The Long Dark Teatime Of The Soul

People are driven to doing strange things by sheer boredom. They stand for election, they go to Ibiza, they watch TV. Lust has even stranger fallouts. Human mating rituals involve activities as diverse as touching noses, not to mention other unmentionable bits of the human anatomy, wearing edible underwear, and attending seminars on Heidigger.

Kangaroos are simpler. The basic kangaroo mating ritual consists of bouncing around and boxing each other. The prolific Paul Gallico wrote "Matilda" around that curious habit. Matilda was a big, hairy, 65-kilo kangaroo named after the erstwhile Aussie anthem.

Matilda's owners put him up as challenger for the world middleweight boxing title. The Queenberry Rules don't explicitly forbid the participation of non-humans, as is self-evident if one considers Mike Tyson. Matilda's owners put him into the ring, gloves, tail and all, and punted a fortunes at the bookies.

 

Matilda had certain genetic advantages -the average pugilist is incapable of jumping six feet from a standing position or punching with any of four paws while balancing on his tail. So Matilda fought his way up until he met the world champion in a title match.

The kangaroo was thrashing the world champion when a sudden wild blow landed on his chin. The kangaroo wasn't hurt but apparently a punch in the face is marsupial body-language for rejection. A dejected Matilda bounced out of the ring leaving some very relieved bookies.

Only then do we learn the extent of the scam. Matilda's owners were well aware that kangaroos equate a punch in the kisser as rejection - so do most human beings, as it happens. So, they had fixed every match and paid off every opponent. The world champion had landed his punch by mistake.

Yesterday, I watched Jimmy Adams heroically protect Courtney Walsh as Windies edged towards a one-wicket victory. I watched two runouts go abegging and a bat-pad catch being turned down. And I remembered Matilda and wondered, whether this was for real? Two years ago, I watched Brian Lara do the same rope-trick as he led Windies to another famous one-wicket victory. I wasn't wondering then but was that also for real?

When Tendulkar pulled off those two incredible hundreds against the Aussies at Sharjah, did we see a mirage conjured up by some sleazy bookie with a cellphone? When Ganguly and Robin Singh orchestrated that 300-plus chase at Dhaka, did we actually watch a carefully scripted drama? I replay those moments in my mind's eye and I wonder. Even further back, Chandrasekhar's magic spell at the Eden Gardens in 1974-75, Greenidge shouldering arms against Sandhu, Tendulkar's heart-stopping 50th over against South Africa. All actions that turned a match.

Almost by definition, a great sporting contest must have its twists and turns. So surprises and upsets are a given. Since international cricketers are highly skilled, if not necessarily ethical, individuals, they actually possess the ability to create and follow through on a given script. Without making it too blatant.

There maybe ways to detect this collective snow-job. Stringent income disclosure norms and DRI sleuths sniffing around dressing rooms might do the trick. Legalising betting might create a clear paper trail to follow, in case of "fixing" rumours. Maybe somebody should also take a long hard look at the lifestyles, if one may coin an oxymoron, of cricket officials.

Personally, I don't care anymore. The Euro football is pretty hot, the WWF is electrifying. I can never guess what Buffy is going to be a-slaying this week, and she's much prettier than Azhar! There's plenty of other channels I can surf for my entertainment. I guess that the advertisements will move with me sooner or later.