Author: Tunku Varadarajan
Publication: The Wall Street Journal
Date: February 27, 2003
On Saturday, India will play Pakistan
in the cricket World Cup in South Africa -- the first time they have played
each other in three long years, thanks to the Indian government's refusal
(correct, in my view) to permit sporting links with a country that promotes
cross-border terrorism against Indian territory. But that is another story.
As most Americans chew on their
morning bagels the day after tomorrow, millions of Indians, or, one hopes,
Pakistanis, will have already torn their hair out, hurled oaths at their
TV screens, or subsided somewhere in a quiet corner, hearts heavy with
defeat. And not just any old defeat, but one in which their cricket team
-- 11 men who bear the burden of absurdly inflated national hopes -- has
lost to the team of not just any old country, but to one against which
four wars have been fought (and, in the case of Pakistan, lost).
Phew. Sport doesn't get much more
serious than this. And before Indian fans get too smug about victories
on the field of battle, let them not forget that on the cricket field,
at least, the Pakistanis have been their betters.
Indian cricket teams have, more
often than not, succumbed to the peculiar, marauding passion that Pakistan
brings to its contests with India. The Indian team, sociologically a more
middle-class, college-educated lot, has tended to view games against Pakistan
as little more than games. Bowl, bat, win a few, lose a few. Jolly good
show. The Pakistanis, fervently eager to make a triumphal case -- which
new nation is not? -- treat their encounters with India as mini-jihads.
Of course, it's not as if the Pakistani
cricketers see the Indian players as infidels; in fact, the cricketers
of both sides respect each other and are often deeply friendly. Instead,
public opinion is so fevered in Pakistan, with victory over India being
seen as a victory of Muslim over Hindu (remember, Muslim Pakistan was partitioned
from largely Hindu India in 1947), that the cricketers dare not lose. And
this fear of defeat, invariably, turns into a potent fuel for victory.
(In recent years, many Indian fans, perhaps swept up by the tide of Hindu
nationalism that has soaked the country's politics, have also begun to
regard games against Pakistan as Hindu-vs.-Muslim battles. It is a most
disagreeable development.)
Cricket's World Cup, a tournament
played every four years, is quiet in comparison with soccer, or with the
Olympics. Fewer -- far fewer -- nations participate, and the whole thing
is a Commonwealth exercise to which few others pay heed. The New York Times,
for all its multiculti airs, has not carried even box scores; this, despite
the fact that there are probably three million cricket-literate people
in the greater New York area. Perhaps this is because there are no women
playing against men (though some, having watched the Bangladeshi team in
action, might dispute this). Annika Sorenstam, where are you when we need
you most?
But I digress.
Pakistan. There is no team more
compelling to watch when on a roll, more mesmerizing for the neutral fan,
than Pakistan. (And in Shoaib Akhtar, their fast-bowler heartthrob, they
have the first man ever to have bowled at a speed of more than 100 miles
per hour.) Dashing, occasionally dirty -- they've been known to scuff the
ball, illicitly, with their fingernails, so as to get it to swing unplayably
in the air -- they are perhaps unique in world sport as being the most
talented team in a game, yet the most unloved.
The Brazilians, in soccer, are the
most skilled, but are widely loved too. No one, not even opponents against
whom they might be playing, reviles them. The Pakistanis, by contrast,
are viewed with a mixture of awe and loathing. They squabble onfield, hector
umpires, swear at opposing players, have a history of throwing matches
(for money), and generally comport themselves in ways that might be described
as ungracious. Such is their talent, however, and their panache, that one
is always surprised when they lose.
The Indian team, by contrast, is
genteel. Bookish, almost geeky, they are often accused of having a "Hindu"
diffidence. A couple of the players are computer programmers, and one of
the team's fast bowlers -- Javagal Srinath -- is celebrated as the fastest
vegetarian bowler in the world. Steak has never passed his lips, nor an
unkind word, not even when he fells a batsman with a quick ball to the
helmet. By contrast, a Pakistani bowler, were he to knock an opposing batsman
down, would glower, then grab the ball back, the quicker to hurl it at
the batsman again. A telling contrast in cultures.
At present, both teams are not in
prime form. Though India had a stirring victory over England yesterday,
its batting (with the exception of the peerless Sachin Tendulkar) has been
shockingly bad of late. Pakistan has been worse. Neither will go on to
win this Cup -- the Australians appear unstoppable; but for Indians and
Pakistanis everywhere, the Cup final will not matter as much as the result
of their grudge match. All their fans will care about -- all this fan cares
about -- is who will win on Saturday.
Let's face it, sport is tribal.
Why should anyone want it to be otherwise?
Mr. Varadarajan is the Journal's
editorial features editor.
