Janaka Malwatta

Sri Lanka pulled together as a team in the World T20 to give Jayawardene and Sangakkara the farewell they deserve

07-Apr-2014

Firecrackers exploded all over Sri Lanka last night. Papare bands played to jostling crowds in front of makeshift screens. On the usually staid streets of Galle Fort, throngs of raucous arm-waving fans danced to the music of an impromptu sound system set up on the back of a Toyota Hilux. Ape kolo, our boys, had delivered. The victory was a vindication not only of the courageous decision to tour Bangladesh in January, when security concerns were raised, it was also vindication of a team ethic.

The triumph in the final of the World T20 in Mirpur came after successive defeats in limited-overs finals - in 2007, 2009, 2011, and 2012. Sri Lanka did not choke in those finals. They came up against a series of spectacular forces of nature - quite literally in 2007, when Caribbean rain combined with an Adam Gilchrist masterclass. Sri Lanka had been outplayed by teams who were better on the day. This time it was their turn.

Just as the World Cup in 2011 became subsumed in the emotion surrounding Sachin Tendulkar's last opportunity to win a World Cup, this tournament was the last chance for two of cricket's great servants to win a competition in this format. Mahela Jayawardene and Kumar Sangakkara, two gentlemen of Sri Lanka, to quote Darren Sammy's gracious words, had announced their retirement from T20 cricket before the tournament started. High stakes, indeed.

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Here's to Herath

Stocky, unassuming, and bearing something of the air of the Sunday cricketer about him, Rangana Herath is the antithesis of the star Sri Lankan cricketer

Janaka Malwatta

03-Apr-2014

Rangana Herath has grabbed the spotlight with both hands this week. It is an unfamiliar position for him. In contrast to the near-deification bestowed on Sri Lanka's stellar cricketers, Herath has slipped gently into the national consciousness. I can't help but feel that suits his style.

HMRKB Herath - he follows the Sri Lankan tradition of having almost as many initials as there are letters in your surname - comes from Kurunegala, a city that sits amidst coconut and rubber plantations, surrounded by hills, including the elephant-shaped rock that gives the city its name. A 14th-century capital, Kurunegala is an unhurried city of past glories. These unflashy beginnings are reflected in Herath's approach.

A short, stocky man, Herath cuts an innocuous, almost inconspicuous, figure. Whereas the Sangakkaras and Jayawardenes of this world are instantly recognised, Herath could stroll into his local market without causing a stir. It is the same on the cricket field. A murmur of expectation might go around the ground when Abdul Qadir or Dale Steyn, both in their own ways explosive performers, take the ball. When Herath saunters to the crease, it's almost as if someone has strolled into a Sunday afternoon game, hoping to get a bowl.

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Lahore, five years on

The loss of international cricket in Pakistan since the terror attack on the Sri Lankan team bus has been cruel on the country's fans and the rest of the cricket world

Janaka Malwatta

19-Mar-2014

March 3, 2009. Lahore. The third day of the second Test between Pakistan and Sri Lanka. The match is not remembered for the cricket. I imagine most people would have to refer to the records, as did I, to find out that Thilan Samaraweera scored a remarkable second double-century in successive Tests, or that Umar Gul toiled for a day and a half to earn a six-wicket haul. As the Sri Lankan team made its way to the Gaddafi Stadium, 12 gunmen launched a lethal attack on the Sri Lanka team bus. Six policemen and two bystanders were killed, as was the driver of the minivan carrying the match officials. Seven members of the Sri Lankan team, the assistant coach, and the reserve umpire were injured. It was the worst attack on an international sports team since the Munich Olympics in 1972.

The tour took place against a background of uncertainty. Sri Lanka had replaced India, who had pulled out after the Mumbai attacks in November 2008. Much has been written about the inadequate security for the travelling team and officials. Following safety concerns, the Pakistani government had guaranteed "presidential-style security" for the tour, which patently failed to materialise. Astonishingly, the attackers simply sauntered off into the Lahore traffic. None were injured or apprehended at the scene. The lack of security was all the more puzzling, given an internal police report a month earlier had warned an attack against the Sri Lanka team was planned.

The worst affected by the tragedy, of course, are the men who died and their families. It seems incomprehensible that such appalling loss could be associated with something as benign as a cricket match. Of the cricketers affected, Samaraweera and Tharanga Paranavitana suffered the worst injuries. Thankfully, both of them recovered and resumed their international careers, as did Ahsan Raza, the reserve umpire.

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Is supporting the opposition a crime?

