Rahul Dravid’s created history
by becoming the first cricketer outside Australia to deliver the prestigious Bradman
Oration this year. Like his sublime batting, the man spoke really well, and
made some thoughtful points. The speech is not just wonderful for explaining
what Indian cricket is all about, Dravid has also mapped what it means to be a
sportsman. A must read for everyone.
Rahul Dravid walks back after an epic innings with VVS Laxman
Picture Copyright: AFP
The full text of Rahul Dravid’s lecture at Bradman Oration 2011 at
Austalian War Memorial, Canberra on Dec 14, 2011
Thank you for
inviting me to deliver the Bradman Oration; the respect and the regard that
came with the invitation to speak tonight, is deeply appreciated.
I realise a very
distinguished list of gentlemen have preceded me in the ten years that the
Bradman Oration has been held. I know that this Oration is held every year to
appreciate the life and career of Sir Don Bradman, a great Australian and a
great cricketer. I understand that I am supposed to speak about cricket and
issues in the game - and I will.
Yet, but first
before all else, I must say that I find myself humbled by the venue we find
ourselves in. Even though there is neither a pitch in sight, nor stumps or bat
and balls, as a cricketer, I feel I stand on very sacred ground tonight. When I
was told that I would be speaking at the National War Memorial, I thought of
how often and how meaninglessly, the words 'war', 'battle', 'fight' are used to
describe cricket matches.
Yes, we cricketers
devote the better part of our adult lives to being prepared to perform for our
countries, to persist and compete as intensely as we can - and more. This
building, however, recognises the men and women who lived out the words - war,
battle, fight - for real and then gave it all up for their country, their lives
left incomplete, futures extinguished.
The people of both
our countries are often told that cricket is the one thing that brings Indians
and Australians together. That cricket is our single common denominator.
India's first Test
series as a free country was played against Australia in November 1947, three
months after our independence. Yet the histories of our countries are linked
together far more deeply than we think and further back in time than 1947.
We share something
else other than cricket. Before they played the first Test match against each
other, Indians and Australians fought wars together, on the same side. In
Gallipoli, where, along with the thousands of Australians, over 1300 Indians
also lost their lives. In World War II, there were Indian and Australian
soldiers in El Alamein, North Africa, in the Syria-Lebanon campaign, in Burma,
in the battle for Singapore.
Before we were
competitors, Indians and Australians were comrades. So it is only appropriate
that we are here this evening at the Australian War Memorial, where along with
celebrating cricket and cricketers, we remember the unknown soldiers of both
nations.
It is however,
incongruous, that I, an Indian, happen to be the first cricketer from outside
Australia, invited to deliver the the Bradman Oration. I don't say that only
because Sir Don once scored a hundred before lunch at Lord's and my 100 at
Lord's this year took almost an entire day.
But more
seriously, Sir Don played just five Tests against India; that was in the first
India-Australia series in 1947-48, which was to be his last season at home. He
didn't even play in India, and remains the most venerated cricketer in India
not to have played there.
We know that he
set foot in India though, in May 1953, when on his way to England to report on
the Ashes for an English newspaper, his plane stopped in Calcutta airport.
There were said to be close to a 1000 people waiting to greet him; as you know,
he was a very private person and so got into an army jeep and rushed into a
barricaded building, annoyed with the airline for having 'breached
confidentiality.' That was all Indians of the time saw of Bradman who remains a
mythical figure.
For one generation
of fans in my country, those who grew up in the 1930s, when India was still
under British rule, Bradman represented a cricketing excellence that belonged
to somewhere outside England. To a country taking its first steps in Test
cricket, that meant something. His success against England at that time was
thought of as our personal success. He was striking one for all of us ruled by
the common enemy. Or as your country has so poetically called them, the Poms.
There are two
stories that I thought I should bring to your notice. On June 28, 1930, the day
Bradman scored 254 at Lord's against England, was also the day Jawaharlal Nehru
was arrested by the police. Nehru was, at the time, one of the most prominent
leaders of the Indian independence movement and later, independent India's
first Prime Minister. The coincidence of the two events, was noted by a young
boy KN Prabhu, who was both nationalist, cricket fan and later became
independent India's foremost cricket writer. In the 30s, as Nehru went in and
out of jail, Bradman went after the England bowling and, for KN Prabhu, became
a kind of avenging angel.
