[You may know that CM has long had an official Archivist - a person who has helped maintain the Facebook page, and helped me cull through the huge archive for posts and materials. You know him as Salman in the comment sections, SalmaanH on twitter, and patwari as author on CM. This is a first in a series of posts on CM where he will highlight various themes from CM using his own narratives - it is one way to keep the archive from being less a silo and more a quilt. We want to thank patwari for this, and for continuing to be part of the CM family. Love - sepoy, lapata, (that farangi)]

Cricket maintained its presence in my childhood in many forms, be it book cricket in classroom, or make-belief cricket in living room where I would stand in a corner and pretend to be this or that international batsman reeling off six after six, or indoor cricket with my brothers. Sometimes even abbuji played cricket with us in the veranda and bowled underarm to me. But soon enough, my brothers started going out to play street cricket, which I was not allowed to do yet, leaving me with not much to do besides riding my tricycle in the veranda, or nibbling on my mother’s decommissioned dupattas.
Taking note of that, one day my father had me hop onto my older brother’s bicycle and had me paddle as he held on to the carrier at the back of the bike. I could see abbuji breathing heavily as he tried to keep pace with the bicycle. Then, unbeknownst to me, he let go of the bicycle. I paddled for a little while before realizing that he had let go, at which point I looked down at the ground below and the cycle-handle wobbled in my hands. I must have been about to fall when abbuji called out, “Keep the handle straight and keep paddling. You are doing fine. Kuch nahin ho ga.”

It wasn’t until 9th grade that I got what I considered a man’s bicycle –a 20+ inch Sohrab. My best friend and I would ride all evening, from one friend’s house to another, going to our tutor’s house and taking our sweet time in getting back. As the span of my bicycle trips increased, so did my sense of self and of the world around me. It is to that combination of boyhood and freedom to explore I return when I read about bike rides.

Afghanistan won by 29 runs. Click for a Tribal breakdown.

In The Review, I have a review of Christopher Sanford’s Imran Khan in which I briefly consider the man. Below is what didn’t make it into the review – for fairly obvious reasons – but, I thought I’d spin it here. No pun.

Much has been written on Imran Khan’s transcendence from the game of cricket but little justice has been done to his game itself. Sandford, as well, finds it hard to capture any sense of the player even as he pays exquisitely detailed attention to life and politics on and off the field. Before we turn to all those enticing issues away from the game, let us linger, for a moment, on the game itself. Imran Khan was one of the smartest cricketers. His greatest strength as fast bowler was that he was a true batsman. He knew how to think as a batsman which meant he made sure that the batsman played every ball he hurled at them. Consider that in his entire ODI career he bowled 216 overs with only 18 maidens. Now most would read this as sign that he was easy to score against, but his economy rate of 3.7 runs conceded per over belies that supposition. Simply put, he bowled at the batsman. This quality, above all, not only contributed to him being one of the highest wicket takers during his career, but it ensured that his co-bowlers consistently picked up a higher percentage of wickets.

As a batsman, he had a high arch to his bat and a tendency to commit to the front foot often and early. He wasn’t too orthodox in his shot selection yet had an enviably straight bat. He was also one of the best players of the short ball (a much needed skill since his own tendency to bowl short balls guaranteed reprisals). His hooks and pulls were always a joy to watch and he rarely succumbed to the third-man trap.

In the field, he wasn’t the swiftest nor the surest. As a true embodiment of “gentleman’s game”, he rarely flung himself at the speeding ball. Still, he had safe hands and rarely dropped a catch. But from his long-off perch, he managed the entire field as a seasoned sea-captain coordinates the crew – constantly shifting the field, swapping players, speaking with the bowler. His fields were always dynamic organisms, drawing in and out in sync with every ball that sped towards the bat.

This last was his particular strength as a captain. Unlike other team sports, the cricket captain has to act both as the heart and the mind for the team. When on field – which was the only place some of us could witness him in action – Imran Khan was a hybrid conductor and a puppeteer. He orchestrated every movement of the other ten men on the field. He was quick with a scold as with a pat, and always in complete control. Not for nothing that Imran Khan, as the captain, was often called ‘the dictator’.

