IF you had returned to India, say, two or three days ago from a trip to Papua New Guinea or Vanuatu — places where, one might presume, cricket controversies do not make the front pages of newspapers or feature in the headlines on 24/7 television — and then scanned the headlines in our newspapers and television without caring to go into the details, you might have thought that the rookie Sri Lankan cricketer Suraj Randiv was a psychopath who had raped or murdered or maimed someone.
The tragic humanitarian crisis in Pakistan caused by floods, the continuing mindless carnage in Afghanistan, the snowballing crisis in Kashmir and a dozen other things that sane, rational human beings might have considered serious enough to warrant print space and air time have had to compete desperately, but mostly unequally, with the l'affaire Randiv.
And what did the young off-spinner do? He over-stepped the crease, bowling a no-ball, probably deliberately, when Virender Sehwag was on 99 and India needed a run for victory in the ODI at Dambulla.
This column has learnt from reliable sources — ones about as reliable as ‘sources' are reputed to be in the world of cricket today — that no First Information Report was filed and the Sri Lankan police failed to take a serious note of the ‘crime.'
What a shame! If the Indian media had had its way, Randiv would have by now been rueing his life-shattering moment of folly on the field over a pot of poorly cooked gruel in a six by eight prison cell.
Let's get this straight. Randiv over-stepped, literally and metaphorically. Even in an age when the famous saying ‘It ain't cricket' has become a sort of anachronism, what the Sri Lankan bowler did was unfair, to say the least. And now the young man stands in the unflinching light of media glare, engulfed by desolation in the face of all the rancorously toxic tirades.
A pity they have done away with guillotines. Amidst all the moral hysteria and accusations flying about like witchcraft accusations in some medieval village, poor Randiv might have chosen to voluntarily put his head on the chopping block.
Showing remorse
The truth is, Randiv realised his error. He showed remorse, he went up to Sehwag's room and apologised. The Sri Lankan captain, the rather erudite Kumar Sangakkara, spoke to the Indian coach Gary Kirsten and expressed regret. And Sri Lanka Cricket (SLC) also appointed a committee to investigate the incident.
Yet, the grotesque reality show interrogation has gone on and on in this part of the world. “A wise man proportions his belief to the evidence,'' wrote the great Scottish philosopher David Hume.
The evidence in this case points to the simple fact that through an impulsive — and perhaps ill-advised — act, Randiv breached the spirit of the game. Yet, many seem to believe, quite against the volume of evidence on hand, that what he did was an act of serious misdemeanour that might warrant severe punishment.
This, despite the fact that there in nothing in the laws of the International Cricket Council that might even help commit Randiv to a couple of hours of community service for his unquestionably unsporting act.
At worst, Randiv may have believed that he and his team might find a sort of ‘victory' in defeat by denying Sehwag his well-deserved century. Or, it might just have been a crass expression of what the Germans call schadenfreude (taking pleasure in someone else's misfortune).
Amidst all the spectacular overreaction and the passionate raising of the ethical red flag in the Randiv case, the past has been forgotten conveniently. Not that past sins can exonerate present failings but the predominant culture of the day in sport is the culture of nowness — today's feat is the greatest of all, today's failure is the biggest of all. The past is shut out.
Stay clear of temptation
The truth is, from the days of the good Dr. Grace down to Douglas Jardine, from the Trevor Chappell underarm ball to the age of the television and internet boom and the Harbhajan-Symonds controversy, cricket — and almost every other sport — has witnessed a series of violations of ‘the spirit of the game.' No matter the unpleasant soundbite sloganeering triggered by Randiv's case, we should steer clear of the temptation to romantically inflate the currency of the past.
Most of all, we should not lose focus of the single most significant reality of cricket today: the power and wealth of the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI). It is obvious that the Sri Lankan cricket authorities have taken as serious a note of the Randiv incident as they have only because a large part of their annual revenue is generated through matches against India.
The BCCI, for its part, acted with commendable sagacity in this case, underplaying the whole affair although it was guilty of acting like a bully and shielding Harbhajan when the off-spinner verbally abused — whether it was a racial abuse or not will never be known — Symonds in the Sydney Test in January 2008.
Finally, this is a case of monumental triviality turned into one of earth-shaking importance. It is time to no-ball the controversy.
