The playing fields of fame

That was the tragedy of Limba Ram, as this paper brought out on Sunday; more than the injury he suffered, it was the inability to cope with the trappings of his success that kept him down for seven years. And not all sportsmen have the mental strength to start all over again as he has, risking whatever self-esteem one is left with.

Over in England, the footballing fraternity is agonising over the tragedy of George Best. He was, say those who saw him play, the finest British footballer ever. Yet he fell victim to his own success on the pitch — and off it, where he was either in the trendiest nightspot or with the best-looking women (or both).

Best was the first footballing superstar, known in adoring Spain — years before Beckham — as ‘El Beatle’. Yet football, and British society, wasn’t ready for a superstar and the pressures pushed him first toward drink and then into unofficial retirement at age 26. The world still wonders what could have been had he utilised all his playing years and faculties; as he himself famously said, ‘‘If I’d been born ugly, you wouldn’t have heard of Pele.’’

Did the English learn from that? Only partially, else Paul Gascoigne would still be playing in the Premiership instead of plying his trade in provincial China.

The lesson is this: while we idolise our sporting heroes, and rightly so, we also bear the responsibility of keeping the fires going after the thrill is gone. Again, this is especially pertinent in India now, when so many sportsmen from so many different fields— hockey, volleyball, tennis, chess, even athletics — are bringing in the medals.

To treat them as disposable icons, as flesh-and-blood versions of a wall calendar whose pages we rip off when the utility is gone, is cynical but easy. If there is a need for a star, he/she will be created; later, once the shirts have been sold, as they say, he/she can go back to where they came from. Professor Higgins would have excelled in today’s world.

The danger is too obvious: Our sporting heroes have no safety net to fall back on so when the light on them is switched off, they are left groping in the dark for a way out. If they lose their way, so be it; there are others to take their place.

Hockey is, of course, the flavour of the month, Dhanraj Pillay its most recognised face. His birthday on Tuesday, and the team’s training stint in Himachal Pradesh, received blanket coverage but would the media have made the effort if, say, the Australian cricket team was touring India?

The look on the faces of the world runners-up youth volleyball team on Monday, when they landed in Delhi and saw the bank of TV cameras arrayed in front, had to be seen to be believed. Largely from Smalltown India, they’d rarely had even a flashlight trained on them let alone a Steadycam. They reacted the only way they could, soaking up the adulation and soaking in the moment.

Yet what are the odds that tomorrow they won’t be forgotten, dunked as effortlessly as Thailand hero Kamaraj at the net? Their successes have been hyped up by the media, hailed by their peers and lapped up by the public. But the real test of our (media, public, sporting fraternity) current disposition will come about a few months from now, when India’s international cricket calendar resumes.

That’s when we’ll know for sure whether we cheer these players because of a genuine appreciation of their successes or because there’s nothing else (read: cricket, preferably international) to occupy the mindspace. The answer may be more than we’d like to admit to but, if we can look it in the eye now, 15 minutes of fame won’t be followed by half an hour of shame.