There's another
story I've heard about the day in 1933, when the news reached India that
Bradman's record for the highest Test score of 334 had been broken by Wally
Hammond. As much as we love our records, they say some Indian fans at the time
were not exactly happy. Now, there's a tale that a few even wanted to wear
black bands to mourn the fact that this precious record that belonged to
Australia - and by extension, us - had gone back. To an Englishman. We will
never know if this is true, if black bands were ever worn, but as journalists
sometimes tell me, why let facts get in the way of a good story.
My own link with
Bradman was much like that of most other Indians - through history books, some
old video footage and his wise words. About leaving the game better than you
found it. About playing it positively, as Bradman, then a selector, told Richie
Benaud before the 1960-61 West Indies tour of Australia. Of sending a right
message out from cricket to its public. Of players being temporary trustees of
a great game.
While there may be
very little similarity in our records or our strike-rates or our fielding - and
I can say this only today in front of all of you - I am actually pleased that I
share something very important with Sir Don.
He was, primarily,
like me, a No.3 batsman. It is a tough, tough job.
We're the ones who
make life easier for the kings of batting, the middle order that follows us.
Bradman did that with a bit more success and style than I did. He dominated
bowling attacks and put bums on seats, if i bat for any length of time I am
more likely to bore people to sleep. Still, it is nice to have batted for a
long time in a position, whose benchmark is, in fact, the benchmark for
batsmanship itself.
Before he retired
from public life in his 80s, I do know that Bradman watched Sunil Gavaskar's
generation play a series in Australia. I remember the excitement that went
through Indian cricket when we heard the news that Bradman had seen Sachin
Tendulkar bat on TV and thought he batted like him. It was more than mere
approval, it was as if the great Don had finally, passed on his torch. Not to
an Aussie or an Englishman or a West Indian. But to one of our own.
One of the things,
Bradman said has stayed in my mind. That the finest of athletes had, along with
skill, a few more essential qualities: to conduct their life with dignity, with
integrity, with courage and modesty. All this he believed, were totally compatible
with pride, ambition, determination and competitiveness. Maybe those words
should be put up in cricket dressing rooms all over the world.
As all of you
know, Don Bradman passed away on February 25, 2001, two days before the India v
Australia series was to begin in Mumbai.
Whenever an
important figure in cricket leaves us, cricket's global community pauses in the
midst of contests and debates, to remember what he represented of us, what he
stood for, and Bradman was the pinnacle. The standard against which all Test
batsmen must take guard.
The series that
followed two days after Bradman's death later went on to become what many
believe was one of the greatest in cricket. It is a series, I'd like to
believe, he would have enjoyed following.
A fierce contest
between bat and ball went down to the final session of the final day of the
final Test. Between an Australian team who had risen to their most imposing
powers and a young Indian team determined to rewrite some chapters of its own
history.
The 2001 series
contained high-quality cricket from both sides and had a deep impact on the
careers of those who played a part in it. The Australians were near unbeatable
in the first half of the new decade, both home and away. As others floundered
against them, India became the only team that competed with them on even terms.
India kept
answering questions put to them by the Australians and asking a few themselves.
The quality demanded of those contests, sometimes acrimonious, sometimes
uplifting, made us, the Indian team, grow and rise. As individuals, we were
asked to play to the absolute outer limits of our capabilities and we often
extended them.
Now, whenever
India and Australia meet, there is expectation and anticipation - and as we get
into the next two months of the Border-Gavaskar Trophy, players on both sides
will want to deliver their best.
When we toured in
2007-08, I thought it was going to be my last tour of Australia. The
Australians thought it was going to be the last time they would be seeing
Sachin Tendulkar on their shores. He received warm standing ovations from
wonderful crowds all around the country.
Well, like a few,
creaking Terminators, we're back. Older, wiser and I hope improved.
The Australian
public will want to stand up to send Sachin off all over again this time. But I
must warn you, given how he's been playing these days, there are no guarantees
about final goodbyes.