Which sporting team you support is deeply personal, and tied in to your sense of identity

Janaka Malwatta

11-Mar-2014

The complex interplay of allegiance, identity and nationalism has been highlighted by recent events in Meerut. Kashmiri Indian students at the Swami Vivekanand Subharti University incurred the ire of the Uttar Pradesh authorities by cheering when Pakistan defeated India in a recent Asia Cup match. For this gesture, they were charged with sedition - a serious crime, one step short of treason, introduced under British rule as a counter-measure to anti-colonial rebellion. The charges have been dropped but the students remain suspended. A heavy price to pay.

Sport can be regarded as an abstract expression of skill, athleticism and artistry, but at its heart it is a contest. Watching sport as a neutral observer, one might admire the technical prowess of the competitors, their determination, even be drawn in by the drama of a closely fought contest. But it is a semi-detached enjoyment, akin to the way one might appreciate a Holbein masterpiece or the Rubaiyats of Omar Khayyam. It is an intellectual pleasure.

To experience the contest at a visceral level, to savour the chest-thumping, heart-pumping, gut-constricting fears and triumphs, you have to invest something of yourself in it. As in life, the more you invest, the greater the risk, the greater the reward. You have to be prepared for the hurt of defeat to revel in the soaring joy of victory. You have to care.

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There's something about cricket's artists

In the heat of battle, with the outcome in the balance, many fans will clap an opponent's shot if it is sufficiently beauteous

Janaka Malwatta

02-Mar-2014

Cricket is an aesthete's game. The delicate dab of a Jayawardene late cut, the elegance of an Amla drive, the crisp crack of a Greenidge cut; these are things of beauty. Cricket prizes style as much as substance. An outswinger nibbling at the edge of an outstretched bat will elicit a round of applause, even though there is no tangible result. In the cut and thrust of battle, with the outcome in the balance, the cricket fan will clap an opponent's shot if it is sufficiently beauteous. The efficient run machines may win matches; it is the artists who capture our hearts.

Consider Graham Gooch, a run-accumulator par excellence. There was something awkward in his rigidly upright stance, a touch of the gawky adolescent at the school disco. Even during his greatest innings, a startling 333 against India in 1990, it could not be argued that his batting was easy on the eye. (Nor was his running. Famously described by Ian Botham as having "the worst legs for a body I have ever seen", Gooch was a clockwork toy in ataxic motion when he gambolled between the wickets. The exception was when he was doing Bob Willis impersonations, mimicking Willis' arcing run-up and exaggerated arm swings during Test matches. That truly was worth watching.)

His compatriot and contemporary, DI Gower, in sharp contradistinction, was the embodiment of style. At the age of 21, he announced himself in his debut Test by hitting his first delivery for four through midwicket. It's the way James Bond would have made his debut. To this day, the Gower cover drive rivals those of Graeme Pollock and Kumar Sangakkara as the final word in elegance. Gooch is rightly revered for his undisputed technical prowess, but it is Gower's strokeplay that sticks in the mind.

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From 'sarong Johnnie' to national icon

By refusing to back down, Arjuna Ranatunga proved to the opposition and his own team that Sri Lanka had earned the right to compete as equals

Janaka Malwatta

31-Jan-2014

Sri Lanka always had cricketers who made the world sit up and take notice.

Sidath Wettimuny, refined and understated, and Duleep Mendis, buccaneering and devil-may-care, were the early heroes of a nascent Test nation. Aravinda de Silva, one of the most graceful batsmen to play the game, was Sri Lanka's first true great. In an era of Brian Lara, Sachin Tendulkar and Ricky Ponting, Wasim Akram described de Silva as the most difficult batsman to bowl to. More recently, Mahela Jayawardene and Kumar Sangakkara have compiled over 10,000 Test runs each, putting them among the top ten run accumulators in history. And no discussion of Sri Lankan greats could even start without reference to Muttiah Muralitharan, arguably the greatest spin bowler of all time, who carried Sri Lanka's bowling attack almost single-handedly for much of his 18-year career.

But top-level sport is won and lost in the mind. One man was responsible for changing the mentality of the Sri Lankan team he captained and the individuals in it. In so doing, he forged a team that believed it could defeat all comers. Under Arjuna Ranatunga's leadership, Sri Lanka went from charming amateurs to World Cup winners. It didn't happen by chance.

