratings suggest that India never were #1. The latest Rediff ratings Google could find, published in December 2009, show India at #2 behind Australia.

The nice thing about the Rediff ratings is that they set more value on wins against better teams, and wins away from home. They were developed back in 2001 by two geeky cricket fans, one of whom was the Director of the Economics Department at Bombay University. The good professor might have felt the need to develop an intelligent ratings scale because the official ICC ratings developed earlier in 2001 were so bad. These ratings were designed by a panel of distinguished cricketers, like Sunil Gavaskar and Ian Chappell, and treated all test wins as equally valuable. This is not a bad attitude for a player, who should play equally hard against any opposition. But from a fan's viewpoint this original ICC scale is asinine. I thought this post was going to be a rant about the stupidity of the ICC ratings.

However, it turns out that over time the ICC have improved their ratings methodology. They have now incorporated the best idea from the Rediff methodology, that wins against stronger teams matter more. With that improvement, the ICC ratings are not meaningless. India topped a meaningful table in 2009.

There still are interesting differences between the Rediff and ICC scales. The ICC scale gives extra weight to test series outcomes, which is nice. It does not weight-up away wins, which is odd. But the biggest difference is that the ICC ratings give double the weight to wins in the last two years, while the Rediff scale treats an entire cycle of home-away tests as one equally important block.

For instance, the Rediff scale gives Australia’s 5-0 whitewash of England in the 2006-07 Ashes as much weight as the 1-2 loss in England in 2009. Rediff’s logic is that these are the two most recent home-away series. In the ICC ratings, the 5-0 hammering in 2006 gets only half the weight as the 1-2 loss in 2009, because the 5-0 hammering happened more than two years ago. Clearly, weighting-up recent matches makes it harder to apply a home-away factor, because very few pairs of teams will have both home and away matches in the most recent two years.

Neither approach is right or wrong, different scales serve different purposes. The ICC ratings will respond more quickly to changes in performance. It will therefore have more predictive power, will generate more rapid rating changes and therefore more news. The Rediff ratings are probably a more fair and comprehensive summing up of a complete block of historical performance. The swapping of ranks indicates that there probably is no real (statistically significant) difference in the performance of the best test teams since Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath retired.

Rediff ratings don’t seem to have been updated and published on schedule. The most current Rediff ratings don’t reflect South Africa’s drawn series against England, or Australia’s annihilation of Pakistan. Unfortunately, this might be for a good reason. As a profit maximizing brand, Rediff might not want to tell the Indian public things they don’t want to hear. Judging by the mean-spirited and jingoistic reader comments that were posted under the last Rediff update, this is a real concern.

Maybe the chest-thumping nationalism of a big chunk of Indian fans is much more worthy of a rant than the ICC’s rating methodology.

Follow your dream, not

"Follow your dream" is career advice I have frequently received. This is also advice I have given multiple times. I must confess that, on reflection, this is really bad advice. I don't feel too bad about having given this advice, I will pass the blame on to the omnipresent self-help management gurus, but it still remains really bad advice.

The only dream I've ever had that feels worthy of the name was to play cricket for India. My inner ten-year-old still believes that it is my destiny to open the batting in a test match at Chepauk, take strike at the Wallajah Road end, and drive the third ball of the day past extra cover for four. But, heck, that was not meant to be. Gautam Gambhir and Virender Sehwag are doing that job on my behalf; they're doing the job pretty well.

I shared this dream with tens of millions of Indian boys. The dream had some chance of coming true for about fifty of those boys. "Follow your dream" was excellent advice for that gifted fifty. What about the remaining tens of millions? Mostly, they've made peace with real life, and are getting on with their careers as Business Systems Analysts, or Sales Managers or tax lawyers.

Sure, the Business Systems Analysts and Sales Managers need direction, purpose, meaning and fulfullment in their work-lives too. But when an everyday professional is looking for direction, when she is at a career crossroads and asking herself what to do next, asking her to "follow her dream" is worse than useless. It provides no insight or intelligence that is relevant to the here and now, and makes mockery of her childhood dream to be a ballerina, or cowboy, or cricketer or whatever.

A colleague of mine came up with a much more useful formulation to provide direction to his own career, an outside-in view rather than the inside-out view of the "Follow your dream" merchants. His take was, "I try to put myself in a place where lots of good things are happening around me. If I do, chances are, good things will happen to me." It is hard to predict what those good things will be, except that it will not be an India cap. But, heck, maybe that is real life.

Test Cricket at Brabourne

It is great to see test cricket at Brabourne Stadium in Bombay. Not just because of Sehwag's 293, or India attaining the world #1 ranking, but for its political resonance.

