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It was a
head-scratcher. Long before Mike Denness, South Africa had India pinned
to the mat in Port Elizabeth, batting to set a target and leave their
bowlers enough time to get 10 wickets for victory. On day four, South
Africa batted and batted, going off in rain breaks and coming back on,
the lead extending to 250, 300, then 350. Still Shaun Pollock would not
declare. Why, why, why? Surely that was too much respect to cricket's
most reluctant tourists?
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| What happens to Indian athletes when their careers
are on the ascent happened to Laxman. |
A South African waved the argument away with quick, expressive hands,
"Ah, but don't you see? No matter what, whenever any captain looks
to set a target against India, he will always have one thing at the back
of his mind-that 281. It's not something you just forget." Two hundred
and eighty one. See if you can say it without smiling. Say it and see
if it doesn't turn on a light somewhere in your soul. It has become the
signature innings of Indian cricket and of its craftsman V.V.S. Laxman.
At the end of the year, it must be admitted sadly, it is also an advertisement
for the ephemeral nature of Indian sporting promise. This is not a "we
are like this only" MTV-style justification of why our athletes cannot
cover the last mile to becoming world-class contenders. This is an attempt
to come to terms with the fact that many do not always do.
Post-281, there was blessed relief that in Laxman, India had at last
found the batsman who didn't get cooked under pressure, was not afraid
to attack and was bold enough to seize the tag of match-winner in a team
that contained Sachin Tendulkar. What has happened to Laxman since then,
all the way to the second Test against England is this: 28, 38, 15, 20,
20, 32, 29, 89, 28, 75. Two fifties in 10 innings. It would be foolish
to expect him to play as he did on one magic March day, but since then
he has never shown he could be half that batsman. The reasons are difficult
to pin down-while the pleasant Hyderabadi has hardly looked uncomfortable
in the past eight months, the scores tell of a certain slackness: whether
it is in shotmaking or intent is for the more qualified to decide.
What happened to Laxman is what often happens to Indian athletes standing
at an ascent in their careers. The way up means a more rigorous challenge,
rarer air, and not too much company. The option is either to set up camp
right where they are or put the boot up the incline, knowing full well
that if the struggle so far had been painful, the only guarantee ahead
was even more pain.
Leander Paes and Mahesh Bhupathi know what they did. They won their
third Grand Slam title at Roland Garros this June, almost two years after
their second. They will win more but cannot turn the clock back and hope
to find the momentum they had when they were at their most majestic. In
1999, instead of maximising what they brought to the table together and
treating the tennis court as their common ground, they turned it into
disputed territory. It was as calculated a choice as that step up the
incline.
All India's champs this year will have to make similar choices soon.
While their achievements, happily in plenty, have been enjoyed and celebrated,
it is those decisions that will tell us what they are really made of.
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| India won hockey's Junior World Cup |
Badminton No. 1 Pullela Gopichand is 2001's true sporting hero, the
athlete whom no one knew and the badminton player everyone underestimated.
Only when he had won the Holy Grail of his sport, the All England title,
did the stories about a superhuman fightback from knee surgery and a post-Olympics
funk emerge. He is a very tough man but should an experimental change
in the laws of his sport be ratified he will have to become even tougher.
The new scoring format is rapid-fire five games set to seven points where
there is no time to settle in and set the pace of a match up, Gopi's big
asset at the All England. He will have to defend his title playing under
the new rules early next year.
The transition from old style to new has been traumatic for Indian hockey
but the victory for the junior team at the World Cup in Hobart has given
the first sight of hope that, at last, a way has been found. Translating
that into titles is all that counts, and in the next 12 months the national
team will have more than one moment of truth at the Asian Games and the
world championships.
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| Gopichand is 2001's true sporting hero, the athlete
no one knew, the player everyone underestimated. |
The biggest winners this year were little people whose dilemmas will
come later, but arrive they must. There is an army of Indian chess juniors
who are tiny, teenage generals, wiping out opposition across the globe
and taking home norms, rating points, titles. Their two leaders are awesome
talents: Pentyala Harikrishna, Grand Master at 15, younger to the title
than even Viswanathan Anand, and 14-year-old Koneru Humpy who has won
three world junior events, including the under14 title this year. Their
skills will be measured up soon, not against their peers but against Anand,
against precedent, against history.
Happily, there are still a handful of young ones who are determined
to follow up on their big dreams because at the moment they probably know
no other way: teenage shooter Abhinav Bindra from Chandigarh is a World
Cup medal winner already and he believes, like we do, that night will
follow day, that he is good enough to win an Olympic medal. Squash player
Joshna Chinappa, 15, has always competed in an age-group two years senior
to her own because she wants to become India's first high-ranking professional.
Indian sport has enjoyed a reasonably good year, but for the athlete
"reasonable" should be a profanity. It carries with it the seductive
appeal of contentment, which is the enemy of all sporting pursuit. Unless
the year and all the achievement it contained is turned into the push
up the steepest part of the mountain, they will merely add to the many
"if onlys" that decorate India's sporting hall of fame. Film
director John Huston was once asked why Fat City, his acclaimed 1972 movie
about a struggling boxer, had flopped. Huston's explanation is the cruel
but pure truth that Indian sport and its fine practitioners, crushing
obstacles and comfort zones et al, know: "Fans want champs; people
don't care for the spiritual processes of the defeated."
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