The maverick who changed the game
I’m bad with farewells and funerals. The sense of finality in their nature often leaves emotions a little imbalanced and words a little…
I’m bad with farewells and funerals. The sense of finality in their nature often leaves emotions a little imbalanced and words a little wistful. It should ideally be easy to articulate thoughts in such situations, since you only have to cast your vision in one direction. But, in the immediacy of losing someone or something dear — either directly or subliminally — expressions tend to wobble a lot more than usual. I like to pause before deciding if my thoughts even merit expression.
The world, thankfully, doesn’t have time for such needless reflection. Soon after Yuvraj Singh’s press conference, memorable images from his career started floating around on Twitter and Facebook timelines. Someone released a beautiful video where Yuvraj is seen revisiting the grounds and rinks that built him, father in tow, every passing second a step towards reconciliation.
It was difficult to not get overwhelmed, but I wonder if it’s possible to talk about Yuvraj without emotions driving the narrative. Here I am on a Saturday night, flanked by notepads and a glass of whiskey, resisting the urge to type “Yuvraj Singh cover drive” on YouTube even though my mind’s media gallery needs no refreshing.
Yuvraj Singh’s retirement didn’t elicit shock or confusion. Over the last couple of years, his form, fitness, and stuttering stints for the national team had prepared us for the day when he formally calls the chase off. Instead, it brought out nostalgia, memories of a time when Indian cricket felt invincible around Yuvraj.
I remember the first public sighting of this human-shaped tiger. It was the turn of the millennium and India were, to absolutely no surprise, on slippery terrain against Australia in a major ICC tournament. Yuvraj didn’t so much walk out as much as he prowled to the crease. Debut performances are often timid, I had thought.
Soon after — a straight drive and a swivel pull off Ian Harvey; a flick and cover drive off Jason Gillespie. This 18-year-old Punjabi boy was treating the world’s best team with a disdain that my elder cousin would be admonished for if I was the victim. It had been a good thirty months since Sachin Tendulkar’s tour-de-force against the Aussies at Sharjah, but that was an act of surgical precision. This was nonchalant destruction.
It was a time when Indian cricket desperately needed someone to help dust off the frayed values of timidity, and play with a bit of 21st-century enterprise. Yuvraj was the face of that audacity — with the bat and on the field. He was box office; a living, breathing, highlights reel.
Nairobi was followed by Natwest; Mohali was followed by Melbourne; the swagger in Yuvraj’s gait and bat-swing illuminated Indian cricket everywhere it went. He belonged to a unique genre of batsmen who could score 25 in a day of 700 runs, but those 25 would be among the most memorable. Yet, he didn’t have to pay for that belligerence with the stability of form or technique. He was always present when Indian cricket needed him the most — at the NatWest final, rescuing India from a match that seemed lost; against Pakistan in the 2003 World Cup when a wicket more would’ve tilted the match in their favor; in that Pakistan ODI series where him and Dhoni chased down steep targets for fun; at multiple occasions during the 2007 T20 World Cup and the 2011 ICC World Cup.
It was this potent mix of courage and grit that augmented his already mighty stature. Never was it more evident than his long and sometimes arduous comeback trail after an illness that should’ve ended his cricket career. Every time the mere thought of “is this it” crossed the mind, Yuvraj would come back for one more attempt at resurgence. Every time, he would leave us a glimpse of possibilities. It is staggering that in such an illustrious white ball career, his highest ODI score would come a full five years after he was first detected with cancer. It is poetic that the loudest conversation in Indian cricket in recent times has been about a batting position that Yuvraj Singh made his own.
Yuvraj ended his career as he began. Those three consecutive sixes off Yuzvendra Chahal in this year’s IPL were struck with the same poise and polish as those cuts and pulls off McGrath and Lee all those years back.
For much of his career, taking your eyes off him was almost impossible, such was the force of his magnetism. His retirement leaves cricket poorer, because even though it is now a batsman’s game with inflated averages and strike rates, there are few artists and even fewer mavericks who could retire with a batting average of 36 and still leave a legacy that most would kill for.
Farewell, champion.