Brabourne stadium represents a part of India's culture and cricketing heritage that deserves to be celebrated and brought back into the mainstream. It was built by the Cricket Club of India (CCI) in 1936, to be "India's Lord's". For my money, it is a more beautiful and charismatic cricket venue than Lord's.

The CCI website tells me of one of the founding myths of Brabourne. The Maharaja of Patiala, one of the great patrons of cricket in pre-independence India, went to the Gymkhana to watch a game. He was not allowed to sit with the white skinned Europeans, and was sent to the native enclosure. Hurt, and perhaps inspired by Jamshetji Tata's hotel that stands half a mile from the Bombay Gymkhana, he swore to create a great cricket club where such segregation did not exist. He went on to build the Cricket Club of India. He saw no contradiction in naming this great new stadium after Lord Brabourne, then the British governor of Bombay Presidency.

At the time, the dominant political forces in Indian cricket were the princelings of the Raj. The Maharaja of Patiala was the first President of the CCI, and sponsored the Patiala Pavilion. The Maharaja of Idar, a Rathore prince from North Gujarat whose clan married into Ranji's Jamnagar family, paid for the Governer's pavilion. One of the great banqueting halls at the CCI is the Cooch Behar Room, presumably sponsored by another cricket loving royal family. A more recent CCI president was Raj Singh, once chairman of the Indian team's selection committee, scion of the royal family of Dungarpur.

The aristocrats of the CCI long had the Bombay Cricket Association (BCA) as tenants on their premises. The culture of the BCA was closer to that of the Marathi speaking middle class families of Dadar, Matunga and Shivaji Park - the culture of Umrigar, Phadkar, Mankad, Wadekar, Gavaskar, Shivalkar, Vengsarkar and Tendulkar - rather than the culture of India's erstwhile royalty. Discomfort between these cultures is easy to imagine, but the relationship stayed on the rails through Jawaharlal Nehru's lifetime, up until the early 70s.

By this time, India itself was changing rapidly. India had defeated Pakistan in war in 1971. East Pakistan had broken away and formed the independent nation of Bangladesh. Also in 1971, the Indian cricket team had defeated England - the old colonial masters - at their own game, in their own country. This team was captained not by a princeling like the Maharajkumar of Vijaynagaram, but by a middle-class Mumbaikar called Ajit Wadekar. A hot-headed, curly-haired, twenty two year old called Sunil Manohar Gavaskar opened India's batting. A new India was taking shape. This India had no time for the niceties of older days. Not coincidentally, 1971 was the year Indira Gandhi's parliment abolished the privy purses that had been paid to the royal families of India since independence. The lineages that had built the CCI were no longer royalty in any meaningful sense.

Relations between the CCI and the BCA came to a head during the England tour of India in 1972. The CCI apparently turned down the BCA's request for more ticket allotments. The BCA under SK Wankhede decided to break away from the CCI and build their own stadium. Wankhede stadium, an unremarkable concrete behemoth that sits a couple of blocks north of Brabourne, was completed in 1975. It has since hosted most important matches in the first city of Indian cricket, while Brabourne lies idle.

The power struggle that led to Brabourne being supplanted by Wankhede is now over. The victors should be secure in their victory. Does that create room to restore Brabourne to some of its former glory as the home of Indian cricket? And hence, can contemporary India recapture some of that spacious, graceful, cosmopolitan spirit that still pervades the CCI?

The betting is that Brabourne will be forgotten and that service as usual will return once the repairs at Wankhede are completed. But, heck, crazier things have happened.

The Sound of the Fury

...Peter Jackson, requiring a wrathful army for Helm's Deep, bravely ventured onto a cricket pitch, during a break, and asked twenty-five thousand fans to roar in unison. They obliged.

From the New Yorker

Good Banter, Bad Sledging

My previous post on the English crowds booing Ricky Ponting drew some interesting feedback…thanks for the engagement. Some readers suggested that there is no such thing as good banter as opposed to bad sledging. That feedback provides me with a great segue to sledging stories that go back to the deified Dr WG Grace, the original Mr Cricket. I think these anecdotes make the point that on field banter can be funny, and can make the game richer.

- Once, when Dr WG Grace was given out, he refused to walk, and told the bowler “All these people have come to watch me bat, not to watch you bowl”. And the innings continued

- Charles Kortwright, bowling to Dr WG Grace in a county game, had dismissed him four or five times but had had his appeals turned down. Finally he knocked over two of the good doctor’s stumps. As the doctor turned towards the pavilion, Kortwright said “Surely you’re not going, Doctor? There is still one stump standing.”

