“Ah, lots of pressure on the skippy eh! He let his whole country down, you can tell. The weight of all these expectations fellas! (sic) 42 million supporters here depending on…Shaun”
Kumar Sangakkara was mocking and cleverly sledging South African skipper Shaun Pollock in the 2003 World Cup match, which South Africa lost and were eventually eliminated from the tournament.
The wicketkeeper-batsman was a shrewd operator behind the stumps, putting his law practices to good use in annoying the batsmen with his verbal excellence. Three editions down the line, Pollock probably had his revenge; or maybe that was forgotten. In all likelihood, he too stood to applaud a great career.
The quarter-final match between South Africa and Sri Lanka was of two contrasting sides – one that had failed to live upto its expectations at the world stage, while the other that had always punched above its weight. Sri Lanka today, unfortunately fell into the pit that looked designed for South African cricket, crumbling without external pressure. The script changed and so did the chokers.
For the man who exhibited beauty and grace with his strokes, transforming cricket into a battle of artistry, metamorphosing the contact of bat and ball into a paintbrush and canvas, had to finish off with a scratchy innings.
It isn’t uncommon for the greatest of players to end their careers on that note. In recent past Sachin Tendulkar, Ricky Ponting, Jacques Kallis all went through that. For Kumar Sangakkara that wasn’t the case. Even on the last leg of his career, he was promising greater things. He was in the form that few had replicated earlier in their careers.
He had raced away to four consecutive centuries coming into the match, he had overtaken the ODI and world cup record of most dismissals behind the stumps. He had also gone on to become the second-highest run-getter in ODIs, behind Sachin Tendulkar. Barely a year ago, he had finished his T20 career with a world cup win.
Everything couldn’t have been perfect, the final piece of the jigsaw had a broken edge. The law of averages undid everything phenomenal Sangakkara had achieved over the last two years, every record he surpassed defying age and expectations. His farewell was an unfair epitaph on an enchanting story, one scripted with narrative beauty of glorious drives.
While bats in modern day cricket became heavier, muscular men took to the game, Sangakkara avenged his cause for runs with sublime artistry, turning the bat into a paint brush, caressing the ball through gaps and reforming the game of cricket into a Michelangelo art. He rarely decimated the opposition; he instead charmed them into believing that everything is alright while the scoreboard moved at a good pace.
For long, his game was a lullaby, studded with poetic excellence. He wasn’t a brash hitter or one that would visibly tear apart bowling attacks. He would mesmerize the audience, the bowlers and the fielders all together. It is only when you drift away from the song that puts you to sleep, do you realise the destruction he has caused, the runs he has amassed. Every single innings stood a testimony to that lullaby. His career as a whole represented one long song. He couldn’t bore you with it.
By the end of it all, when you realise it is time for him to go, you search through the stats and see all that he has achieved, all of the greats he has surpassed, all the legendary records he has reworked. In cricket, statistics often give a false representation. But with players like Sangakkara, you need it to establish his position as a legend.
Sangakkara was an artist, but not a Van Gogh. He was the Michaelangelo of cricket. He was simply a batsman who could don the gloves for his team. By the time his career came to an end, he had 482 dismissals to his credit, 10 more than the second best.
When Muttiah Muralitharan, the last Lankan legend, retired in 2011, Sangakkara, 11 years into cricket, was still nowhere close to becoming Sri Lanka’s greatest batsman. Arvinda de Silva and Sanath Jayasuriya’s exploits were still held in higher regard. In fact, his own teammate and best friend, Mahela Jayawardene was a bigger name in Sri Lankan cricket. Four years on, he walks away as the greatest batsman from the island nation and arguably the greatest left-hander of all time.
More than his batting exploits, he had a lion’s heart. He fought against the ailing system, the unfair practices of the Sri Lankan cricket board. He stood and battled for the younger players, for better pay and remained a fearless and candid speaker for the betterment of Sri Lankan cricket.
Thank you for the painting, thank you for the song, thank you for your cricket!
