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A new spectator sport
Wisden CricInfo staff - September 25, 2001

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the slowest of them all? As each member of the Indian squad took off his T-shirt (barring Sourav Ganguly and Sachin Tendulkar for irritatingly hierarchical reasons) and lined up for a sprint across the Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai, reporters on the other side sipped tea and placed friendly wagers. Who would it be? The portly Virender Sehwag? The injured Ashish Nehra? The toe-troubled Tendulkar? This was going to be fun.

Anil Kumble, who, it was once remarked, fielded like a man on stilts, sprinted like a man with lead inside them. His was the honest-but-ageing-police-officer-dash that always looks like a futile chase, even when he runs after nothing at all. But he among all others, stood out for maintaining the most accurate simulation of reality: 20 metres into the run, the cap blew off his head like it always does in a match. As Bishan Bedi would tell you: it's not practice, but perfect practice, that makes perfect.

In Sourav Ganguly there was all the lethargy that a sun-soaked Saturday afternoon would trigger in a maharajah. Was this running business really necessary? What about that siesta? Nothing was in tune, not even his choice of fast bowlers, as he cursed his way across 100 metres. But there was an impressionable press looking on. Speed suppositories, Michael Johnson omni-lite spikes; something, surely to defeat Jaywant Lele's saunter alongside the running strip. How would 'Lele stroll better than Ganguly sprint' look in the headlines tomorrow?

Next, Venkatesh Prasad. Here was a noble sprinter: head level, knees high, sacred thread slung dutifully across bare chest and eyes only for the finish line: the way any self-respecting, Gayatri-reciting father would instruct his child to tackle the 100 metres. He was slow but dignified. It almost brought a tear to the eye of the more devout watcher.

But the buzz in the audience was starting to fade, some were leaving to seek quotes from officials; this fitness test was like watching grandfathers walk in the park. That was until Rahul Dravid, shampoo-sponsored hair bouncing with exertion, and Harvinder Singh, stretched ebony muscles glistening in the sun, invoked all the primal thrill of a sprint. They not only ran with blatant effort, they also dipped their heads at the finish line. The excitement had been restored: Harvinder was now being spoken of as the first Indian since David Johnson to have run faster than he bowled.

Ajit Agarkar and Yuvraj Singh were fashionably young. Each ran coolly in the sunglasses that haven't come off all this season. But nobody in the press corps, almost entirely male, swooned or let out moony sighs. Instead, they set about admiring two more of the younger brigade: Harbhajan Singh - limbs-a-flailing, turban-a-bobbing, a collection of spare parts held together by sheer momentum, and his Punjab mate Reetinder Sodhi - sure, swift and giving a little more than 150%.

Tendulkar lined up for his dash and the interest levels peaked. He had been all by himself, running between the wickets in sets of three runs, while the rest of the squad trained together. The analogue watches on the reporters' wrists had measured him at a shocking 'more than 10 seconds' for every three runs, and whispers about him being less than fit had taken on bigger proportions as he started his run. By the time he finished, the clouds of gloom were a touch more grey: our Sachin looked more Inzamam than Michael Bevan. Is this the way it would be from now on? What about those shoes that he went to South Africa for?

It was time to put down our tea and revive that mini-debate: who, then, was the slowest man today? The gentleman whose great conviction was that CK Nayudu could play till the age of 60 even today ('The Colonel wasn't spoilt like this lot. Tell me, if a man can climb a tree at six, why can't he do so at 60? It's all about practice') and I voted for Ganguly, outnumbering the young correspondent of a national daily, who voted for Tendulkar, by a decisive 2-1 margin. Somewhere, Kumble would have been smiling.

Rahul Bhattacharya is a staff writer with Wisden.com India.

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