In all
seriousness, though, the cricket world is going to stop and watch Australia and
India. It is Australia's first chance to defend their supremacy at home
following defeat in the 2010 Ashes and a drawn series against New Zealand. It
is India's opportunity to prove that the defeat to England in the summer was an
aberration that we will bounce back from.
If both teams look
back to their last 2007-08 series in Australia, they will know that they should
have done things a little differently in the Sydney Test. But I think both
sides have moved on from there; we've played each other twice in India already
and relations between the two teams are much better than they have been as far
as I can remember.
Thanks to the IPL,
Indians and Australians have even shared dressing rooms. Shane Watson's
involvement in Rajasthan, Mike Hussey's role with Chennai to mention a few, are
greatly appreciated back home. And even Shane Warne likes India now. I really
enjoyed playing alongside him at Rajasthan last season and can confidently
report to you that he is not eating imported baked beans any more.
In fact, looking
at him, it seems, he is not eating anything.
It is often said
that cricketers are ambassadors for their country; when there's a match to be
won, sometimes we think that is an unreasonable demand. After all, what would
career diplomats do if the result of a Test series depended on them, say,
walking? But, as ties between India and Australia have strengthened and our
contests have become more frequent, we realise that as Indian players, we stand
for a vast, varied, often unfathomable and endlessly fascinating country.
At the moment, to
much of the outside world, Indian cricket represents only two things - money
and power. Yes, that aspect of Indian cricket is a part of the whole, but it is
not the complete picture. As a player, as a proud and privileged member of the
Indian cricket team, I want to say that, this one-dimensional, often cliched
image relentlessly repeated is not what Indian cricket is really all about.
I cannot take all
of you into the towns and villages our players come from, and introduce you to
their families, teachers, coaches, mentors and team-mates who made them
international cricketers. I cannot take all of you here to India to show you
the belief, struggle, effort and sacrifice from hundreds of people that runs
through our game.
As I stand here
today, it is important for me to bring Indian cricket and its own remarkable
story to you. I believe it is very necessary that cricketing nations try to
find out about each other, try to understand each other and the different role
cricket plays in different countries, because ours is, eventually, a very small
world.
In India, cricket
is a buzzing, humming, living entity going through a most remarkable time, like
no other in our cricketing history. In this last decade, the Indian team
represents more than ever before, the country we come from - of people from
vastly different cultures, who speak different languages, follow different
religions, belong to all classes of society. I went around our dressing room to
work out how many languages could be spoken in there and the number I have
arrived at is: 15, including Shona and Afrikaans.
Most foreign
captains, I think, would baulk at the idea. But, when I led India, I enjoyed
it, I marvelled at the range of difference and the ability of people from so
many different backgrounds to share a dressing room, to accept, accommodate and
respect that difference. In a world growing more insular, that is a precious
quality to acquire, because it stays for life and helps you understand people
better, understand the significance of the other.
Let me tell you
one of my favourite stories from my Under-19 days, when the India Under-19 team
played a match against the New Zealand junior team. We had two bowlers in the
team, one from the north Indian state of Uttar Pradesh - he spoke only Hindi,
which is usually a link language for players from all over India, ahead even of
English. It should have been all right, except the other bowler came from
Kerala, in the deep south, and he spoke only the state's regional language,
Malayalam. Now even that should have been okay as they were both bowlers and
could bowl simultaneous spells.
Yet in one game,
they happened to come together at the crease. In the dressing room, we were in
splits, wondering how they were going to manage the business of a partnership,
calling for runs or sharing the strike. Neither man could understand a word of
what the other was saying and they were batting together. This could only
happen in Indian cricket. Except that these two guys came up with a 100-run
partnership. Their common language was cricket and that worked out just fine.
The everyday
richness of Indian cricket lies right there, not in the news you hear about
million-dollar deals and television rights. When I look back over the 25 years
I've spent in cricket, I realise two things. First, rather alarmingly, that I
am the oldest man in the game, older to even Sachin by three months. More
importantly, I realise that Indian cricket actually reflects our country's own
growth story during this time. Cricket is so much a part of our national fabric
that as India - its economy, society and popular culture - transformed itself,
so did our most-loved sport.
