Side lines

Run for cover--it's the minnows!

NADEEM A. KHAN

No cricket team, in recent times, has caught the imagination in quite the manner as has Sri Lanka. A year ago to the day, however, the island nation was seen as a confirmed scratched at the post non-starter. Through a succession of events that has left many an established team to have come into contact with them tottering, the erstwhile minnows are now the world's best one-day team. A classic case of the mouse that roared, the Islanders are the most feared side in any competition to feature them.

These days, they are not regarded with quite the same curiousity as from their World Cup days when, in the blink of a casual eye, they had skulked up to their pool's pinnacle. Well, actually they were a bit more conspicuous than the term "skulk" suggests--their earlier games were marked by the unusual sight of eleven unhappy campers representing some rather formidable cricketing tribes, muttering and shaking heads in disbelief as they hastened, after taking field against the Lankans, to the safety offered by the pavilion. So, when one watched the men from Lanka slit throat after venerable throat, it was with the poise of one who has inside stuff to the inevitable--i.e., the Lankan success, as big a modern fluke if there was one, would be arrested in the blocks in the semis. All flash but no staying power was the explanation offered. The forfeits by the Aussies and the Windies, over security concerns, were submitted as another clarification for Sri Lanka's impressive collection of points. Quickly, the Lankans put such musings on further hold, handing the Indians pink slips in a semi-final that, apart from serving reasonable cause for India's playing license to be revoked, illuminated the citizens of Calcutta, where the match was played, as being quite unsound. With the convincing win over India, the Sri Lankans had arrived.

They have also pushed the game a notch or two up the evolutionary ladder. That deranged approach to batting, when shaping or nullifying targets, has left the more recognized teams in some consternation. However, the Lankans are not the first to adopt the "ready, get, set, go-berserk" logic. Remember the Kiwis in the '92 Cup? Well, of course you don't. But those blokes were inevitably off to rapid starts courtesy Mark "Paddy" Greatbatch. The bear of an opener had the benedictions of Martin Crowe, to launch a depraved attack on anything the opposition had to offer--a freedom that allowed him to loosen his big shoulders and unleash that huge willow of his on many an accomplished bowler--India's Dev was particularly singled out. The Kiwis did extremely well in that Cup and, since then, many teams have installed a designated slugger. Azhar, acknowledging his then-deputy's feral outlook on batting, slipped Tendulkar up the arrangement and, the Windies matched the move with Brian Lara. So, while the likes of Saeed Anwar and Mark Waugh opened the innings with wicked aspirations, no team had looked into employing two or more sluggers in tandem.

One wonders, since one can do no better than that, about the time it took for an international side to come up with an audit of game tactics. Had Greatbatch not bottomed out after the '92 'Cup and, had Crowe exhibited a greater desire for the game, New Zealand could have built on their fine show. Lanka, not being a reactionary cricket side, shrewdly knocked off the Kiwis' example and, although it took them time to sort out the bugs, they now possess an offensive play that has been firmly impressed, owing to its severity, in the minds of those who have been witness.

The Lankan revolution began last Fall. Those who evaded their tour of Pakistan on the grounds that they were ticklish about seeing Lankan blood being spilled, missed out on an extraordinary phenomenon: Pakistan were held at bay by a 2-1 distance in the Tests and One-Dayers. Assaulting the Pakistanis on home turf is usually saluted with inquisitive attention from distant corners of the cricketing globe. Quickly, flash bulbs went off in the diffident Islander's faces and theories constructed about a Lankan uprising. A month hence, the throng of media swines cleared as the orderly Australians, in the breadth of ten days, set the Sri Lankans in their place. A 2-0 deficit in the Tests Down Under had Duleep Mendis, the manager, bubbling and he reeled off a communique that, if the lads didn't watch it, the Pacific Ocean was to be their resting place--all too reminiscent of Bishen Bedi's tantrums in '92. The Test series was halted at the aforementioned scoreline to make way for the World Series Championship. The Lankans, owing to their already being in the country, were included on the list of performers with the Windies making up the third side of the triangle.

Leaf through through the figures and you'll notice the Lankans didn't eclipse Pakistan through overwhelming batting or bowling displays. Indeed, their averages were somewhat inferior to the Pakis. The Lankans triumphed because they did a little bit of everything efficiently. Their offensive hitting gave them runs on the board. Runs that were sufficient for their decidedly bland bowling composition to do its bit. Fielding was what really turned matters around for Lanka. They stretched and slid along the grounds like mercury, promoting scandalous run-outs and pouching blinding catches in the process, they realized felling batters through downright pace wasn't the only way to erode the enemy batting line-up. In the WSC, their prowess in the fielding department enabled them to hobnob with the rest initially. Halfway through the program, however, they had dropped more games than was recommended.