“I’m the second Khan winning a World Cup for Pakistan, so I’m very proud of my Khans,” said Younis. “This is my dream. I dreamed all the time of lifting the World Cup. My thinking in all my career is that I will be remembered for a team like 1992. I was not in the Imran Khan team, and this is a dream come true. I’m really happy. Though this World Cup is Twenty20, at least we won our second World Cup. This is a gift to our whole nation.”

What do you know … those three good Talibans – Shahid Afridi, Umar Gul and Younis Khan – gave a gift of smiles uncountable.

A team so denied, a team so punished, a team so traumatized. Well played, kids.

If it worked for Zia, it could work for Zardari.
Pakistan beat SA in ICC Twenty20 World Cup Semis.

Why not?

ps. I cannot believe my blood pressure still goes up watching these things.

Things have been dour here, lately. I was thinking we needed to talk cricket, today. And, as if by magic, dear e. sent this awesome shot of President Hussein getting schooled by Brian Lara (Mr. 400).

The IPL has started in South Africa. India’s biggest sporting event was moved due to security concerns to SA. The first few matches have already pit Shane Warne, Kevin Pietersen and Andrew Flintoff against each other. I think no one won. I will try and catch some on youtube or elsewhere. The IPL Page 2 site from cricinfo is quite, um, interesting?

In happy news, let it be noted that Afghanistan will be playing international cricket! As Hamid Hassan right writes, It is the most famous day in the history of Afghanistan cricket.

In sad news, Pakistan lost the chance to host the 2011 world cup. Read Osman Samiuddin to get a sense of the loss.

Finally, as we contemplate President Hussein’s stiff elbow, wide stance and off-positioned head, we should remember that American Presidents don’t make good cricketers.

These tips came a while back and I am sure y’all already seen it but seen together, I think they advance some new levels of morbid fascination.

The blog is something else. [Thx to pdcs, babu for tips]

Also, I will miss Neckbeard.

Also, also, why did Obama choose to visit a Muslim nation over throwing the first pitch on Sox opening day? Because he is a Muslim, of course.

I haven’t watched a live cricket match, in person, since … I don’t know. ’91? Wait, maybe ’96? I have to get this right. Hold on. West Indies in Pakistan, December 1990. I remember Wasim Akram. Look at that second inning stat-line: 9 0 28 5. Glorious. And that Zahid Fazal. Man, I hated that guy. He represented the crushing of all my cricketing dreams. Insofar as a mediocre bat can make it into the national team – I believe I deserved that spot. He just sucked. Anyways. That was the last time I went to Gaddafi Stadium until recently.

In Heathrowup, during my layover, I purchased Wisden’s Cricketer which contained a “10-page special on the past, present and future of world cricket”. Most of the pages were taken over with the dissection of the Twenty20, the death of ODIs and Test Cricket. Someone (I forgot who) said that Test cricket is really anachronistic – since no one has the time to follow 5 days of playing – during the work week – and the dwindling crowds is proof of that. Come on. Test cricket is the fantasy of all cubicle and desk-bound hapless souls who yearn to watch 22 men, clad in virginal white, chasing a bright red ball around a lush green lawn. There is no shortage of dreamers who will continue to watch Test cricket. ODIs on the other hand, cannot die fast enough. And Twenty20 is also repulsive, but I understand where its coming from.

Let it be noted that Pakistan hasn’t played a Test match in 18 months, and that no cricketing team has visited Pakistan for a while. So, this Sri Lanka team’s 3-ODI series is huge for cricket – and for fans. By the time of the Lahore match, the series was tied 1-1 and people were fairly excited about the whole thing.

The ground looked really good. In my expert analysis, the wicket was an excellent batting track with very even bounce. So, I was all set for an awesome match – with high score. On that second count, I was dead right.

Sri Lanka scored 309 runs behind 8 or 9 dropped catches and pretty uninspired bowling throughout. I took the time to note some of the signage.

And do you know what happened next? Pakistan was all-out for 75. That’s right – the biggest margin of defeat in PK’s glorious history.

Turning to happier times, this ground – and that pitch – is where I played the finest inning of my life – 58 n.o. – under a withering pace attack which saw the rest of my team score a collective 70. Oh, I was smokin’.

Good times.

