Diving catches look good in replays. They also send cricketers into surgery. In our day, a centurion could skip fielding. Today? Blink once and he’s trolled for lack of commitment
India’s Kuldeep Yadav takes the catch to dismiss Afghanistan’s Rashid Khan during the ICC ODI World Cup at the Arun Jaitley Stadium in New Delhi on October 11, 2023. PIC/AFP
Cricket today is not a sport. It’s a circus. The fans clap, the owners count, the sponsors grin—and the players bleed. T20 is sold as fireworks. Pretty in the night sky, gone by morning. Behind the sparkle lies a meat grinder. Every ball is life or death. One mistake and you’re trending—usually for the wrong reasons. Cheers today, abuses tomorrow. That’s the deal.
Physically, it’s torture. Jet lag, midnight matches, sponsor dinners, selfies with strangers. A physio pokes your hamstring and declares you fit. Fit for what? To break down again next week.
The mind takes the bigger beating. Imagine performing at peak every single night. Confidence becomes a one-night stand — here today, gone tomorrow. Youngsters think they are immortal until the body sends a bill. Then the smile fades, the eyes droop, and even Captain Cool looks like a tired uncle at a wedding.
For the fan, though, it’s a carnival. The IPL is less cricket and more of Bollywood nights. Cheerleaders, gossip, and men in designer shades who come to be spotted on TV rather than watch a yorker bend the laws of physics. The BCCI loves it. TRPs rise, coffers swell, the ecosystem thrives — from chaiwallahs to CEOs. Everyone wins. Except the man in pads.
The magnets are the stars — Rohit Sharma, Virat Kohli, Jasprit Bumrah. Without them, this circus is just a cheap mela. Why kill the goose that lays the golden egg? But the Board doesn’t see it. They win IPL seasons, bilateral scraps—and lose ICC trophies. A nation starves for glory while its best players limp into finals like wounded soldiers.
Solution? I would stop flogging the icons. Don’t make them chase leather like rookies. Nobody buys a ticket to see Kohli dive at square leg. They come for a cover drive. Let substitutes do the fielding in domestic cricket, and remember, IPL is domestic cricket. Protect the stars, stretch their careers. However radical all this may sound, it is no rocket science, merely common sense.
And please stop romanticising fielding. Diving catches look good in replays. They also send men into surgery. In our day, a centurion could skip fielding. Bowlers napped, batsmen dozed. The game went on. Today? Blink once and you’re trolled for lack of commitment. Commitment to what? Early retirement?
T20 here should have specialist fielders. Six or seven of them. Let the stars save their bodies for batting and bowling. Even in domestic cricket, internationals should play without breaking their backs. Youngsters will learn, seniors will last, and the game will gain.
The people in the corridors of power should think about this.
And don’t forget Tests. That is cricket. Full stop. T20 fame fades in a week. Test cricket builds legends for life. Patience, technique, character — you can’t fake it. Those who mock Tests don’t have the stomach to play them.
We had Tests, ODIs, Ranji Trophy, Irani Cup, Duleep Trophy, Deodhar Trophy, Wills Trophy. Hard cricket, no glamour. We travelled by train, carried our own kits, went home quietly. No hashtags, no influencer deals. I remember Pankaj Tripathi, the fine actor who played PR Man Singh in 83, once saying on a train: “People mistake being talked about for being capable.” Today, too many players are more influencers than cricketers. Fame without substance. Noise without music.
Bumrah faced a storm for missing the recent Oval Test. He hasn’t told his side of the story. The BCCI, which controls when and where players can speak, must give him that chance. Till then, the grind continues. India’s best bowlers, batsmen, and ’keepers flogged like racehorses, patched up like machines.
Clive Lloyd, the man who captained the West Indies through more cricket than most mortals can imagine, said after India’s 0-4 loss in the 2011 Test series in England: “Even cars break down.”
Treat players like machines and they’ll shatter. Protect them and the game survives. It’s as simple as that. Forget this and cricket will burn its brightest stars before their light can even reach the next generation.
We who played long before big bucks arrived had a different attitude. Maybe some of us would have changed too with riches on the table, but the game still boiled down to 22 yards, and between the two ears. We were paid what the BCCI could afford. Remember, the generous Raj Singh Dungarpur had to rope in Lata Mangeshkar to raise money for our 1983 World Cup bonus. Back then, the Board had little more than a bank account.
Now the times have changed. BCCI marketed the game so well that the bank overflows and they even fund other sports. Players no longer depend on jobs for survival. A smart cricketer today has many income streams, and good for them. What matters is this: If they remember their parents and coaches who carried them to the top, it will show their true upbringing.
The author was part of India’s 1983 World Cup-winning team
Clayton Murzello’s Pavilion End will be back next week
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.
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