Rahul Dravid: Strictly for the connoisseurs

“My approach to cricket has been reasonably simple: it was about giving everything to the team, it was about playing with dignity, and it was about upholding the spirit of the game. I hope I have done some of that. I have failed at times, but I have never stopped trying. It is why I leave with sadness but also with pride.“-  Rahul Dravid.

The above is an extract from his retirement speech, the last lines from a lucid oration. He pretty much walked his talk. He batted the way he orated. Lucid, intelligible, flawless and impeccable. I gave everything to the team, he said. That line deserves an elucidation, an elaboration. A time when the stalwarts of today were budding, when the scouts seldom met Dhoni, the team was in need of a an extra batsman. Crippled by a dearth of wicket-keeper batsmen, the team had so sacrifice a batsman in order to accommodate a wicket-keeper. He rose to the occasion, as he always did in testing times, and volunteered to don the keeping gloves. He wasn’t the best of wicket-keepers, or to be precise, he wasn’t a wicket-keeper throughout his domestic cricket tenure. He was a slip fielder who could keep wickets.  Yet, as it served the purpose, he decided to get behind the wickets. He did flounder, but the team reaped the benefits of an extra batsman. He was, for long, the object of wicket-keeper bloopers jokes and an easy target for the media to despise.  Unmindful of all the mud that was slung at him for his shortcomings behind the wicket, he went about the job. The team came first for him. When the team needed a stop gap opener, he put his hand up. Yet again when the team needed a senior to retire, he led the way. Closing the pandora’s box, he did give everything for the team. An understatement indeed.

His tenure as captain was a mixed period for Indian cricket. He was the protagonist many a times on the field, yet he chose to take a backseat off the field. The forthrightness or the certitude that was required to captain the Indian side, vulnerable to the venomous media, might have been the missing attribute that bit him. He was said to be a defensive captain; true, he defended his team, the true punching bag. After the 2007 World Cup debacle, he might as well have  evaded the constant attention and played the blame game or partially taken the blame. He chose to be the scapegoat, taking upon himself the entire responsibility for the loss. When his captaincy came under the scanner after the England tour, he was correct in giving up the captaincy. When he was being subject to cheap dismissals, got castled multiple times, he understood his slowing reflexes. When the selectors insinuated the need for fresh legs, he was the first senior to call it quits. He never played with his dignity at stake. His dignity was guarded as watchfully as his wicket.

His words can’t be truer, he played with the whole spirit of the game. His retirement news featured in the sports column, and never did they show up in the gossip column. He was a regular on the sports page and only the sports page. His career was never marred by controversies on and off the field. He preached, professed and practised upholding the spirit of the game. The true gentleman he was, an ambassador of the game.

Playing in an era of Sachin Tendulkar, he was the most underrated cricketer in the history of the game. If Indian cricket achieved the numero uno status in Tests, he was the chief architect of it. Bailing out the team from precarious situations was the routine for him. The innings of 233 at Adelaide, resuming from 85/4, stands tall and would be forever etched in the game’s history books. He scripted a number of Indian victories on foreign soil, churning out masterclass innings in every country he laid his foot in. He concocted the most gritty innings by an Indian.  He went about his trade in an unique and inimitable fashion. Walking in at no.3, he often read egregious score cards. Once he got into his zone, with acute  concentration, he often grilled the opposition and toiled for his runs. He scored heavily when runs din’t come easily; this uncanny knack of his has remained a mystery over the years. He was never a gifted cricketer and all the attributes he possesses today were scrupulously nourished by him, resulting from meticulous nets session and laborious tenures at the crease. His hard work wasn’t just off the field, it was incorporated on the field too. Hard work never ceases to pay off and it did, hugely, with a number of Indian victories. The consummate player he was, he bolstered the middle order of the Indian team. He was by far the most dependable batsman and his presence at the crease eased the heartbeat of millions of fans. If he saw off the initial overs, rest assured, he was in for a big score. He best suited the longer format and vice versa. He could bat for days, and it often spelt bad news for the opposition. He laid a price on his wicket, and it needed a herculean effort to claim it. He never dismantled bowling attacks, yet, he blunted them. He was never a destroyer, but an accumulator. He didn’t have the instincts Tendulkar had, he didn’t have the eyes Sehwag had, he didn’t have the wrists Laxman had, he didn’t have the arm Dhoni has, yet, he had the heart and the stomach from which resulted the voluminous grit, tenacity, fortitude, diligence, gumption and last but not least, the temperament that set him apart. He was a class apart. He never made mistakes and the onus was on the bowler to break his defense, the most impeccable defense the game ever stood witness to.

The most ritualistic batsman. Batting was a ritual for him. He did it with utmost sincerity and was a devout cricketer. He was a helmet, whose presence was least felt, but whose absence was felt the most. When he left, it pricked. His presence was never celebrated, but his absence, mourned. While he played, detractors despised his defensive batting technique; when he left and stonewalling batsmen were not to be found, his style was craved. He belonged to that breed of batsmen whose absence would hit you the worst, reiterating the fact that he was the most indispensable unit of the team. Playing second fiddle requires a big heart, and he was all heart.

If you understood the nuances of the game, you were a fan of him; if you were a fan of him, you understood the nuances of the game. When the pins were down, he lent his hand on numerous occasions. Now, he has decided to lend his voice, something his bat did over the years. The Television, once lit up by his voracious drives, is now lit up by his charismatic voice. An erudite cricketer, a true gentleman, Rahul Dravid was strictly for the connoisseurs.

Happy birthday Mr. Dravid. Your tenure on the field maybe done, but off the field, you still have a long way to go. The game again needs you; this time for your knowledge, your technical know-how. The ICC calls for you, so does Indian cricket. It’s time for an Indian coach and there is no one better suited than you.