As players we are
appreciative beneficiaries of the financial strength of Indian cricket, but we
are more than just mascots of that economic power. The caricature often made of
Indian cricket and its cricketers in the rest of the world is that we are
pampered superstars. Overpaid, underworked, treated like a cross between royalty
and rock stars.
Yes, the Indian
team has an enormous, emotional following and we do need security when we get
around the country as a group. It is also why we make it a point to always try
and conduct ourselves with composure and dignity. On tour, I must point out, we
don't attack fans or do drugs or get into drunken theatrics. And at home,
despite what some of you may have heard, we don't live in mansions with
swimming pools.
The news about the
money may well overpower all else, but along with it, our cricket is full of
stories the outside world does not see. Television rights generated around
Indian cricket, are much talked about. Let me tell you what the television -
around those much sought-after rights - has done to our game.
A sport that was
largely played and patronised by princes and businessmen in traditional urban
centres, cities like Bombay, Bangalore, Chennai, Baroda, Hyderabad, Delhi - has
begun to pull in cricketers from everywhere.
As the earnings
from Indian cricket have grown in the past 2 decades, mainly through
television, the BCCI has spread revenues to various pockets in the country and
improved where we play. The field is now spread wider than it ever has been,
the ground covered by Indian cricket, has shifted.
Twenty seven teams
compete in our national championship, the Ranji Trophy. Last season Rajasthan,
a state best known for its palaces, fortresses and tourism won the Ranji Trophy
title for the first time in its history. The national one-day championship also
had a first-time winner in the newly formed state of Jharkand, where our
captain MS Dhoni comes from.
The growth and
scale of cricket on our television was the engine of this population shift.
Like Bradman was the boy from Bowral, a stream of Indian cricketers now come
from what you could call India's outback.
Zaheer Khan
belongs to the Maharashtra heartland, from a town that didn't have even one
proper turf wicket. He could have been an instrumentation engineer but was
drawn to cricket through TV and modelled his bowling by practising in front of
the mirror on his cupboard at home, and first bowled with a proper cricket ball
at the age of 17.
One day out of
nowhere, a boy from a village in Gujarat turned up as India's fastest bowler.
After Munaf Patel made his debut for India, the road from the nearest railway
station to his village had to be improved because journalists and TV crews from
the cities kept landing up there.
We are delighted
that Umesh Yadav didn't become a policeman like he was planning and turned to
cricket instead. He is the first cricketer from the central Indian first-class
team of Vidarbha to play Test cricket.
Virender Sehwag,
it shouldn't surprise you, belongs to the wild west just outside Delhi. He had
to be enrolled in a college which had a good cricket programme and travelled
84kms every day by bus to get to practice and matches.
Every player in
this room wearing an India blazer has a story like this. Here, ladies and
gentlemen, is the heart and soul of Indian cricket.
Playing for India
completely changes our lives. The game has given us a chance to pay back our
debt to all those who gave their time, energy and resources for us to be better
cricketers: we can build new homes for our parents, get our siblings married off
in style, give our families very comfortable lives.
The Indian cricket
team is in fact, India itself, in microcosm. A sport that was played first by
princes, then their subordinates, then the urban elite, is now a sport played
by all of India. Cricket, as my two under-19 team-mates proved, is India's most
widely-spoken language. Even Indian cinema has its regional favourites; a movie
star in the south may not be popular in the north. But a cricketer? Loved
everywhere.
It is also a very
tough environment to grow up in - criticism can be severe, responses to victory
and defeat extreme. There are invasions of privacy and stones have been thrown
at our homes after some defeats.
It takes time
getting used to, extreme reactions can fill us with anger. But every cricketer
realises at some stage of his career, that the Indian cricket fan is best
understood by remembering the sentiment of the majority, not the actions of a
minority.
One of the things
that has always lifted me as a player is looking out of the team bus when we
travelled somewhere in India. When people see the Indian bus going by, see some
of us sitting with our curtains drawn back, it always amazes me how much they
light up. There is an instantaneous smile, directed not just at the player they
see - but at the game we play that, for whatever reason, means something to
people's lives. Win or lose, the man on the street will smile and give you a
wave.
