Indian cricket’s hell at Eden

None of what follows may be derived from studied logic. I am not here to offer you a rational diagnosis of what ails Indian cricket. Neither am I in a frame of mind to tell you what India must do differently in the Nagpur Test, let alone the near future and beyond. I will attempt something like this at a later date, when my ears are slightly less redder, my mind calmer and my gut less hurt.

This Indian Test side has been doling out some horse manure over the last year and a half but there was something about the Kolkata Test that got me to snap. There is no rational explanation for this. Maybe (Ashwin apart) it was the meekness in a crucial Test, a listlessness in a giant arena, a comprehensive surrender in a deciding home match, a lack of fight from some vaunted names, a casualness exhibited by the younger bunch … I don’t know. And I’m reaching a stage when I don’t care.

What I do know is that these days are repeating themselves with alarming regularity. With the series on the line, and a Test at a critical junction, the balloon deflates. Poof. Remember the third day at Nottingham last year? Down 1-0, leading by 67 in the second and boom, concede more than 400 with a horror show on the field. All over. Or think back to the first day at Perth earlier this year. Down 2-0, bat first, collapse for 161 and watch a Warner-led brutalization that ends at 149 for no loss. Done and dusted.

When the shit hits the fan, this team is shriveling. Now don’t throw me stats from the home series against West Indies and New Zealand. I know you get my point. When it’s time to smell the cordite, knuckle down and fight from the trenches, this team is acting all blase. When the opposition is closing in for the kill, this team is ready to surrender.

I am sorry but this is not the team that even remotely resembles the side that Ganguly built (one that stood up in the Headingley gloom and Adelaide sun); this is not the team that Dravid nurtured, not a side that has batsmen who stand in the face of opposition fire and take body-blows (Nottingham ’07), not a team audacious enough to counter-attack on a spicy pitch (Jo’burg ’06). Neither is this the side that Dhoni guided in a purple phase. No, no and no.

Instead they crumble like the clueless lot in Nagpur ’04, reel under pressure like the rabble in Trinidad (World Cup ’07) and offer a timid salute when it’s time to load up the ammo.

While Nagpur and Trinidad were no doubt heartbreaking, this seems like a new low. There is a certain jadedness to this lot. They have become too predictable. Gone are the days when a captain thought out of the box to change the batting order. Gone are the days when a batsman – any batsman – showed the cojones to unsettle the rhythm of the opposition bowlers when the chips are down. Gone are the days when an electric moment on the field produced a change of momentum. Gone. Finished. That only remains in the distant memory.

Instead we have bowlers going through the motions, a captain with little imagination, a fielding side that swings from indifferent to inept (what kind of a team changes its slip cordon every few minutes?) and a batting line-up that has mastered the art of falling into similar traps. Not to forget a coach whose role has been shrouded in mystery.

I am not new to this. I have had my share of whitewashes and stunning upsets. I felt terrible when West Indies trampled all over us in 1989. It’s sobering for an eight-year old to see Marshall, Ambrose, Bishop and Walsh eviscerate your newly-adopted heroes. I spent a few months recovering after Azhar’s let’s-give-it-all-away-when-we’re-tantalizingly-close brain-freeze at Adelaide. And I am yet to come to terms with the 81 all out in Barbados. One hundred and freaking twenty to chase! 120!

But those were simpler times. We could always take refuge in excuses. A board with not enough money, up against colonial conspirators, wallowing in a pathetic first-class system, with players not used to fiery pitches, a dearth of pace, an over-reliance on spin etc etc etc.

Today we have the richest cricket board on the planet. We sit at the economic center of the cricketing universe. Our board dictates terms at the ICC high-table. We have nothing to stop us from building the best first-class system. Our players have far more exposure than their predecessors. None of them has to walk into their Test debut and wonder – like some of their seniors did – how it feels to play in front of a packed house. None of them have any excuses.

And yet they sock us in the stomach with Tests like this.

I’m sure you know the feeling. You spend years and years waiting for the day things will change. Then every sign points to them changing. Then, for a brief while, they seem to change. And then, even before you can catch a breath, they slap you in the face.

A friend and I were chatting about lowlights of the nineties. We talked about how we seem to have gone back to the days when an Indian team lost with minimum effort.

There may just be a minor difference, though.

Back in the ‘90s we cared as hell when they lost match after match, series after series. We pined for a glorious innings here, a salvaged session there.

Now we may be reaching a stage when we don’t give a damn. We may not be far away from throwing in the towel. The more we lose without a trace of a fight the easier it will be to ignore this bunch, to joke about the losses, and worst of all, to forget such defeats.

Now that’s the most sobering cricketing thought I’ve had in a while.