- More recently, Ian Healy told Arjuna Ranatunga that he couldn’t have a runner for being too fat. And when Arjuna played cautiously off the back foot, Healy asked the bowler to put a Mars bar on the good length spot. Arjuna, the fatty, would surely lunge out of his crease to get the Mars bar

- Another keeper, Rod Marsh, asked the incoming batsman Ian Botham just as he was settling down into his stance: “So Both, how’s your wife? And my kids?”. Botham’s reply, “The wife’s fine, the kids are retarded”

- Merv Hughes had helpful words for Graham Thorpe who was playing and missing: “Read the back of your bat, mate. It has got instructions on it”

Marcus Trescothick, who retired from the international game because of mental health problems, says verbal abuse is “nothing to be worried about”. Justin Langer says sledging is a part of the fun, and that the only time he has seen sledging go beyond fun to being personal was between McGrath and Sarwan. Similarly, the Harbhajan – Symonds – Hayden altercations were no fun at all. A lot of the chat that happens is not funny. There clearly are lines that should never be crossed by either fans or players - like race, personal tragedy or physical handicap.

But in the balance, a game with no chat in the middle will be a poorer game. Trying to legislate away the verbal jousting and scatological self-expression in cricket, trying to turn Headingley into Henley, is just silly.

Boo Ponting - Part 2

I was at Trent Bridge earlier this week for the fifth ODI. I was observing the crowd intently when Ricky Ponting came out to bat. He was booed, loud and clear. But the more decent elements in the crowd were embarrassed enough to try and drown out the booing with cheering.

When Ponting finally walked off the pitch after a masterly match-winning century, the entire house rose to give him a standing ovation. Good show, Trent Bridge.

I believe the Trent Bridge crowd booed England yesterday, in the sixth ODI, for putting up such a limp performance. Interestinger and interestinger...

Freddy, meet Mac

Its a lazy, sunny Saturday afternoon. Went swimming with the kids in the morning, had upma for lunch. The rest of the family are settling into siestas. I am settling down in front of the telly, to watch Freddy Flintoff come out to bat in his last test innings, and reflecting that Flintoff is cricket's McEnroe.

Both Flintoff and McEnroe were unbelieveably gifted. They've treated us fans to some sheer magic: the Ashes in 2005, the Wimbledon finals in 1980 and 1981. Yet, especially when compared with their natural talent, both are underachievers.

Michael Atherton talks here about Flintoff's disappointing career stats. Flintoff averages 32.06 with the bat and 32.59 with the ball. The decimals show that his batting average is slightly lower than his bowling. To put that in perspective, Imran Khan averaged 37 with the bat and 22 with the ball. Botham averaged 33/28. Among Flintoff's contemporaries, Shaun Pollock comes in at 32/23. Flintoff's bowling average is about the same as Kallis; however, Kallis averages more than 50 with the bat.

Given how good Flintoff can be, especially with the ball, his returns are surprisingly meagre. Like McEnroe's seven grand slam titles.

Yet, the Flintoff we want to remember is not the Flintoff we see in the statistics, but the Flintoff who beat South Africa in 2003, who bowled this over at Edgbaston in 2005. Like the McEnroe in the mind is the one who beat Bjorn Borg in 1981.

So long, Freddy. Thanks for all the fun.

Boo Ponting and Boo Hoo Colly

When Australia won the fourth test in two and a half days, Ricky Ponting went up to the podium to receive the winning captain's magnum of champagne, and he was roundly booed by the Headingley crowd.

The was not the first time Ponting was booed this Ashes series. It started back in Cardiff. It has continued through to Headingley, despite the ECB president Giles Clarke's calls to cease and desist. The Australian captain has ignored the booing.

Nor is this the first time booing has been in the news this summer. Paul Collingwood, the then reigning England captain, spoke in a hurt, injured tone about being booed by a predominantly Indian Lord's crowd during the Twenty20 World Cup. At the subsequent India v. South Africa game at Trent Bridge, there was much sanctimonious commentary (by Jeremy Coney, I think) about how it is nicer to cheer your own team than to boo the other team. Many of my Indian friends and family cringed. Are we really the cricket world's most boorish nation?

Well, the Ashes experience suggests that English fans aren't all that different from the Indian fans. English fans will boo Australia even when England are not playing, as I discovered at the Australia v. Sri Lanka T20 game at Trent Bridge.

Expanding the frame a bit, yes it is undeniably nicer to cheer your own team than to boo the other team. But it is easy to over-steer.