As usual, more snaps on Flickr.

By the end of the 7th inning, it was clear to everyone that Gavin Floyd was pitching a no-hitter. A no-hitter with a run, no less.

At the top of the ninth, he took the mound to a standing ovation. And stood there, alone, throwing pitches.

See, earlier that day, I had wanted to go to my first ball game of this season. So, I emailed the usual suspects and lo and behold raver comes up with these awesome free tickets. Providence, you know. It was utterly beautiful at the park. The sky cleared up – the breeze – the game. After months in the darkness of Chicago’s coldest winter, I felt as if I had lungs to breathe.

And suddenly this good, nay pretty great night, was about to enter legendary status. I could witness a no-hitter.

The human mind is a funny thing. Well, mine is. I stood there, clapping and hollering, and wishing, wishing more than anything I have wished for, that Gavin would get this no-hitter. I wanted it for him. I wanted it because if it happened, it would be a sign. A clear indication that the impossibilities amassed on my shoulders could dissipate. Hope, right.

That moment, at the top of the ninth, with one out – that was a great moment. That’s what sports can do for you – give you air for your lungs.

About the departing Derbyshire batsman Hassan Adnan: “It’s never nice informing players they have to go, especially when it is such a loyal servant and great team man,” Derbyshire chief John Morris said.

‘A loyal Servant’ musta have different connotation in the UK sports arena … but I was kinda jarred on my first read.

“Athleticism has never been associated with Indian cricket, nor with Indians in general, and that has been a chip on the shoulder of Indian manhood.” Somini Sengupta, If It’s Hip, Fast and Furious, Is It Cricket?, 2007

“Through the same passes from time immemorial warlike races had swept down on the sun-steeped plains of the Five Rivers
and rich alluvial tracts of the Ganges and Jumna to conquer the effete dwellers therein and subdue them to their will. In India history repeats itself with monotonous sameness. In its enervating plains, far removed from the invigorating sea-breeze and the bracing cold of the mountain ranges, the keen eye, undaunted heart, and relentless arm of the successive hardy northern immigrants slowly but surely tend to change to the placid look, folded hands and brooding mind of the Eastern Sage, who, content to dream his dream of life, wearily turns from the conflict and dire struggle for existence, time after time introduced by the more warlike northern conquerors ever coming and going like the monsoon storms.” W. D. Frazer, British India, 1896.

Coach Woolmer not murdered (possibly not even dead but hiking with Elvis in Tashkent?). Now, I feel for poor Inzi.

This does confirm that WC 2007 was the biggest cockup in history of World Cups.

David Hopps is absolutely right.

In the past weeks of watching this World Cup, it is very clear that Cricket is undergoing a deep crisis – the game is in trouble. The commercialization and superstardom of the last decade has robbed it of the pure pleasures of the game. Is it the dour professionalism and dominance of the Aussies? Or the in-fighting of Cricket Boards in India and Pakistan? The thing about these young Bangladeshi is not just that they can play … but that they are enjoying every single minute of being out there. That same glee is in the NewZealanders and in the Irish teams. It is curtains for many of the Pakistani, and perhaps Indian, players. Is there any hope for a rejuvenation there?

The World Cup of Cricket is currently underway. Those of you who care, already know this and I am informing the rest now. The concept is beguilingly similar to other ‘World Cup’s – a bunch of teams from across the world gather every 4 years and find out how bad they suck compared to Australia (at least, that has been the script for the last decade though things are far more fluid this time around). And while they let Bermuda play, Americans are shut out of this international tournament. Also Iranians, Iraqis and North Koreans. Make of that what you will. Incidentally, no one can find the Bermuda team.

My favorite WC memory – and yes, the fans will cringe – was the semi-final defeat of Pakistan by Australia in 1987 at Ghaddafi Stadium, Lahore. Pakistan had a glorious team. Experienced, hungry and proud co-hosts of the Cup. Imran Khan, the captain, the leader of men, the demi-god, had promised greatness from his team. But, then the brash youth of Steve Waugh brought us all crashing to the ground. Boy, did that hurt. But it taught me the valuable, life-long, lesson to expect my home team to turn to shite at the perfect moment. Bitter, no? True, though.

