Jhakas | Sanjay Jha
I still feel it is too early for me to write a brief farewell piece on Sourav Ganguly. The truth is that he is still out there on my TV screen, looking as engrossed with the proceedings as he usually was pre-his retirement announcement, fielding in the deep square leg, even as Ricky Ponting has scored a resolute hundred, signifying his archetypal Aussie impregnable character. We have a match on our hands and legs.
There is a Test match going on out there in Bangalore, with a half-full KSCA stadium even on a national holiday, despite India being led by a local legend called Anil Kumble, playing his last game. And albeit Rahul Dravid has not said so publicly, Bangalore are probably seeing their two famous native heroes in a Test match for the last time. I am keeping my fingers crossed but hoping that we will have a full-house at least as the match progresses. Anil, Sourav and Rahul deserve a fitting send-off, irrespective of match result. It is the beginning of an end of an unforgettable age of Indian cricket. Continue reading below
There has already been much diagnostic surgery of what really forced Ganguly to announce an abrupt closure to a glorious career, notwithstanding it's frequent irrational and indescribable bumps. He has had the rough end of the stick for a considerable period, and it seems that he became singled out for some real toxic treatment whenever the men in white robes in the lab wanted a guinea pig experiment. Clearly, there is a parameter to the mortification of being seen as the most dispensable player in the team, the first sacrificial lamb being paraded to the guillotines amidst a stone-faced sanctimonious jury, watching the execution with little empathy.
What many have perhaps forgotten about Sourav, is that he took over captaincy in difficult times. I know Sachin fans won't like this, but the truth is that Tendulkar chickened out of the leadership role, because that was beyond him. Leadership is the ultimate litmus test, because you have to look beyond your own contribution, your personal milestones. I agree that perhaps it is to Sachin's credit that at least he knew his limitations, but it will be a perpetual stigma against his otherwise mind-boggling credentials of being the modern Don Bradman. As it happened, the sordid Indian match-fixing drama unfolded exactly at that juncture, and as a just anointed skipper, Ganguly guided India to safer shores, unsullied and unscathed. More important, he began to guide youngsters, re-engineer a new drive, and take on the battle to the opposition. There was a fresh burst of a strong attitude, an aggression borne out of self-belief, not just shallow shouting and exaggerated body language. There was substance in that cool tough demeanor.
In World Cup 2003, until Ponting rewrote an ODI script, India were on the verge of repeating the 1983 triumph in Johannesburg, this after effigies had been burnt all over the country when we were thrashed by Australia in the preliminary games. We won the Champions Trophy in Sri Lanka in 2002 (thanks to two-days of continuous showers, Sri Lanka were joint champs), after finishing as runners-up in Nairobi in 2000, a Chris Cairns knock that was truly wonder-struck stealing India's thunder by a thin whisker.
Who can ever forget that historic comeback series against Australia in Kolkota and then Chennai, which must rate amongst the best in the modern era. The Final Frontier remained intact. It was enthralling stuff. And then India took the wind out of Australian sails, with Sourav playing a brilliant hundred at Brisbane, in what set the tone for a tight series, till Steve Waugh's obduracy in his last game saved the Sydney decider. In between, there was that triumph in Pakistan, the Test win against England in difficult conditions, that oft-repeated NatWest conquest, which turned the Lord's balcony, for the upper-crust stiff lipped Brits, into a male strip-tease counter. Andrew Flintoff walked off, his shirt still on his shoulders that evening in London. There was much more. And then an inconsequential series came up. Against Zimbabwe. And then Greg Chappell happened. The rest is, as they say, history. The year-long banishment, the constant attacks, the thousands of obituaries, the frequent expulsions. Despite all that and more, once again, a phenomenal comeback. And nerve-numbing consistency thereafter.
My favorite Sourav innings? That 50 in South Africa on his return. Watched by millions of cynics, skeptics and doubting Thomas's, hounded by critics, humiliated by his own coach, a target of public ridicule, shunned by his own former team-mates, Ganguly took guard. A true champion was resurrected. Reborn. Again.
But I guess I am getting carried away. Sourav is still playing as I write this piece, so I had rather wait till he is finally walked out for the last time. Hopefully, the bitterness, hurt and anger will subside. And he will accept that life is never fair. It is perhaps not meant to be. But true greatness lies in moving ahead, not looking back, and stretching oneself, beyond the threshold of what the ordinary mortals set themselves for. That one extra inch, that one extra ball, that one extra run. That's what makes a winner. It is what made Sourav Ganguly. It is why we call God a left-hander.