Ultimately, cricket is fun because it is theatre. Banter is a part of the theatre. Like booing a villain at the pantomime is a part of the fun. There is a very fine line between banter and sledging, defined mostly by the spirit in which the words are spoken and received.

Sure, maybe the booing at Headingley and Lord's was not in the right spirit. But the English ODI captain can surely learn a thing or two about stiff upper lips from his Australian counterpart.

Play up! play up! and play the game!

There is a breathless hush at the close tonight -
Ten to make and a match to win -
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.

And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote
Play up! play up! and play the game!

My family's primary religion is cricket. I grew up with these words echoing inside my head, reminding me that cricket is our spiritual calling.

When I recited this poem at my grandparent's dinner parties, or at junior school elocution competitions in Madras, I was vaguely aware that there was more to the poem. But I stopped the recitation at this point. That was probably a good thing. In the Victorian original the next stanzas go:

The sand of the desert is sodden red -
Red with the wreck of a square that broke
The gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed its banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks -
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind -
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

Jeremy Paxman quotes this poem, Vitai Lampada, in The English. Paxman's take on the poem:

It is hard not to be carried along in its rhythm, even if there is something so breathtakingly stupid about the poem that it is hard to imagine how on earth it could ever have been taken seriously. Yet, in the balmy days before August 1914, the idea that life was essentially a version of the Game seemed almost plausible.

"The sand of the desert is sodden red, red with the wreck of a square that broke", is a reference to the seige of Khartoum, a colonial misadventure which ended with the entire garrison at Khartoum slaughtered and General Gordon, the British officer in charge of the garrison, beheaded by the Mahdi army.

And that is somehow like a game of cricket? Paxman is spot on: breathtakingly stupid.



Reminds me of Lance Klusener. He was asked how he stayed so calm after South Africa crashed out of the 1999 World Cup semi-finals in one of the greatest games ever. Klusener said "nobody died".

Good perspective. Must remember next time India are playing.

Waugh: The Class Act

Is Ponting an unworthy successor to Steve Waugh? Or are they really peas from a pod, crude and petty sledgers, with Waugh smelling a little better only because he won more often? My friend Shukles got me thinking about this a couple of days ago, when he suggested that Ponting was no worse than Steve Waugh.

Consider the case for Steve Waugh:

- He found the time to support Udayan, a home for disadvantaged children in Barrackpore, Calcutta

- Waugh found the time to take his team to Gallipoli, to honour the ANZAC soldiers who fell there during WWI, starting off a little tradition

- He taught his team to enjoy playing in India, and more generally the sub-continent. Approaching the tour as a fun experience, rather than as a punishment posting probably had a big part to play in their improved results. One of my favourite photos from Waugh's autobiography is of his team, wearing their lurid yellow uniforms and with their backs to the camera, staring mesmerized at the Taj Mahal

- He encouraged Ed Smith, then a colleague at Kent, to write about what it is like to be a county pro. This is one of my favourite books about contemporary cricket

- He mourned the game's loss when Zimbabwe's Neil Johnson retired after a scintillating World Cup in 1999, including a century against Australia, because he needed to earn a living. He made a plea to the cricket community to support the game in Zimbabwe, because the game was poorer if a player of Johnson's quality could not play. For this, Sunil Gavaskar described Waugh as not just a great player, but a great leader of men. BTW, Gavaskar is no reflexive Aussie supporter.

I couldn't Google-up a link to Waugh's comments about Neil Johnson. It stuck in my memory because of Johnson's amazing personal story. Johnson was a superstar at seventeen, and a has-been at twenty. The South African team management (rightly) preferred Lance Klusener and Shaun Pollock to Neil Johnson for that all-rounder slot. Yet, he hung on to his dream, played for Zimbabwe, and got his revenge on the biggest stage of all when he single-handedly beat a South African team that included Klusener and Pollock in the 1999 World Cup, before riding off into the sunset.

Could a cussed captain have been made to look like a hero by a good spin-doctor? Some moments, like Udayan and Gallipoli, could have been stage managed, though they reflect well on Waugh even if those associations were prompted by an image-consultant. But the Ed Smith and Neil Johnson stories would have been hard for a spin-doctor to fabricate. Looking at the whole rather than at the parts, the gestalt, I still am left with the impression that Waugh was a genuinely gracious guy. He understood that he was a part of something bigger than himself.

