Summer of ‘96

Jump to Comments

I was 13 years old, in seventh grade, having my first brushes with teenage - its wonders and perils adding to colour my perception of the world - and there was the war. The Central Bank bombing reminded all Colombo residents that we were not as safe as we thought we were – somehow the ‘North East Conflict’ ceased to be limited to the North and East. And there I was - as apathetic, naïve and clueless a teenager as you could find. Nothing mattered to me then except for cricket.

Not even the female gender - for long a source of annoyance but whose presence had begun to affect my hormones in mysterious ways - could divert my attention away from the game. Whether I was playing or not mattered little; sitting in the sidelines or watching a game on TV, I felt just as much a part of the proceedings as I would have in the middle.

Looking back now, I can see how pivotal a role the Sri Lankan team had in the national psyche, not to mention my own. The game had longed ceased to be just another sport – we were no longer lambs to slaughter, but were on the verge of becoming ruthless hunters. The World Cup of the year resulted a swelling of national pride and patriotism; even the LTTE was apparently enchanted by it all.

In the midst of this period of unprecedented achievement, one man in the Sri Lankan team towered above everyone else. Sanath Jayasuriya had already won the MVP award at the world cup, but greater success was still awaiting him in the next two years. 1996 was, however, when Sanath broke the dyke in his head. The ensuing torrent of runs has changed Sri Lankan cricket and, indeed, the entire landscape of one day cricket in general.

Yesterday, while he was taking the English bowling apart, I felt like that 13 year old again. One has to cast their minds back to a month or two back when, under controversial circumstances, Jayasuriya was asked to reconsider his retirement from test cricket by the chairman of selectors, Ashantha de Mel. Jayasuriya’s original decision to retire was prompted due to the previous selection committee’s preference of youth. Apparently Jayasuriya was too old and ineffectual at the age of 37. One gets the feeling that England’s bowling attack will be the first to rubbish such claims.

Set a target of 321 to win off 50 over, Sri Lanka wasn’t going to lay back; Coach Tom Moody and team captain Mahela Jayawardene had already set their sights on a whitewash. They had the means to surmount the target; in Jayasuriya, they had a man who was well versed in destroying bowling attacks when quick runs were needed. What followed, though, was beyond the expectations of everyone.

In all but nine balls, Jayasuriya smacked 22 runs, inclusive of five fours. It wasn’t the runs itself that told of something special in the making, but the manner in which it was made.

The look that designates every ball a boundary was back. His technique looked solid. His mannerisms and stance, often an indicator of his mental state, looked the perfect mix of the Rock of Gibraltar and the Guns of Navarone of old – impenetrable yet lethal.

Above all, his sheer reliance on natural skill over conventional wisdom was back; it takes a cricketer of rare ability to go down the pitch for a short and wide delivery, and cut it over Point for a six.

When he played that shot, I remembered an equally audacious shot he played on the English tour of 1998 – a shot which has since come to typify everything about the man.

It was the fourth innings of the one off test match between England and Sri Lanka. Set a target of 48 to win in the closing moments of the last day, Alec Stewart, then captain of England, instructed his bowlers to ball short and wide, making run scoring difficult for the Sri Lankan batsmen, in an effort to secure a draw. Through sheer enterprise, Jayasuriya and Atapattu managed to keep the scoreboard ticking along. The late Ben Hollioke then bowled a short delivery, still rising after seemingly passing harmlessly above Jayasuriya’s head.

To most batsmen, the ball was to be left alone. Jayasuriya, however, leapt and played a fierce cut shot whilst in midair. The ball was next seen amidst the crowds behind the Point boundary. Those who swear by the coaching manuals were left dumbfounded.

Yesterday, for a brief 2 hours, it was the summer of 96 again. I was the 13 year old, seventh grader, apathetic – deliberately me thinks - to the happenings of the world. The impending war didn’t weigh me down as it has for the past few months; I thought nought of my career and education; and, more significantly, asked the love of my life if I could be excused from our phone conversation at the time so that I could watch the carnage – an act of stupidity if there ever was one (male readers will be happy to know that I’ve since been forgiven for the indiscretion).

This, then, serves as a tribute to a great man. It is also an explanation to you, my dearest, for my silliness when it comes to cricket.

12 Comments

Filed under Cricket, Sri Lanka Tour England