In this WC, I didn’t really expect Pakistan to do much. The top-bowlers were doped-up at home. The batting lineup is old, cranky, fat and bearded [say what you will but unless the sport in question is World's Fastest Growing Hair Follicles - shave]. And yet, one still did not expect the #4 ODI side in the world to lose to Ireland. IRELAND! Who don’t even have a cricket team. These are injured rugby players on their physiotherapy routine, people! And those Irish beat, nay thrashed, nay smacked the jama’at out, nay drove the snakes out of our glorious team. Today, on St. Patrick’s Day, Pakistan was sent packing by Ireland. Kinya belev’t?

Except I didn’t watch that match. I watched, instead, Bangladesh’s amazing chase of India’s measely 191. The three bats who carried Bangladesh, with scores of 51, 56* and 53, were aged 17, 18 and 19 years old respectively. The inning of the youngest, Tamim Iqbal, was especially awe-inspiring. That slightly, sprightly, left-hander charged every single Indian bowler with defiance and confidence that made me remember the young Saeed Anwar or Sachin Tendulkar. The composure of all the young batsmen was just solid and their grins infectious. India, on the other hand, played like over-paid, over-endorsed, over-burdened paper tigers with horrid fielding, lackluster bowling and complete lack of imagination in the captainship. You are bowling to kids, yo! Come on! I am certain there is much glee in Dhaka and much sorrow in Calcutta tonight. Oh, how the times have changed. I will remark, though, that at least Pakistan got some money to famously lose to Bangladesh in 1999. Just saying.

Hopefully, Pakistan will go home and every one on the team will be fired. And we will find some 17 year olds to get out there. Luckily for the Pakistani cricket team, our nation is burning cars over the Supreme Court firing, our press is under direct assault and The General is about to go Franco on us. The nation may be too distracted to notice that the tablighis came home early and empty handed.

In other WC news, H. Gibbs did what no batsmen had done in the history of international cricket – he smacked 6 sixes in an over against Netherlands (that’s akin to hitting a grand slam at your every at-bat – plus 2). The best I ever did was 4. So, he wins that head-to-head, I guess.

Looking ahead, I think Sri Lanka, New Zealand, South Africa, Australia might be the Semifinal 4. With maybe West Indies in play for the NZ spot. Good chance that Sri Lanka takes it all.

update: Shocking news that Bob Woolmer, the Pakistani coach died suddenly. Truly shocking.

Alright! I gotta say that was an nicely intense game made all the more glorious by the constant Joe Kitnafication of Rex Grossman. We missed pdcs’ commentary and recall of stats for all players. But, I am sure he will land in Oakland soon to the good news that his Bears are going to Miami.

Brett Lee duets with Asha Bhosle in one of the more bizarre things I have seen in a while. I do commend Lee on his rolled R’s.

A little over an year ago, I wrote about Mohammad Yousuf ne√© Yousuf Youhana’s conversion to Islam. In the post, I was a bit ambivalent about the symbolic force of that personal decision. A few months later, by happenstance, I ended up chatting with Yousuf over IM. He seemed geniunely excited and happy. And said that he felt a greater peace than ever before.

Well, that greater peace has enabled him to score more runs in any one calendar year in the history of cricket – at the astounding rate of 99.33 runs. Greater even than the great Viv Richards. The spin, in news stories everywhere, is that it is his faith that has enabled him this record-shattering run. God has helped me break this record, he says. Islam has helped him focus his skills and shaped the way he trains, supports his coach, Bob Wollmer.

Those who follow American football – or basketball etc. – are familiar with such stories of new-found religiosity impacting on-field performance. Kurt Warner, the rags-to-jesus quarterback for the St. Louis Rams* comes to mind. But, I cannot think of any other example from Cricket.

To my uninitiated mind, Muhammad Yousuf had a straight bat even before he found the straight path. Either way, it really is a remarkable feat and my heartiest congratulations to him.

update: dk pointed out Rob’s brilliant comment to my last post. I just re-read it and must now reproduce it here for all.