If so, why did he sledge? In his autobiography he says "sledging invariably occured when a player was frustrated at his poor form and wanted to show how much he was trying and how much he was annoyed with his performance. It is a cheap way of getting attention...". In Waugh's framework, he did not sledge. He tried to engineer a collapse in his opponent's confidence, mental disintegration, which is a part of the game.

He famously tried to bring about Saurav Ganguly's mental disintegration. Ganguly did not disintegrate, and Waugh now talks about "an ongoing verbal battle between Saurav and me, which belied an underlying admiration for each other... I saw in Saurav a committed individual who wanted to inject some toughness and combativeness into a side that had often tended to roll over and expose a soft underbelly".

In Waugh's world, a captain who tries hard enough is a captain who tries to engineer the mental disintegration of his opponents. Nothing personal or disrespectful. It's just part of the game. Which is why Steve Waugh is such a hard act for Ponting to follow.

Eoin Morgan and the tragedy of Greame Hick

As I start this post, Ireland have restricted Sri Lanka to 28-2 in 6 overs, after Sri Lanka had scored over 60 in the first 6 against Australia, West Indies and Pakistan. Jayawardene and Jayasuriya are just starting to power away from the Fighting Irish.

I usually back Lanka above all teams except India, but today my heart is with the underdogs. The Irish amateurs playing for pride, taking on the galacticos. If only... if only quality players from Ireland, good enough to make a living playing cricket, were actually playing for Ireland.

Eoin Morgan played for England earlier this year. Admittedly, his only game was England's famous defeat to the Netherlands at Lord's in the opening game of this Twenty20 World Cup. But still, he is good enough to play for England. His first class average is better than either the Irish captain William Porterfield, or their star batsman Niall O'Brien. Ed Joyce is another England international who might have been playing for Ireland today.

How much of a difference would a couple of quality batsmen, or at least better batsmen, make to the Irish run chase today?

The greatest tragedy of this sort was Greame Hick. Playing for England, he was a disappointment. Playing for Zimbabwe, alongside the Flower brothers, Dave Houghton and Eddo Brandes, he might have made the difference between a team capable of making noble gestures and a team capable of winning.



In Hick's time, maybe playing international cricket was the only credible way of making a decent living as a player. Maybe playing county cricket for a lifetime was not ambition enough.

Today, has the IPL changed that dynamic? Hopefully it will. But this generation of the Fighting Irish will have to win with the talent they've got.

Why the IPL works

The IPL, and more generally the Twenty20 format, is producing quality cricket. Commentators who liken the IPL to exhibition cricket or the Harlem Globetrotters are being both unfair and blind. They are simply not observing closely enough.

I'm typing this up the night before the 2009 finals. I just watched my team, the Chennai Super Kings, lose to the Bangalore Royal Challengers. Both teams played hard and produced moments that were as good as anything I've seen in tests. Consider:

- Dravid's immaculate straight drive to welcome Jakati into the attack. It was worth watching the game just to see that one shot

- Murali trapping Dravid LBW bowling around the wicket and straightening the ball into the stumps

- Virat Kohli dancing down to the pitch of the ball and lofting Murali over long on for a match-deciding sixer (the shot in the picture above)

- Parthiv Patel anticipating a short ball from Kallis and upper-cutting him over the slips for four

- Vinay Kumar frustrating Dhoni by bowling very full and outside the off at the death (exactly what Dhoni had Zaheer and Ishant do the the Aussies in the Nagpur test)

Despite the cheerleaders, despite the horrible uniforms, this is the real thing: top quality players competing to win.

Of course, nothing can match test cricket for genuinely memorable drama. But I would have no heartburn about Twenty20 entirely replacing the ODI format.

More generally, sport that has been seriously dumbed-down doesn't seem to sell.

An interesting (and heartening) case in point was the failure of an American Football league, the XFL. It was promoted Vince McMohan, the guy behind WWF wrestling. The idea was to compete with the NFL, despite having second rate players, by having more skimpily clad cheerleaders and morphing the rules to create more "action".

The venture was possibly inspired by the belief that "nobody ever went broke by under-estimating the intelligence of the American public". Well, Mr. McMohan didn't go broke, but he did manage to lose $72 million.

Fielding Flu

The swine flu, that terrible, dangerous contagion, resulted in my trip to a “summit” in the US being called off. Hence, I could veg out in front of the TV yesterday evening and watch the spread of an even more terrible, dangerous contagion: the fielding flu.

Chennai Super Kings managed to drop four easy catches, and fluff a run-out in a manner that would have embarrassed swine-herds, and yet beat the Deccan Chargers. Kolkata Knight Riders had a similar epidemic today (though with a less happy match-result).

