Notes From the World Cup: Crashing Parties for Dummies

The Dutch are good writers, I've heard

Three overs, zero runs. Ten minutes of batting silence. The commentators, easily excitable, are asking questions already. “What’s happening?” Do Netherlands really have New Zealand, fresh from thrashing England, in a headlock at 0/0 after three full overs?

In limited-overs cricket, going this long without scoring is rare. But going this long without scoring in the powerplay, where bowling teams are only allowed to place two fielders on the boundary, is almost unheard of. That is, unless, a gun bowling attack stumbles upon a spicy pitch. Hyderabad likes its spicy stuff, but the playing conditions and the Dutch bowling attack didn’t quite fall in that category.

As Ryan Klein stands at the top of his bowling mark, waiting to start the fourth over, I am already dressed up and walking down a familiar lane. Could this be their day? Against Pakistan a couple of days back, they teased and tantalised, but couldn’t quite get over the line.

You could tell their inexperience showing up against a team that knows this format like the crest on their kits. The Netherlands, on the other hand, don’t play a lot of cricket at the highest level. Only a handful from their World Cup squad are regular first-class cricketers, and it is rare to find their players in franchise T20 leagues. Their route to this ODI World Cup took them through a qualifying tournament, where they had to battle nine other teams, including Sri Lanka, West Indies, Ireland, Zimbabwe, and Scotland, for one out of two spots.

A crazy run, including a game against West Indies, where they chased down 374, later, here we are. After qualifying, coach Ryan Cook used his press conference to ask for matches to prepare for the World Cup. “This is a call-out to anyone who wants to play us. We'd love to have a fixture or two.”

The next two overs go for nineteen. It is still a decent bowling platform, but the New Zealand batters are stretching their arms. Devon Conway sometimes looks like he is born to bat. His movements are minimal and fluid, and the ball pings off his bat even if he has seemingly only caressed it. When in form, Conway’s bat is more paintbrush than a log of wood. Within two more overs, the score reaches 52. The early strangle seems like a distant memory. Back to home base.

Now that the game against Pakistan is done, and this one against New Zealand seems to be taking an expected route, I look through their schedule to find opportunities. They face South Africa and Australia soon. No chance. But maybe Bangladesh and Afghanistan could provide ripe possibilities. A result, or, miraculously, two, won’t do enough to prevent a group stage exit, but it will create enough noise. The Dutch are the late-invite plus-ones at this party, expected to come and leave without getting too loud. Some didn’t even think they would turn up. But picking up the karaoke mic and belting out Summer of ‘69? Sign me up!

Why are so many people happy they are here? And why am I chatting them up? Because they bring something that no other team does, definitely not to the same extent: an air of the underdog with no serious chance of success. On experience, talent, and skill, every other team at this tournament ranks higher than them. Never mind a win, even pushing teams to the limit would be an achievement worthy of sincere praise. This is a pure, thoroughbred, underdog.

A day later, I am collecting my jaw off the floor as Kusal Mendis deposits Shaheen Shah Afridi and Hassan Ali to various corners of the Rajiv Gandhi International Stadium in Hyderabad. A plucky batter taking down some of the world’s best bowlers is always fun; Mendis makes it exhilarating. There is a muscularity and explosiveness to his hitting without it ever looking jagged. Every time a Pakistan bowler seems to have gauged his instincts, he hits them somewhere else. I am thinking of the captain, Babar Azam, as he looks puzzled about where to place the fielders, or if he should ask them to take a break because Mendis is sending everything to the stands.

Kusal Mendis is the perfect symbol of this Sri Lanka team: incredibly talented with a capacity to suddenly look like they’ve just discovered the sport. Their recent record relegated them to the qualifying tournament for tickets to the World Cup. At the recent Asia Cup final, they were knocked over for, let me check my notes quickly, 50. Just fifty cricket runs. It is an insult to the traditions of Sri Lankan cricket, and the wealth of talent it sits on, to speak of them in the same breath as teams that live on the margins of the sport, but here we are. They will finish well above the bottom, but, even with Kusal Mendis and Sadeera Samarawickrama’s pyrotechnics, they’ll have to play out of their skins to be in the hunt for a semi-final spot.

They will be fun to watch, either way. While their potential puts that halo on them, admittedly, some of the light comes from them entering most games as the weaker of the two sides. We love underdogs like nothing else.

The University of Richmond once conducted a study called The Perception of Shapes. For $5, students had to watch four clips of 15 seconds each. The clips were similar: circles rolling up and down a hill. But each clip was slightly different from the other and students saw them in a random order. In all barring one of the four clips, there is a second circle that is quicker than the first. And every time, the students rooted for the slower circle trying to make its way up a hill.

“When the favourite you’re rooting for wins, the payoff can be tepid. A minimal spike in mood, perhaps merely a sense of relief. Throwing in with the underdog, on the other hand, is a riskier proposition, but when you hit on the long shot, the bet pays much more. Backing a favourite can’t match the exhilaration of winning with an underdog.” - L. Jon Wertheim, This is Your Brain on Sports

Some of my favourite recent memories in sports have come from watching less-fancied teams and athletes push their boundaries. Ayhika Mukherjee and Sutirtha Mukherjee beating their Chinese, world number 2, opponents at the Asian Games? Yes, please. Carlos Alcaraz defeating Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic on consecutive days at 18 years of age? Inject it into my veins. Morocco sending Portugal home from the FIFA World Cup? My face is going to melt.

I was out of my chair when Max O’Dowd caught Keshav Maharaj, practically confirming Netherlands’ victory against South Africa, in the T20 World Cup last year. And had it not been for West Indies playing well below par at the qualifying tournament this year, I wouldn’t have gotten to watch him facing up to Trent Boult with the confidence of a Test opener as his glorious mullet flops outside the back of his helmet. And there lies the central hypocrisy of watching a team like the Netherlands.

The Beatles in Orange. Photo credits: ICC

There is more to Netherlands cricket than exotic offerings on a global buffet. Because of how they are cast, they only ever get noticed when they play beyond their limits against stronger opponents. In a sport so limited in its reach that you could utter the name of every team playing at a World Cup while holding your breath, it is a pity that the team that has defeated England twice in T20 World Cups has to rummage for international matches.

The same could be said of Kenya two decades back, especially after a semi-final appearance at the 2003 World Cup. That was one hell of a team, formidable on a bad day, capable of upending apple carts on good ones. Or, more recently, Afghanistan. In 2018, Afghanistan made their Test debut against India at Bangalore. It should have been a platform, a catapult to send an already promising white-ball team to the next level. Instead, they are struggling to establish an identity beyond T20 cricket. In the five years since their debut, Afghanistan have only played six more Tests. Two each against Bangladesh and Zimbabwe, one each against Ireland and West Indies. When promising teams fritter away, like we're seeing with West Indies lately, it is less a sign of systemic rot within their offices and more of systemic indifference from those in charge of the sport at a global level.

Think, similarly, of Zimbabwe. Next summer, England will host Zimbabwe in a one-off Test match. The last time Zimbabwe played Test cricket in England, George Bush was in his first stint as the President of the United States. After beating Pakistan at the T20 World Cup last year, their talismanic star Sikandar Raza went to the post-match press conference. He was asked, with a crisp timbre of condescension, if and when he thought Zimbabwe could win the game.

Every time Netherlands do well at this tournament, raise a drink to those magnificent party-crashing, leather-jacketed rockstars and say a silent prayer for at least one competent brain to enter the ICC top brass. A World Cup cannot be an exclusive party.