A dummy's question to the experts: Did the best available Eleven play the World Cup semifinal?

India is a land of experts. At every dusty, cramped corner of every large and small city are present people who have an opinion, a belief, strong and unflinching, in their expertise – cricket and politics are omnipresent, other topics a lot more localised.

They were always there but social media has given every such expert a voice, a platform to express their opinions and share common ideas and beliefs with the entire world. And so, when the Indian cricket team lost the World T20 semifinals to a rampaging England riding roughshod over a group of some of the biggest names in the sport, there was the spontaneous outpouring of anguish and angst in equal measure – along with dissections, analyses and opinions on what went wrong.

From who should have played to how should it have been played to digging up all kinds of statistics and data on weather, pitch, ground, stands, soil composition, opposition players and staff, ground force to lights and conditions – there have been innumerable pieces on what the Indian team should have done to ensure a different result.

The writers of all these pieces have impeccable pedigree – former players with glowing achievements, scribes with decades of experience covering all forms of the game and casual viewers who are famous enough to get print space for their opinions. The reasons for the defeat have been overwhelming to say the least. And a lot of it, to be rudely honest, sounds more like an excuse and less an explanation.

So what am I going to add? Nothing. Honestly, I do not, cannot have answers to the loss. I don’t play the game, never did, don’t cover it, don’t hang out with or am friends on nickname basis with players, can’t gush over that one particular shot in A game by B player in C series in D year – I am not ashamed to admit I haven’t even made the effort to cram up stats and figures to pad up this piece in favour or against any argument.

I do have one question, and I have it for those who are supposed to know all this stuff and who take decisions on the basis of this stuff. Just one, the most basic of them all, something anyone working in a group in any industry would ask: Did we play the best 11?

In a country like India, there will always be someone left out. I am sure someone in Jharkhand would vouch for including Varun Aaron in the side or another in Bhavnagar insisting Sheldon Jackson deserves a look-in. But there are only so many spots in the national side. I get it. So once the final 15 is named, that’s the basket of eggs you have to choose from. But did the best 11 from that squad play in the semifinal?

Credit: www.t20worldcup.com

The best 11 -- not in numbers, statistics, runs, wickets, years, not on paper – simply the best 11 as on date in terms of their ability, performance, recency and most importantly, augmenting whatever is the team’s USP. Pakistan may be the cricketing equivalent of a pendulum but they know their strength – fast bowling – and everything revolves around that regardless of the result, opposition, conditions. Conditions matter, of course, as does preparing differently for every opposition. But the best adapt and shine.

The Tendulkars, the Gavaskars, the Warnes, the Walshs and the Ambroses are not considered great simply because of their numbers; it’s because they took conditions out of the equation. Also, a player is a lot like a car – a well-maintained, smartly driven and constantly in use one will outperform a more expensive but long-parked one suddenly brought out of the garage.

Do the Top Two fit? Was Three a gamble that just happened to pay up at the right time in the tournament? Why does Six continue to dangle between being the future and not sure of the present. Why does Seven keeps coming in and going out, neither with any explanations nor seemingly with any co-relation to his performances? Has Eight been largely great only at home? Has Nine been iffy for too long? Do only Four and Five walk into the side as batsmen and 10 and 11 as bowlers? 10, by the way, was a late replacement. So, was it the best 11 we had?

If no, the decision makers need to be asked why. If yes, the problem is far deeper than we think.

The Shifting Sands Of Fan Engagement In Indian Cricket

The overall purity of spontaneous reactions has been adulterated

with transactional relationships. Can it be changed?

A sporting loss, in any big-ticket tournament, always hurts a team’s fans. When it is a World Cup, it hurts more. If it is cricket and India, it’s worse. And when the loss is big and comprehensive enough for even the team’s usually measured and word-correct coach Rahul Dravid to be lost for words, you know it’s open season for everyone else – humiliation, disaster and disgust being the dominant theme expressed in a lot more colourful language.

The disappointment is understandable. For a public that not just puts a premium on performance but literally demands it every time the Indian cricket team steps out on the ground, a 10-wicket loss -- in a 20-over game that finished in 16 – is unacceptable. When it deems the players as demi-gods and excuses their every excess -- lifestyle, monetary, behaviour or otherwise -- the public also endows on itself the right to scrutinise, label, judge and criticise them. Fair or not, that’s the way the dice rolls, specially in times of an omnipresent, tenuous and fickle social media that brings close and pulls apart the player-fan equation simultaneously and in equal measure.

For a long time, this equation was largely emotion-based. When they won, the public felt happy; when they lost, the public was sad/furious. Yes, there would be the occasional stone-pelting incidents but they would largely be spontaneous and limited with universal condemnation. There were the organised betting rings, sure, but they were limited, underground, criminal activities taking place in the dark with only the ones involved knowing the way in. Then came the glut of fantasy games and online apps, each featuring its own set of players, past and present, endorsing it as a ‘skill’ and ‘fun’ and ‘tactical’ and ‘strategy’. It involved money, it democratised role-play making everyone a selector/coach/expert, it legitimised hedging your bets. And it put a price on the emotions, turning the equation into a transactional one. The purity of both the happiness at winning and fury at losing was gone.

That most of these fantasy games and mobile apps and dream teams continue to be either totally illegal or fall in a grey area of government oversight and legal uncertainty is immaterial. What matters is that they are freely available and advertised, sponsor tournaments and teams and tempt people with overnight riches. It’s a lottery on the team’s fortunes fronted by the team members themselves and if anyone finds that incongruous, they are in a minority.

And so, when the players express anguish or displeasure at what they think is over-the-top criticism and unfair targetting for losing what is, at the end of the day, a game or personal barbs for professional failures, they would do well to also take a step back and acknowledge their own role, howsoever miniscule, in empowering such reactions. As public figures, sportspersons are always under scrutiny. As brand ambassadors, their endorsements always add value to products. But when they turn into products themselves, when they extend their presence into every mobile phone and television screen and wallet, do they continue to retain the sanctity of their professional achievements? 

It’s a question they need to answer themselves.