Sometime after dumping the third straight game, Duleep Mendis, wiped the foam, pu lled Sanath Jayasuriya aside and uttered a few ripe words in a local tongue. The left hander, who had been promoted to the very top of the batting hierarchy, had been playing in a brainless manner, when nobler things were expected from him. The problem was not Jayasuriya, Jayasuriya alerted Duleep--indexing in the direction of the bird he had been opening with--the unhurried Mahanama. Roshan, Jayasuriya felt, was not fanning his cancerous instincts adroitly enough so, Romesh Kaluwitharana, the 'keeper, hitherto relegated to the no.6 spot, was summoned to open with Sanath in the do or die engagement against Australia. Romesh's graduation was based on his recent escapades in Pakistan, where he blotched Waqar's and Wasim's reputation through a string of cheeky cameos. In the Aussie game, he smacked a scrumptious 77 off 75 and, Mahanama, entering stage at no.6, iced the deal with a nice fifty. Though Jayasuriya left early, the opening blitzkrieg of 35 from 5 between him and Romesh so unsettled the Aussies, they never recovered. The openers conviction fingered the switch in Mendis's massive head and he decreed that, from that day on, Sanath and Romesh would pilot the innings--a sinful wedding--as other teams were to discover. It was a bright maneuver and Romesh, who not long ago had the aspect of one who'd rather be elsewhere, unveiled a quick eye and an even fleeter pair of arms. A game and a first wicket alliance of eighty off ten hence, the Windies were observed stealing back home. The Islanders had stormed into the final phase of the WSC hoopla. The openers and a slight re-tooling of the order constituted the bulk of Mendis's initial pioneering into the world of "kamikaze cricket". In essence, Mendis's plan was nothing more than to allow each man and his skills a position that got him a hard-on. Not since the day Clive Lloyd requisitioned four fast bowlers for every game his side played, has the game seen a more momentous strategy fall into being.

Sri Lanka lost a rain-influenced, WSC final but everytime the boys connected, onlookers gasped. They left Australian air space with the accretion of a third Test loss, but, as the plane aimed for Columbo, there was a gleam in Mendis's eye. He had forgiven his thugs, realizing there was something usable in them after all. Back in familiar surroundings, a rather unconventional camp was held. With three weeks to go for the big 'Cup, the Lankan manager finalized an official game plan--he was going to attack from the get-go. Preparatory to the 'Cup, the camp saw the first four hitting balls hard. Very hard. Sanath, Romesh, Hashan, and De Silva were given the bigger doseage of war paint and alerted that they shouldn't expect a warm welcome if repairing indoors without at least one hit to haunt the bowler.

The Lankans approach is not as airy as it reads on paper. Their assaults, far from freaky, are lucidly calculated and often executed without preamble. The system's inherent brilliance is accentuated by its fail-safe feature which assures that should the first three smiters--Kaluwitharana, Jayasuriya, and DeSilva, founder, the remaining five can drag the side to some respectability. The method makes good use of Gurusinha's leisurely inputs, while should matters get really sticky, the always engaging Mahanama, an opener by birth, can tonk around for a few. But if the nasty thrashers click, events of the day can be rather breathtaking.

If it is so rummily straightforward, why haven't others bench-marked the Lankans, the question begs to be asked. Well, for one thing, it takes great skill to pull off what Messrs. Sanath, Romesh, and DeSilva seem to with apparent ease. There have been chaps in the past--K. Shrikanth, L. Cairns, D. Haynes, G. Greenidge, and the daddy of them all--V. Richards, who have driven bowlers to tears. These gents were naturally endowed and they played in the manner they did not because of the dictations of a specific game plan, but merely since they knew of no other way. To pull out the fancy stuff on demand is dashed difficult to accomplish, and since Richards and Greenidge left the Windies, very few teams have a long queue of batters that permits a couple of men at the top to have their own way. The Lankans have succeeded because of the impossible depth of their line-up.

In many ways, their kamikaze technique is the best thing to have happened to the game. Other teams have looked earnestly into overhauling their prevailing strategies. Alarm bells are currently been sounded for the more hyper individuals to join the pastime. Which should translate into-- and the mind reels at the prospect--of an even faster rendition of the game. Imagine not having to wait till the blasted fortieth over for the fire works. Hell, the slug fest will start as early as ball one of the innings. Significantly, the number of overs bowled may be reduced, making the game more agreeable to television schedules. Moreover, the quality of batsmen and, eventually, the bowlers--as they seek out ways to even the balance--will no doubt increase. The Lankan approach also spells the end for "sheet anchors"--blokes with poor scoring rates who somehow convince selectors of their importance to the side's well-being--let's face it--we watch these games to see bowlers snivel. If it does turn out that a more offensive future awaits the game then, one might, ten years from now, look back and chortle at the tactics of today that, among other things call for "platform building".