I’m no cricket fan. I watch the sport infrequently. And that, too, towards the end of a game – which means the last five overs or so – when you hear from seemingly every other Indian you know that there’s excitement building.
So, my experience in the past few weeks of watching Test cricket without loathing that time in front of the TV (which is sometimes muted, depending on who the commentators are), has come as a surprise. Without getting too much into the weeds, a Test match is where two international teams play each other over five days. Each team bats twice (two innings each), with the aim being to score more runs than the other, while having to bowl all the batsmen out.
Thankfully, these matches run into the weekend. The anticipation builds. People stay put on sofas watching ball after ball, run after run, given reason occasionally to exult.
The fifth and final Test match of India’s tour of England started on Thursday, ends on Monday. The series started in June and will end in August. It’s been a summer of sporting distraction.
To justify all the fuss to nonadmirers of cricket can seem pointless, especially as there can be instances, like last week, where after five days the match ends in a draw or a stalemate.
It may be no use trying to persuade the uninterested that there is a pay-off to sticking with it, watching patiently for the grit and character of these players to rise to the surface. Five days, in any sport, is often just too demanding. Muscles begin to complain, and the consistency required can be mentally wearing for the players even as it is their job to overcome these obstacles.
I don’t remember the last time I voluntarily watched Test cricket. World Cup games are different; those are quicker, played over eight hours, often social affairs, and wickets always seem to fall just as you get up for a loo break.
It is unremarkable, perhaps, to have found an interest – even astonishingly, respect – for a game that is hardly short of admirers, at least in Commonwealth countries where it is mostly played, and has been around since the 1800s. Its old-fashioned quality is partly why watching it can feel comforting. Its dipping viewer numbers, however, are understandable – especially given that Test cricket is not about instant gratification. It doesn’t feel easy. It is not immediately rewarding. It requires patience, both playing it and watching it. Its essence seems to have delightfully little overlap with the constant turnover of TikTok or Insta reels.
Yes, you could watch 15-second highlights if you’ve missed chunks of the match or just want to relive a segment of sporting excellence. But relying solely on them is taking a shortcut and not putting in the hours to “stay with” and watch the bowlers, the fielders, the batters who’ve been at the crease (where they stand) for hours, chipping away, steadily accumulating runs, working for the team and displaying, you hope, at some point or another during the match: form, fitness, flair, strength, ability and determination, despite the exhaustion of playing the whole day in the sun.
All these grand life themes are often on display on the field for five days. The duration, though, is not the least of what used to make the game brimming with tedium and just plain unwatchable for me. The monotony seemed lethal – a green field with specks in white uniforms not moving around very much. The measured commentary, not too high or low pitched, little variation in tone, used to be ideal white noise to nap to (and can still be, depending on who has the microphone).
Even as I can’t claim to be able to tell the difference between a fielding position from a shot played or a ball delivered – what is a mid-off? what is a leg bye? why does no one yell “googly” any more? – it’s not hard to know which players are having a bad day at the office, who’s had a longer streak of terrible luck, and who is harnessing some preternatural gift to talk to the bat. This can be moving to watch.
On a regular day, where exuberance isn’t really an every-hour event, it’s presumably all right to look forward to what moves you. And to root for the team that do and see if they’re up to the task.
But those playing for the love of a vocation that demands all that raw stuff – endurance, steadiness of purpose and the steeliness to perform for your team and country – even as they’re buoyed by several thousands of cheering fans in the stadium and many more watching remotely on screens, deserve a degree of admiration.
It takes time, perhaps, to learn to see what it’s about and build an appreciation for the physical and mental calibre required.
One, then, thinks of the work and practice that would have gone in for years before these players reach a level where they can take the stage, at the historic Lord’s Cricket Ground in London, or at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, or Kolkata’s Eden Gardens, or wherever. For that, regardless of the eventual score and who takes home the trophy, even an unwilling fan can at least willingly clap.