After India won
the World Cup this year, our players were not congratulated as much as they
were thanked by people they ran into. "You have given us everything,"
they were told, "all of us have won." Cricket in India now stands not
just for sport, but possibility, hope, opportunities.
On our way to the
Indian team, we know of so many of our team-mates, some of whom may have been
equally or more talented than those sitting here, who missed out. When I
started out, for a young Indian, cricket was the ultimate gamble - all or
nothing, no safety nets. No second chances for those without an education or a
college degree or second careers. Indian cricket's wealth now means a wider
pool of well paid cricketers even at first-class level.
For those of us
who make it to the Indian team, cricket is not merely our livelihood, it is a
gift we have been given. Without the game, we would just be average people
leading average lives. As Indian cricketers, our sport has given us the chance
do something worthwhile with our lives. How many people could say that?
This is the time
Indian cricket should be flowering; we are the world champions in the short
game, and over the space of the next 12 months should be involved in a tight
contest with Australia, South Africa and England to determine which one of us
is the world's strongest Test team.
Yet I believe this
is also a time for introspection within our game, not only in india, but all
over the world. We have been given some alerts and responding to them quickly
is the smart thing to do.
I was surprised a
few months ago to see the lack of crowds in an ODI series featuring India. By
that I don't mean the lack of full houses, I think it was the sight of empty
stands I found somewhat alarming.
India played its
first one-day international at home in November 1981, when I was nine. Between
then and now India have played 227 ODIs at home; the October five-match series
against England was the first time that the grounds have not been full for an
ODI featuring the Indian team.
In the summer of
1998, I played in a one-dayer against Kenya in Kolkata and the Eden Gardens was
full. Our next game was held in the 48-degree heat of Gwalior and the stands
were heaving.
The October series
against England was the first one at home after India's World Cup win. It was
called the 'revenge' series meant to wipe away the memory of a forgettable tour
of England. India kept winning every game, and yet the stands did not fill up.
Five days after a 5-0 victory 95,000 turned up to watch the India's first
Formula One race.
A few weeks later
I played in a Test match against West Indies in Calcutta, in front of what was
the lowest turn out in Eden Gardens' history. Yes we still wanted to win and
our intensity did not dip. But at the end of the day, we are performers,
entertainers and we love an audience. The audience amplifies everything you are
doing, the bigger the crowd the bigger the occasion, its magnitude, its
emotion. When I think about the Eden Gardens crowds this year, I wonder what
the famous Calcutta Test of 2001 would have felt like with 50,000 people less
watching us.
Australia and
South Africa played an exciting and thrilling Test series recently and two
great Test matches produced some fantastic performances from players of both
teams, but were sadly played in front of sparse crowds.
It is not the
numbers that Test players need, it is the atmosphere of a Test that every
player wants to revel in and draw energy from. My first reaction to the lack of
crowds for cricket was that there had been a lot of cricket and so perhaps, a
certain amount of spectator-fatigue. That is too simplistic a view; it's the
easy thing to say but might not be the only thing.
The India v
England ODI series had no context, because the two countries had played each
other in four Tests and five ODIs just a few weeks before. When India and West
Indies played ODIs a month after that the grounds were full, but this time the
matches were played in smaller venues that didn't host too much international
cricket. Maybe our clues are all there and we must remain vigilant.
Unlike Australia
or England, Indian cricket has never had to compete with other sports for a
share of revenues, mind space or crowd attendance at international matches. The
lack of crowds may not directly impact on revenues or how important the sport
is to Indians, but we do need to accept that there has definitely been a change
in temperature over, I think, the last two years.
Whatever the
reasons are - maybe it is too much cricket or too little by way of comfort for
spectators - the fan has sent us a message and we must listen. This is not mere
sentimentality. Empty stands do not make for good television. Bad television
can lead to a fall in ratings, the fall in ratings will be felt by media
planners and advertisers looking elsewhere.
If that happens,
it is hard to see television rights around cricket being as sought after as they
have always been in the last 15 years. And where does that leave everyone? I'm
not trying to be an economist or doomsday prophet - this is just how I see it.
Let us not be so
satisfied with the present, with deals and finances in hand that we get blindsided.
Everything that has given cricket its power and influence in the world of
sports has started from that fan in the stadium. They deserve our respect and
let us not take them for granted. Disrespecting fans is disrespecting the game.
