One week of frailty

If a week is a long time in politics, it can be even longer in cricket, especially when you play four one-day games in seven days. India's tour of Australia, which started back in the last week of November 2003 - when Steve Waugh's baggy green cap was being aired for the last time, and David Hookes was still coaching Victoria - had been one to savour for hard-core fans and neutrals alike.

But in the first week of February, the final straight of what had been a gruelling long-distance haul, the wheels fell off in spectacular fashion. With that, there is the danger, especially among the fickle-minded, of allowing seven days of utter mediocrity to colour a summer that was anything but ordinary.

Sourav Ganguly and his men had emulated their predecessors of 1981 and 1985-86 by drawing a Test series in Australia, and they had done so against opponents considered to be twenty thousand leagues ahead of the next fish in the sea. It was a defining moment in Indian cricket history, an achievement that deserved every single encomium that came its way.

And despite the disappointment of not being able to go the extra mile and win the decisive Test in Sydney, India started the VB Series very much on par with their illustrious hosts. After squandering a winning opportunity in Melbourne, they out-batted Australia in Brisbane, and again in Sydney, only to be denied the second time by the idiosyncrasies pioneered by Messrs Duckworth and Lewis.

Zimbabwe were supposed to be the third apex of a triangle, but they turned out to be little more than props in a play whose script was beyond their comprehension. Their best moments, few and far between, were largely the result of Heath Streak's lionhearted efforts, and complacency from India and Australia.

The second half of the league phase, with India and Australia almost assured of contesting the final, was a monumental waste of time and energy. In no other sport, except tennis where the Davis Cup still sees dead rubbers played, are spectators and players subjected to such a farce. If the authorities can find a logical explanation for subjecting us - the normal folk, as opposed to bent ones who see such nonsense games as a source of revenue - to such contests, we'd be happy to listen.

The charade affected India the most. As it is, with the tour winding down, players' thoughts tended to turn to home and hearth, and in this case, a tour of Pakistan for which no details have been finalised. To add to that, there was a week of inactivity punctuated by a meaningless hit-out against a Prime Minister's XI, seven days when the intensity - that had hitherto defined the tour - was lost.

The capitulation on a bouncy track in Perth should have served as a wake-up call, but subsequent humiliations at Melbourne and Sydney revealed that the players had been running on empty. But at this level, there can be no excuses, and when it came to the crunch, Australia proved that they are still peerless as a one-day side.

Unlike the five-day version where you can take a session, or four, of punishment and still emerge victorious, one-day cricket is an unforgiving mistress. Momentum once lost can seldom be regained. And the way the Australians play it, pedal floored regardless of whether they have ten wickets or three intact, there's seldom time to regain composure and fight back. That was never more evident than in the two finals, when a fiery new-ball burst and a blitz with the bat was more than enough to see off India's pallid challenge.

Sift through the pieces of the broken dream though, and you'll find plenty to smile about. VVS Laxman batted with a majesty and grandeur that made a mockery of those who considered him a one-day liability, while Irfan Pathan showed enough talent, heart and aggression to suggest that he should be the third component of India's pace attack alongside Zaheer Khan and Ajit Agarkar. And that's not to forget Laxmipathy Balaji, who bowled with tremendous discipline and composure almost every time Ganguly tossed the ball his way.

There is still much to learn. Forty years ago, Muhammad Ali punched Ernie Terrell into a stupor for twelve rounds - asking, "What's my name? What's my name?" with each punch - after the upstart had dared to call him Cassius Clay. Pathan had a similar experience yesterday after foolishly baiting Matthew Hayden, who has been dishing it out, and taking it, since the time Pathan was a toddler. The only way to wind up these Australians is to outperform them. To try and out-sledge them is as optimistic as expecting an Eskimo to be terrified of snow.

History shouldn't remember these Indians for one week of frailty. For three weeks, they clung to Australia's coat-tails in the one-day arena, after once more illustrating that they are almost their equals in Test cricket. Ganguly and his men should be feted for an Indian summer that was as bright as their sky-blue shirts, rather than for seven days at the end when dark clouds cast a shadow on a job well done.