The interesting thing about these drops is that they are not random. If the last few chances that went to hand were dropped, the likelihood that the next chance will be dropped is significantly higher*. Fielding flu spreads through exactly the same mechanism described in my previous post: fielders carry a mental image of a colleague grassing the ball, and the subconscious brings that image into reality.

Paradoxically, a strong team ethos may actually make teams more vulnerable* to this contagion. Players who sincerely identify with each other may carry a more vivid mental image of a friend dropping a catch.
__________



*this is a testable statistical proposition and a wonderful opportunity for ambitious young cricket statisticians looking to emulate the great Bill James

Series = Home + Away

Why not define a test series to span a set of both home and away matches? It seems like the obvious best answer to me. Yet, almost nobody in the cricket establishment is talking about it.

As I write, England are trying to conjure up an unlikely result in Port of Spain to square the test series against the Windies, who seem determined to draw the game and clinch the series. The cricket would be a lot more fun if the Windies were trying to win...but the Wisden Trophy is at stake.

Yet, the Windies arrive in England next month to start a new series. If the series were defined to span games played in both locations, there would be less of a home advantage, there would be fewer dead games, and both sides would play more natural and attacking cricket for more of the time.

In 2008 India and Australia played 8 test matches, four in Australia and four in India. Wisden thinks Australia won one series 2-1 and India won the next series 2-0. I think India won the Border-Gavaskar trophy 3-2, a very fair score.

Think back to South Africa checking out at the Oval in 2008. Or Rahul Dravid not enforcing the follow on at the Oval in 2007. Most test series are already scheduled as home-away combos. Surely there is an obvious way to avoid silliness of this sort.

A first class map

Here's a cricketing puzzle that's got me stumped.

England has about 39 counties or shires, or maybe that should be 42, or maybe even 46, an interestingly vague number unlike the unimaginative precision of the 50 American states...but the English taste for vagueness is not what this post is about. However one chooses to count, 18 adds up to less then half the English counties. Yet, only 18 counties (the darker coloured counties on the map above) play first class cricket. How did this come to pass?

For instance, Shropshire, that fabled land where the Empress of Blandings covered herself with such glory, would surely have a deep rooted cricketing culture? Or consider Lincolnshire, a well-populated county wedged in between the cricketing powerhouses of Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire. Surely Lincolnshire would be able to muster a decent county team? Club cricket is played in both Shropshire and Lincolnshire. But both seem content to remain Minor Counties, without objecting to the condescension loaded into that term.

Even more mysterious, Durham, the current champions, are the only Minor County to have been promoted to the first class level in 80+ years. This was a one time "historic" event. There is no mechanism by which the top Minor Counties get promoted to the first class level, and the weakest first class counties get relegated to the minors.

This instinctively feels odd to me, as an Indian cricket fan, because the growth of cricket outside India's traditional metropolitan centers is one of the most fascinating changes in Indian cricket over the last 25 years.

The fit and proper persons test

Should the England Cricket Board have ever been doing business with Mr Allen Stanford?

BBC's Radio 4, with a bit of help from Twenty20 hindsight, think not. The BBC have a point. There always was something just a little fishy about the Texan billionaire. The ECB should have applied a "fit and proper persons test", a general sniff test, to check if this Stanford guy was someone they want to do business with.

Or should they?

The trouble with sniff tests is that it is really hard even for well intentioned, honest and experienced people to know exactly what they're sniffing. A generation ago, any sniff test run by the ECB would have failed anybody who was not white, well-bred and Oxbridge educated. Would that have been good sniffing? Or prejudice? One of the great things about the anonymity of markets is that is harder for prejudice to prevail.

There must be an intelligent middle ground somewhere between prejudice and Stanford...but its never obvious how to be both fair and prudent.
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An apology: a previous version of this post mentioned Mr Adam Sanford, a cricketer who played for the West Indies in eleven tests, instead of Mr Allen Stanford, the shady Texan financier. Apologies to Mr Adam Sanford

Rules that are meant to be broken, and Broken Windows

I had gone with my children and their cousins for a swim at the Madras Club. My 14 month old nephew was swimming for the first time. I was glad that this rite of passage happened at the Madras Club. My generation of cousins have spent many hours swimming here, accompanied by my father or grandfather. I thoroughly enjoyed the moment, and took a few pictures to remember the occasion by.

By some obscure club by-law taking photos at the poolside is not allowed. I knew about the rule; it’s not a bad rule per se in the age of the internet. I ignored the rule. Nobody objected. A sense of proportion, common sense, prevailed over rigid bureaucracy. Good call.