The fans have stood by our game through everything. When we play, we need to
think of them. As players, the balance between competitiveness and fairness can
be tough but it must be found.
If we stand up for
the game's basic decencies, it will be far easier to tackle its bigger dangers
- whether it is finding short cuts to easy money or being lured by the scourge
of spot-fixing and contemplating any involvement with the betting industry.
Cricket's
financial success means it will face threats from outside the game and keep
facing them. The last two decades have proved this over and over again. The
internet and modern technology may just end up being a step ahead of every
anti-corruption regulation in place in the game. As players, the one way we can
stay ahead for the game, is if we are willing to be monitored and regulated
closely.
Even if it means
giving up a little bit of freedom of movement and privacy. If it means
undergoing dope tests, let us never say no. If it means undergoing lie-detector
tests, let us understand the technology, what purpose it serves and accept it.
Now lie-detectors are by no means perfect but they could actually help the
innocent clear their names. Similarly, we should not object to having our
finances scrutinised if that is what is required.
When the first
anti-corruption measures were put into place, we did moan a little bit about
being accredited and depositing our cell phones with the manager. But now we
must treat it like we do airport security because we know it is for our own
good and our own security.
Players should be
ready to give up a little personal space and personal comfort for this game,
which has given us so much. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to
fear.
Other sports have
borrowed from cricket's anti-corruption measures to set up their own ethical
governance programmes and we must take pride in belonging to a sport that is
professional and progressive.
One of the biggest
challenges that the game must respond to today, I believe, is charting out a
clear road map for the three formats. We now realise that the sport's three
formats cannot be played in equal numbers - that will only throw scheduling and
the true development of players completely off gear.
There is a place
for all three formats, though, we are the only sport I can think of which has
three versions. Cricket must treasure this originality. These three versions
require different skills, skills that have evolved, grown, changed over the
last four decades, one impacting on the other.
Test cricket is
the gold standard, it is the form the players want to play. The 50-over game is
the one that has kept cricket's revenues alive for more than three decades now.
Twenty20 has come upon us and it is the format people, the fans want to see.
Cricket must find
a middle path, it must scale down this mad merry-go-round that teams and
players find themselves in: heading off for two-Test tours and seven-match ODI
series with a few Twenty20s thrown in.
Test cricket deserves
to be protected, it is what the world's best know they will be judged by. Where
I come from, nation versus nation is what got people interested in cricket in
the first place. When I hear the news that a country is playing without some of
its best players, I always wonder, what do their fans think?
People may not be
able to turn up to watch Test cricket but everyone follows the scores. We may
not fill 65,000 capacity stadiums for Test matches, but we must actively fight
to get as many as we can in, to create a Test match environment that the
players and the fans feed off. Anything but the sight of Tests played on empty
grounds. For that, we have got to play Test cricket that people can watch.
I don't think
day-night Tests or a Test championship should be dismissed.
In March of last
year I played a day-night first-class game in Abu Dhabi for the MCC and my
experience from that was that day-night Tests is an idea seriously worth
exploring. There may be some challenges in places where there is dew but the visibility
and durability of the pink cricket ball was not an issue.
Similarly, a Test
championship, with every team and player driving themselves to be winners of a
sought after title, seems like it would have a context to every game.
Keeping Tests
alive may mean different innovations in different countries - maybe taking it
to smaller cities, playing it in grounds with smaller capacities like New
Zealand has thought of doing, maybe reviving some old venues in the West
Indies, like the old Recreation Ground in Antigua.
When I was around
seven years old, I remember my father taking a Friday off so that we could
watch three days of Test cricket together. On occasions he couldn't, I would
accompany one of his friends, just to soak in a day of Test cricket and watch
the drama slowly unfold.
What we have to do
is find a way to ensure that Test matches fit into 21st century life, through
timing, environments and the venues they are held in. I am still convinced it
can be done, even in our fast-moving world with a short attention span. We will
often get told that Test matches don't make financial sense, but no one ever
fell in love with Test cricket because they wanted to be a businessman. Not
everything of value comes at a price.
