Cricket’s Alpha Males fade a bit

Being a supporter of Indian cricket is a slightly different proposition. To begin with, it has a narrow definition, implying someone who supports the Indian senior one-day team. There are precious few matches to attend and those that are held are full anyway. So you support the team sitting in the armchair, wielding the TV remote.

Which brings us to the events of the past few weeks, involving the Indian team’s less-than-convincing performances in Sri Lanka, Holland and England. This has little to do with the fact that they lost four matches in a row, more to do with the manner in which they went down. Without a fight, or even the pretence of one.

Which would be fine under normal circumstances — the story of Indian cricket has largely been one of underachievement — were these matches not being held at the time of the Olympics. Because Athens opened up two windows: first, it gave us an alternative (heady, exciting, compelling) to watching cricket. Second, it allowed us to see our cricketers in a different light, through the prism of more substantial, heroic, selfless sportsmen and women.

And it made us (some of us, anyway) realise that the likes of Sehwag, Yuvraj, Kaif, Zaheer — yes, the whole lot — were little more than pampered princes, cosseted beyond reason. The gift without the grit.

It took J.J. Shobha to remind us just what it meant to wear the India crest on the international sporting stage; it took Anju, fighting her way past chauvinism of every kind, every inch of progress bound in red tape, to tell us that you don’t get anywhere worrying about an extra Rs 15 lakh a year. It took Rathore to show us that Indians can hold their nerve and strive for perfection at crunch time.

You could turn around and say, big deal, these people have to perform once every four years; cricketers have to perform 40 times a year so what’s a hiccup or two? Well, look at it this way: Olympians work four years (sometimes more) so they get it just right in those 15 minutes, on that one night. That is their one shot at fame, that is the pressure Rathore, Anju, Anjali face. Our cricketers have that chance, at fame and redemption, 40 times a year.

Maybe we really shouldn’t blame our cricketers for being the sorry sporting specimens they are. They exist in an environment that demands little of them save the occasional flourish; in a society that deifies the Alpha Male, they are the ultimate of the breed.

And, worst of all, they work for an entity that is as unprofessional as they are. With my admittedly limited knowledge of such things, I cannot name too many commercial enterprises that pocket cheques of $20 million as earnest money and yet are run like personal fiefdoms, without any transparency, accountability or long-term vision.

But the times are changing — slowly, almost imperceptibly. The same TV channels that have given the BCCI its millions also broadcast Formula 1, football from around the globe, NBA basketball, Tri-Nations rugby. Where the highest standards apply, where the packaging is as slick, the brands as easily identifiable. As teenagers — tomorrow’s consumers — spend more time at home flicking TV channels, their affinity with cricket becomes less intense, more occasional. It may be too optimistic, but there is a chance that hockey, athletics and other “fringe” sports will finally begin to cash in on nascent popularity. It’s a tectonic shift that may well occur, if at all, long after Dalmiya has finally hung up his bat. But if and when it does, the Alpha Males will find themselves out of the herd.