Except...I have long been a fan of the broken windows theory. This theory maintains that small rule-breaks send out a signal that nobody is in charge, and lead to progressively more severe rule-breaks. For instance, if a window in a building is broken and is left unrepaired, the rest of the windows will soon be broken. A building with many broken windows left unrepaired will soon be looted, and so on. I was delighted to read about experimental evidence confirming this theory.

A sense of proportion and broken windows, do the two thoughts sit together? Apart from the profound truth that rules are great as long as they don’t inconvenience this blogger.

Maybe context matters. My (self-indulgent) interpretation is that in small, personal, closed homogenous groups, when the shadow of the future is a real force, when the stakes are low, broken windows is overkill. At an extreme, broken windows within a family would be pathological. At the other extreme, a sense of proportion is not going to manage millions of fleeting, anonymous interactions on the streets of a city, or in any marketplace. Simple, explicit, rigidly enforced rules are necessary in this context. A private privileged member’s club in my hometown is a lot closer to the family end of that scale.

Bodyline is still so resonant in cricket because that was the point at which the balance tipped. Before bodyline, cricket defined, and was defined by, an implicit gentleman’s code. Douglas Jardine was the man who declared that the game was now too big to be contained within a gentleman’s code.

What they don't teach you at the Australian Cricket Academy

A point worth making when it is obvious, because it will be quickly forgotten.

Cricket schools, and more generally, cricket systems, don't produce great cricket teams. They do produce good teams. The vital gap between good and great is, unfortunately, something that can't be taught at school.

The reason this is worth remembering is that the Australian cricket system, including the Australian Cricket Academy, got a lot of credit for Australia's domination of world cricket through the 90s and the early 2000s. Even at this dark moment for Australia, when the talent cupboard is looking bare, the system is working as well as it ever was.

The system - the ACA, the first class structure, grade cricket, schools cricket, talent scouts, sports science, the whole shebang - just ensures that Australian cricket is competitive, that standards never go into free fall like in the Windies. The Aussie system is very good, but not fundamentally different from the cricket systems in England, India or South Africa.

What made the Border-Taylor-Waugh cricketing dynasty was not the Aussie system, but a bunch of exceptional players.

Dravid's slump in form

I am on vacation in India. One of my nephews and I are vegging out in front of the TV on a Monday afternoon at my in-laws place, while the rest of the family naps. We are watching India nurdle along at 2 runs per over on the fourth afternoon of the Mohali test against England.

The commentators don't have a whole lot to talk about. We are watching endless replays of Dravid's stumps being shattered by Stuart Broad. Are horrible pictures like this a sign of Rahul Dravid's decline? Or does this just happen sometimes to any batsman, however great? And what to read into his century in the first innings of the Mohali test? The commentators are blathering on and on...for long enough for my inner-analyst to want to get beyond the balther...

The commentariat all agree that Dravid is suffering a slump in form. What, unfortunately, has not been properly examined is whether Dravid has really been scoring fewer runs than before, or whether the perceived slump in form is nothing more than randomness playing out. It is entirely possible that Dravid is batting as well as he ever has, and that the dice just haven't rolled his way. The mind is very good at spotting patterns, especially when there aren't any.

This question is inspired by Moneyball (recommended reading for any cricket fan). Moneyball is about how statistical analysis forms the foundation of a winning baseball team, the Oakland Athletics. It reports on persistent sporting myths that statistics busts. For instance, there is no such thing as a clutch hitter, a batter who does especially well in vital situations. Or that there is no such thing as a hot hand, a streak in basketball when a NBA player is "in-the-groove" and landing every shot in the basket.

Baseball is now enriched by a Society for American Baseball Research. The American Statistical Association now has a section dedicated to sports statistics. It is a pity that this quality of statistical analysis has not been applied to cricket, despite the richness of the data available. It is also an opportunity for a smart young cricket-loving statisticians. Calling S. Rajesh of Cricinfo?

To give the interested (geeky) reader a flavour of what is possible, here is the outline of a statistical analysis that would shed more light on Dravid's form than anything that has appeared in the media so far. None of the technique described below is very complicated, or goes beyond material taught routinely at the undergraduate level. I would be delighted to see this analysis available in the public domain along with a well documented methodology and explanations, and expect no credit or authorship rights. Also, a disclaimer. I am not a professional statistician; my knowledge of statistics is mainly as a customer to statisticians. Any feedback from readers with more statistical knowledge, especially around time-series analytic techniques could improve this analysis, is appreciated.