My friend Gerry emailed:

“Every so often I like to read up on what’s happening in the world of cricket. And, every so often, I’m struck by how impenetrable cricket lingo is to the uninitiated.” He then linked to this news post at BBC: Windies Destroy Tigers to qualify, with a quote: “Marlon Samuels missed a straightforward chance at deep backward square-leg off Jerome Taylor and the talented 20-year-old recovered to heave Taylor down to fine-leg and clip Ian Bradshaw off his pads for sixes as he raced to his seventh ODI fifty off only 40 balls. And commented further, “I get some of this, but by no means all. Is baseball this hard to decipher?”

Now, normally, I would link to Patience Propels Tigers and ask him to explain:

The first 12 Detroit batters took the first pitch until Magglio Ordonez hit a bases-loaded infield single off the glove of third baseman Eric Chavez. Ordonez’s hit came during a two-run third in which the Tigers made Zito throw 38 pitches and raise his pitch count to 69.

The Tigers were extremely effective in forcing Zito to throw his knee-buckling curve for strikes, Placido Polanco laid off a curve near the outside corner for a walk, and Sean Casey took the next two pitches before working Zito for another walk that preceded Ordonez’s RBI single.

But. This is the new and improved CM. The helpful CM. So, gentle readers, what follows is a decoding of the BBC article for those interested in penetrating the dense fog of cricket jargon – with some helpful commentary.

First thing first. The Tigers are _not_ the Detroit Tigers – because last I checked there were no Tigers in Detroit; or jungles; or trees; or inhabitants. The Tigers are the Bangladesh Tigers – which does have Tigers [Bengal Tigers, no less.]. Ok. Similarly, the Windies are not a team afflicted with severe gastrointestinal distress. Or yatchsmen with claims on gods. They are the collective cricket team of the West Indies Islands. They used to be pretty good; and are middling now [think Atlanta Braves - pitching analogy is strongest]. The Tigers suck. The two teams are playing in a tournament called Champion’s Trophy. We don’t really care about it.

The confounding report:

Chris Gayle’s century helped West Indies crush Bangladesh by 10 wickets to send themselves and Sri Lanka into the main Champions Trophy group stage. Any time you see 10 wickets, that means one team whupped the other so bad that there is no dignity left in defeat. None. Might as well just start playing baseball.

Dwayne Bravo (3-14) helped dismiss the Tigers for 161 after Aftab Ahmed (59) put on 85 with Shahriar Nafees (38). The braket ‘(3-14)’ tells us that Mr. Bravo is a bowler [pitcher] who claimed the fur of three tigers for just 14 runs. While the bracket after Mr. Ahmed ‘(59)’ that he is a batsmen who scored 59. Lesson: Dashes go to the bowler. Other lesson: Dwayne Bravo is the coolest name, ever.

Gayle (104) smashed three sixes and Shivnarine Chanderpaul hit 52 as the Windies won with 13.3 overs to spare. A ‘six’ is a home-run in cricket. More like a grandslam plus 2 runs, actually. Three ‘smashed’ in an inning is quite good. In cricket lingo, one always SMASHES the six. Also fours. One cannot smash a single. One would look very foolish.

The losers of their game with Sri Lanka will join England in Group A, while Bangladesh finish by playing Zimbabwe. They had put up a fight against Sri Lanka in the first game but were soundly beaten by the holders after failing to make the most of good batting conditions.This cements our impression from the 10-wicket info – that the Tigers are not having a good day. The ‘holders’ is Windies – the title holders. Don’t bother.

It looked promising enough when Aftab made light of Mohammad Ashraful’s early dismissal by launching a succession of crunching drives and pulls. Besides smashing, we cricket folks also crunch our drives and pulls. A drive and a pull are fancy ways of saying, the dude hit the little ball with the big paddle, while making some crunching noises.

Marlon Samuels missed a straightforward chance at deep backward square-leg off Jerome Taylor and the talented 20-year-old recovered to heave Taylor down to fine-leg and clip Ian Bradshaw off his pads for sixes as he raced to his seventh ODI fifty off only 40 balls. Oh boy. The ‘straightforward chance’ is an easy catch according to our nameless beat-reporter. Basically Mr. Samuels had an error in fielding. Where was Mr. Samuels standing when he dropped the ball? At ‘deep backward square-leg’. If you find yourself standing at deep backward square-leg, know that you are the least interesting part of the game. Unless you drop a straightforward chance. Then, you also suck. Also, the square-leg is the distance equal to the square root of the combined length of the two legs of the batsmen. The measurement is taken before the game starts by an international referee. And I am talking about in-seam measurement. IF you know what I mean. Those kinky brits. Some of these legs are also classified ‘fine’ – which while a subjective category is highly coveted. Another thing to note is that sometimes our ‘sixes’ are not smashed; they are ‘heaved’.

