Sourav Ganguly--Dada of His Times!

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Sourav Ganguly--Dada of His Times!

Pitched By Subhangi Sinha

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

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More than his runs, Ganguly taught us winning is the thing DADA OF HIS TIMES. DEPARTURES are always sour. There is a lot of bitterness, fallen egos and shattered hopes. Two such big departures, that of Anil Kumble and Sourav Ganguly, now occupy our thoughts.

But ironically even though two giants have just left, Indian cricket is not staring at a vacuum. There are more than enough guys, bristling with talent, good statistics and impatience, creating a commotion at the big threshold.So will the team marching out to take on England miss either of them? Definitely not. In fact, there is a sense of relief than of sorrow.

The VCA stadium at Nagpur was not overflowing with Bengali cricket fanatics who a few years back, burnt effigies of Greg Chappell ( who had shown them the middle finger) for dropping Ganguly.They too let him go.

Departures are also sad. In that case both Kumble and Ganguly had become pathetic caricatures of themselves. They could fall back on nothing: time, performance or memories. But a few months from now, Ganguly and Kumble will enliven our fireside chats, when it’s time for comparisons or when defeat stares us in the face.More so Ganguly, for his stellar role as captain and batsman.

It’s not just the stats ( 21 wins out of 42 as captain). He led from the front, picking his men, choosing his strategy, commanding and getting respect, standing by his guys, and more than anything else teaching Indian cricket the necessity to play to win, rather than waiting for victory to come knocking.

It wasn’t just about aggression and low cunning ( keeping other captains waiting for the toss for instance) that made Ganguly a leader of men. He taught them how to win. He told them destiny was in their spinning fingers and their rubbery wrists. He may have scored 16 centuries in his 113 Tests, but the fact that he planted that seed of defiance in the notoriously fickle Indian mind is what made him special.

He did other things too. He allowed players to rough the ball in unorthodox fashion, he allowed them to give it back to the Aussie sledgers, he taught them time- wasting tactics and he taught them to dare. He taught them it’s eye for an eye.There are three things about Ganguly which will remain immortal. The most glorious sights in cricket was to see him marshalling his boys on the field, just the way maybe Tiger Pataudi, did ( quite unlike Dhoni who still does not know whether he should be imperial or self- effacing in the presence of giants on his left and right).

With a flick of a finger Ganguly could change fortunes of a game. Just as he could by dancing down the green to the hapless spinner and loft him over long- on, the blade of the bat facing the heavens for that is where he just sent the ball. It was instinct, impetus and ingenuity all rolled into one and in any case he could read the ball a wee bit earlier than lesser batsmen.

The third of course was to see him walk out to open the ODI innings with Sachin Tendulkar. We all heaved our chests in pride at that sight didn’t we? With its sheer sensuality, and cataclysmic possibilities, that nuke- powered partnership, seemed better than the 10- year Gordon Greenidge— Desmond Haynes pair, though it was in different forms of the game.

Men who change fortunes of a company, a team or even a nation are all well- read intellectuals ( note Tendulkar’s failure here). Even while the team was rushing in and out of airports, Ganguly found time to grab a newspaper. He loved the day’s news just as he loved some journalists through whom he planted many cunning stories.

Some of these stories he denied without blinking an eyelid. For the last year or two Ganguly was playing from memory.

Though he got runs, he had lost his batting or he was fully sorted out. It could have been the short pitched delivery, it could have been the niggly one on his offside, where he would sometimes guide the ball to slips as he did in Nagpur two days back. But then he is human after all. He was the least athletic in the team, but never claimed to be Carl Lewis.

But for a long time we all thought he was superhuman. In his most pugnacious moment, when he took out his shirt at Lord’s and waved it tauntingly, he revealed an embarrassment of talismans and good luck charms hanging around his neck. He too needed divine intervention, after all.

Dada, could not have stayed any longer. He went with a duck but with dignity intact. If he hadn’t one of those puny men, whom he brought into the team, would have had to tell him to sit out a match. That fortunately did not happen.

Luckily our memories will be of him in his imperial might, his dashing drives, on the off. And for a long time now we will thank him for teaching us how to win.

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