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Murali magic at The Oval

He could spin it on the M4, they said. Come the Oval Test in 1998, he proved them right

Janaka Malwatta

05-Jan-2014

The Test at The Oval in August 1998 was a defining match in Sri Lanka's development, their first Test victory over England away from home. Sri Lanka had by then proved themselves to be a cricketing nation of note. Two years previously, they had won the World Cup with a daring and fearless brand of cricket, besting the legendary Australian side in the final. Despite this, the ECB deigned to award Sri Lanka just a solitary Test. This travesty persisted until 2002, a full 20 years after Sri Lanka's Test debut. The injustice was felt keenly by the team and supporters alike. Everyone felt they had a point to prove.

Key to Sri Lanka's hopes was Muttiah Muralitharan, rapidly establishing himself as one of the world's most feared bowlers. Sri Lanka, and particularly Murali, had endured a bruising coming-of-age tour to Australia in 1995-96. Amid the controversy about Murali's bowling action, one thing was clear: Sri Lanka had progressed from innocent amateurs to serious competitors, evidenced by the sledging heaped on them by the Australians. The controversy followed Murali to England, stoked by injudicious words from David Lloyd, the England cricket manager. Curiously, Lloyd didn't seem to have the same concerns about Murali's action when Murali was harvesting wickets for Lloyd's beloved Lancashire.

In 1998, The Oval was the antithesis of Lord's. Situated among the gas rings and council estates of South London, rather than the leafy lanes of St John's Wood, The Oval was vibrant where Lord's was staid, welcoming where Lord's was aloof. Nowhere was London's north-south divide better illustrated. Crucially for Sri Lanka, The Oval pitch provided bounce as well as turn, critical to Murali's success. Asked whether Murali would be able to extract turn from The Oval pitch, Ranjit Fernando, the Sri Lanka tour manager, replied, "He would turn it on the M4." Prophetic words.

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Why Galle matters

There are few cricket venues more beautiful than the Galle International Stadium, a ground that has a special place in Sri Lankan hearts

Janaka Malwatta

01-Dec-2013

Cricket, perhaps more than other sports, is characterised by the beauty of its venues. Newlands in Cape Town rests against the towering majesty of Table Mountain. And who can forget Brian Lara hooking his way to a world record in Antigua, with the Caribbean Sea shimmering behind him? Galle, with its 17th century fort and Indian Ocean views, ranks with the best settings.

The high ramparts of Galle's Dutch Fort loom behind the ground, a giant lithic spectator. The fort, replete with terracotta-tiled villas and half-hidden eateries, is as wondrous an environ for cricket as you could wish for. Within its thick hiri gal walls, peddle-carts trundle door to door, bringing freshly caught fish from the nearby harbour. Wiry men weave along the streets on bicycles laden with heavy bunches of king coconut. The English Gate, the main entrance to the fort, is a two-minute amble from the ground. When cricket's in town, the fort is overrun.

Galle has a special place in Sri Lankan hearts. Muttiah Muralitharan and latterly Rangana Herath have conjured improbable victories on its turning pitches. Murali concocted his own bit of magic, taking the eight wickets he needed to reach a world-record 800 Test dismissals in his last match. He even managed to prolong the drama, as India's obdurate tailenders and Lasith Malinga's searing yorkers seemed fated to leave him on a not-too-dusty 799 wickets, before Mahela Jayawardene swooped on an edge extracted from Pragyan Ojha.

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Baila arrives at Lord's

When Sri Lanka played their first Test at Lord's, in 1984, a 16-year-old discovered the joy of being a supporter

Janaka Malwatta

05-Nov-2013

August 1984. That rarest of beasts, a hot English summer. Grandmaster Melle Mel's "White Lines", the soundtrack of that summer, brought a new music, hip-hop, to the streets. I was 16 years old, on the brink of adulthood, and wherever I looked, change was in the air.

Eclipsing all else was the momentous event about to unfurl at Lord's; Sri Lanka's first official Test in England. On a hazy Thursday morning, I joined a throng of Sri Lankan supporters at the Grace Gates. It felt as if every Sri Lankan I knew was at the match. Aunties carried foil packets crammed with patties and vadai, uncles sneaked off to the bars as soon as they opened. It had been a long wait for Test status. The Sri Lankans had come to enjoy themselves.

For the England cricket team, playing a match against a fledgling Test country at the fag end of the summer was probably the last thing they wanted to do. David Gower's team had been battered in every sense by Clive Lloyd's West Indians in five brutal Test matches. At The Oval, scene of the final denouement, placards proclaimed the "blackwash". Perhaps Gower was simply weary when he invited Sri Lanka to bat first on a wicket so placid that Ranjan Madugalle remarked, "Machang, you could go to sleep on this", shortly before he was bowled.

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