His confidence was starting to transfer to Nafees when the latter cut Samuels straight to Gayle at slip and, from 95-1, the innings declined alarmingly. Cricket is very concerned with confidence. How much does one have? How will it be measured? etc. ‘Slip’ is an interesting fielding position. Mostly because if you are standing there and you let an incoming catch ‘slip’ through your fingers, than you are shite. So, why did they call the position ‘Slip’? Is that challenging fate? God? Thats like N. Korea labeling their nuclear program FAIL.

Saqibul Hasan drove loosely at Corey Collymore and got an inside edge on to his stumps, while Habibul Bashar – who lasted two balls against Sri Lanka – went for a golden duck when trapped leg-before next ball. ‘Stumps’ are the left-over bits after the fine leg of a golden, roasted duck is consumed. Oh, I forgot you have to trap the duck before you get to consume it. That usually takes 2 or less balls.

Aftab holed out to long-on, Farhad Reza played on to Bravo after being dropped by keeper Carlton Baugh and Mohammad Rafique was lbw sweeping at Gayle to complete a spell of six wickets for 16 in 40 deliveries. I have to say. These Windies don’t really know how to catch a ball, do they? Anyways. ‘LBW’ stands for ‘leg before wicket’. Cricket is a game of legs. Who has the nicest one. Where to put one’s legs. It is, simply, all about the legs. Know that.

Khaled Mashud – only the third man to make it into double figures – helped boost the total beyond 150 but despite an encouraging spell from Mashrafe Mortaza it was never likely to prove taxing. Gayle, struggling to shake off the effects of a viral infection which had laid low Fidel Edwards and Dwayne Smith, started off cautiously before launching an array of blistering strokes. Why was Mr. Gayle sick? Will we ever know? In any case, the ‘spell’ you keep seeing, refers to the bowler and his pitching of the balls. He casts a spell. Or he hopes to. Mostly, he gets his balls scattered around the ground due to some blistering strokes. Smash. Crunch. Heave. Blister. Know these adjectives.

He crashed Mortaza past point and punched Syed Rasel down the ground with some authority before launching an emphatic cover drive off Abdur Razzak. Whoa. Crashed. Punched. Hulk Smash. Army Strong.

Chanderpaul also mixed caution with authoritative shots, a cover drive off Rasel and blistering cut when Mortaza dropped short among the highlights as he ground out a half century off 97 balls. Another meme in cricket, alongside ‘confidence’, is ‘authoritative’. People do things _ with authority_.

Gayle should have been on his way for 33 when he feathered Razzaq to wicket-keeper Mashud and made the most of that reprieve to hurry his team to victory. ‘Feathered’ means the balls kissed-oh-so-lightly- the bat on its way to the keeper. However, on account of being blind, the umpire was unable to see this and declare Mr. Gayle out.

Reza’s one over went for four fours while two of the three maximums, off Mohammad Rafique and Aftab, landed on the roof straight down a big ground. There was just enough time for Gayle to complete his 13th ODI century off 116 balls before victory was sealed. ‘maximums’ would be the ‘sixes’ we already met – the maximum a batsman can score on one shot being 6 runs. By hitting the ball out of the boundary.

So. There you have it, gentle readers. Legs. Ducks. Smashing. Your cricket, demystified.

The word around the cricket ground was that Abdul Qadir did not have bones in his wrists – rather greased metal balls that allowed him 360Àöof motion. And then, the same is said of Shane Warne, whose Ball of the Century inspired Dr. Andy West [winner of the Stoner prize - heh heh] to create a robotic bowler that will ‚Äúmimic Warne, McGrath or the style of any other bowler.” The relationship between the tendon and the seam just got a little strained.

Here are some pictures. Now we need a batsman

In related news, the squeaky wheel just fell off.