There is a
proposal doing the rounds about scrapping the 50-over game completely. I am not
sure I agree with that - I certainly know that the 50-over game helped us
innovate strokes in our batting which we were then able to take into Test
matches. We all know that the 50-over game has been responsible for improving
fielding standards all over the world.
The future may
well lie in playing one-day internationals centered around ICC events, like the
Champions Trophy and the World Cups. This would ensure that all 50-over matches
would build up for those tournaments.
That will cut back
the number of one-day internationals played every year but at least those
matches will have context. Since about I think 1985, people have been saying
that there is too much meaningless one-day cricket. Maybe it's finally time to
do something about it.
The Twenty20 game
as we know has as many critics as it has supporters in the public. Given that
an acceptable strike rate in T20 these days is about 120, I should probably
complain about it the most. The crowd and revenue numbers, though, tell us that
if we don't handle Twenty20 correctly, we may well have more and more private
players stepping in to offer not just slices of pie, but maybe even bigger pies
themselves.
So I'll re-iterate
what I've just said very quickly because balancing three formats is important:
We have Test
cricket like we have always had, nation versus nation, but carefully scheduled
to attract crowds and planned fairly so that every Test playing country gets
its fair share of Tests. And playing for a championship or a cup, not just a
ranking.
The 50-overs
format focused around fewer, significant multi-nation ICC events like the
Champions Trophy and the World Cup. In the four-year cycle between World Cups,
plan the ODI calendar and devise rankings around these few important events.
Anything makes more sense than seven-match ODI series.
The best role for
Twenty20 is as a domestic competition through official leagues, which will make
it financially attractive for cricketers. That could also keep cricket viable
in countries where it fights for space and attention.
Because the game
is bigger than us all, we must think way ahead of how it stands today. Where do
we want it to be in the year 2020? Or say in 2027, when it will be 150 years
since the first Test match was played. If you think about it, cricket has been
with us longer than the modern motor car, it existed before modern air travel
took off.
As much as
cricket's revenues are important to its growth, its traditions and its vibrancy
are a necessary part of its progress in the future. We shouldn't let either go
because we played too much of one format and too little of the other.
Professionalism
has given cricketers of my generation privileged lives and we know it, even
though you may often hear us whining about burn-out, travel and the lack of
recovery time.
Whenever we begin
to get into that mindset, it's good to remember a piece of Sachin's
conversation with Bradman. Sachin told us that he had asked Sir Don how he had
mentally prepared for big games, what his routines were. Sir Don said, that
well, before a game he would go to work and after the game go back to work.
Whenever a cricketer feels a whinge coming on, that would be good to remember.
Before I conclude,
I also want to talk briefly about an experience I have often had over the
course of my career. It is not to do with individuals or incidents, but one I
believe is important to share. I have sometimes found myself in the middle of a
big game, standing at slip or even at the non-strikers end and suddenly
realised that everything else has vanished. At that moment, all that exists is
the contest and the very real sense of the joy that comes from playing the
game.
It is an almost
meditative experience, where you reconnect with the game just like you did
years ago, when you first began, when you hit your first boundary, took the
first catch, scored your first century, or were involved in a big victory. It
lasts for a very fleeting passage of time, but it is a very precious instant
and every cricketer should hang on to it.
I know it is
utterly fanciful to expect professional cricketers to play the game like
amateurs; but the trick, I believe, is taking the spirit of the amateur - of
discovery, of learning, of pure joy, of playing by the rules - into our
profession. Taking it to practice or play, even when there's an epidemic of
white-line fever breaking out all over the field.
In every cricketer
there lies a competitor who hates losing, and yes, winning matters. But it is
not the only thing that matters when you play cricket. How it is played is as
important for every member of every team because every game we play leaves a
footprint in cricket's history. We must never forget that.
What we do as
professionals is easily carried over into the amateur game, in every way -
batting, bowling, fielding, appealing, celebration, dissent, argument. In the
players of 2027, we will see a reflection of this time and of ourselves and it
had better not annoy or anguish us 50-year-olds.
As the game's
custodians, it is important we are not tempted by the short-term gains of the
backward step. We can be remembered for being the generation that could take
the giant stride.
Thank you for the
invitation to address all of you tonight, and your attention.