Outline of desired analysis
Step 1: compile the dataset
Each record in the dataset is one of the ~25000 balls Rahul Dravid has faced in test cricket. Each record in the dataset has the following fields: outcome (which takes the values 0-6 and W, all represented as class variables), opponent (Australia, England etc.), bowler, bowler type (pace, military medium, leg spin etc.), location, home away flag (derived from location), innings (which-ith innings of a test match), position played in the batting order (mostly #3), number of balls already faced in the innings, date innings started, a random number (for validation in step 5).

I don't think any of this data is hard to obtain. It is reported in the ball by ball commentary on Cricinfo, which I'm assuming is professionally archived. This list is not meant to be exhaustive, most datasets come with a few plausible covariates that can be thrown in and played with.

A couple of fields I would love to add, which may be harder to obtain, are length (full, length, back-of, short) and line (outside off, off, middle and leg, outside leg). I believe this is the data the team statisticians sitting in the dressing room code in their laptops.

Examine the dataset to get familiar with patterns, especially with potentially tricky variables like bowler or location. For instance, a bowler Dravid has faced for 12 balls may have dismissed Dravid twice. Worth being aware of weird things in the data before running any regressions.

Step 2: run the regression model
Model the outcome, number of runs scored, wicket or dot-ball as a multinomial logistic outcome. This class of models are used in transportation analysis - every commuter has the choice of multiple models of transportation - or in brand analysis - every consumer has the choice of multiple brands of breakfast cereal. Similarly, every ball has the choice of different outcomes - from sixer through dot-ball to wicket.

Allow the model to see all the fields listed above. Do not constrain the model. All two-term interactions. Just maximize the fit. Essentially, the computer is finding the configuration of explanatory variables with maximizes the likelihood of the observing the outcomes in the dataset.

Most modern statistical packages will apply simple transforms to covariates to improve fit, like for instance taking log(number of balls already faced), a transform which makes intuitive sense anyway.

Step 3: read the results
First pass, one is expecting to see date of innings being a statistically significant. If it is clearly significant, and the coefficient has the right sign (a decline in form), that probably means the effect is real. A completely unconstrained model might spit out some funky functional forms, with performance being a parabolic function of time...improving initially and then declining.

A bunch of other interesting effects will be visible at this stage, and are fun to look for. For instance, does Dravid have a nemesis bowler? Is Dravid genuinely as good abroad as he is at home? Has he done any worse as an opener than at #3? Is Dravid more vulnerable to full length deliveries on the slow pitches at home than abroad (does the interaction term between home away flag and length have a non-zero coefficient)?

Step 4: tweak the model
Refinements to the model are usually needed at this stage.

For instance, if no effect is observed overall, it might be because a real effect over the last six months may be hidden by the length of the continuous dataset in use. Converting time into six monthly blocks may be useful.

Also, a time effect might be masked because it is correlated with the opposition. It might look like Dravid just happens to be weaker against Sri Lanka and Australia, India's most recent opponents. In this case, one might want to force the model to accept time blocks before it admits opposition.

Bowlers with thin data might show up having implausibly strong effects. One might want to modify the data to slot all bowlers who have bowled less than 250 balls at Dravid into a pie-chuckers categorical variable.

Step 5: validate the model

Keep a random subset of ~5000 balls outside the analysis described so far. Repeat the analysis on this holdout to make sure the results observed are similar. Validating on an additional time period is probably nonsense in this context, since time is a variable of interest.

A more interesting approaches to validation is to validate on non-test match data. If Dravid is in decline, we would expect to see that in all forms of cricket.

Step 6: Document the results and limitations
Gaps in data and any subjective interpretations or analytic choices missing values/ definition of class variable etc. would be logged here.

Some limitations are systematic. This dataset is limited to Dravid's performance only. So a generalized improvement in the performance of all test batsmen of the same time period would not be picked up by the model. It is possible that Dravid is playing as well as ever, and that the world has moved forward faster than Dravid. A more ambitious analysis spanning a broader base of test batsmen is needed to shed more light on this.

Also highlight opportunities to improve on the analysis. For instance, it would be interesting to compare Dravid's decline with that of other top players. Assuming there is a decline, is it worse than what Gavaskar or Border suffered? Data may be thinner in the pre-internet era...but maybe it is out there in official score sheets.

Most critically, this analysis does not tell the captain whether or not Dravid should be replaced with a younger batsman. That remains a judgment call, based largely on how he wants to build his team. What it may tell the captain is that Dravid's run of poor scores is explained by randomness and is likely to end soon. So we avoid the injustice of a great player being judged on poorly constructed evidence.