The World of Cricket is undergoing generational transformation. Great players the world over are stepping down, satisfied at having given their respective countries the best they've got. Australia lost a line of all-time legends over the last few years. Ricky Ponting was the latest to join the list. The Indians too have lost all their Golden Era torchbearers, save the most revered Sachin Tendulkar. In such a situation, it almost becomes customary for sports writers everywhere to devote extra time and effort in writing tributes to the passing greats, enumerating their many achievements and counting their many qualities.
You could look at this post as yet another of those many tributes flying around at the moment. But I simply had to write it - for it isn't often that one sees a man, known as a legend, not for his super numbers, but for his pure indulgence under pressure. One such man is the now retired 'Physician of Indian Cricket', Vangipurappu Venkat Sai Laxman, or VVS 'Very Very Special' Laxman.
VVS Laxman was not quite the sort of sportsman who went professional right from his little kid days. He was a student of medicine. A few more years in medical college and perhaps the world would have missed out on seeing the finest cricketing physician yet. To the mighty Australians of the early millennium, VVS Laxman needs no introduction. In 2001, Kolkata was to witness what many call the greatest Test match of all time. It was the legendary Australian team of the time, the erstwhile world champions, record breakers, benchmark setters of world cricket, running on a rampage. In fact, Steve Waugh's team was unstoppable. They were on the threshold of making history, holding the most number of consecutive test wins in all time. And nothing seemed like it was going to keep them from winning as many as they felt like. Certainly not India, in the first half of that game. The Australians piled on a massive amount of runs on the hosts and then got them reeling in their second innings. Until Doctor Laxman walked in to cure the terminal illness. With Rahul Dravid by his side, Laxman played the most breathtaking of strokes against the likes of Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath on a rapidly deteriorating pitch at the Eden Gardens. Warne tried to weave magic with the ball. But the Doctor made him look ordinary. "To all you kids out there, don't try this at home," Matthew Hayden later said recalling Laxman's strokeplay. After a day and a half of the most elegant and classy piece of batting, Laxman made 281 runs. The Australians couldn't get rid of him. To their horror, they ended on the losing side. The dream run was over, and in the most improbable way.
That innings sparked off something inside VVS Laxman. He seemed to feast on Australian bowling, at home and away, anywhere, anytime, every time he felt hungry. In 2004, Brisbane, Laxman steered India to a historic ODI win over the Aussies. He wasn't brash. Never really flashy. He has hit a total of 9 sixes in 220 international games, unfortunately, none of which I have seen. But Laxman didn't need to hit sixes, unlike others, to make himself devastating. He had the knack of beating the opposition black and blue through fluid strokeplay and unerring calm. And he did it more so when the case was lost and his team was packing up. In Mohali, 2008, he delivered the most perfect example of that, once again with the Australians at the receiving end. Chasing down a tricky score, once again on a deteriorating pitch, India were in deep trouble. The top and middle order, and almost every recognized and recognizable batsman, had gone away for close to nothing. Doctor Laxman was left with the likes of Pragyan Ojha and Ishant Sharma for company and over a hundred runs yet to get. But the Doctor didn't need much assistance. He carried out the surgery all alone - carefully and craftily. History was recorded. India had beaten Australia to nil in a test series for the first time. The Australians looked on sulkily. Doctor Laxman smirked in the background.
But Laxman could do what he did against the Aussies with equal ease against everyone else as well - South Africa, England, New Zealand, West Indies. It caught more attention that he did what he did against Australia, almost unfailingly, all the time. For they were the finest of all time. They played hard. They believed that to defeat the opponent, you had to break him apart. They tried the strategy on Laxman on innumerable occasions and in innumerable ways. But he was unflappable. He seemed to like it. And that irritated the Australians even further. He was a stoic on the pitch. Nothing annoyed him. Not even the pitch itself, never the playing conditions. The Doctor believed he could cure any disease and he rarely faltered. Today, Indian cricket has been made poorer by the retirement of a Very Very Special cricketer. It might be customary to call a retired cricketer 'irreplaceable'. But it's not often that you have a Doctor around, always at your service.
You could look at this post as yet another of those many tributes flying around at the moment. But I simply had to write it - for it isn't often that one sees a man, known as a legend, not for his super numbers, but for his pure indulgence under pressure. One such man is the now retired 'Physician of Indian Cricket', Vangipurappu Venkat Sai Laxman, or VVS 'Very Very Special' Laxman.
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| Operation Impossible: Laxman crafting a flick |
That innings sparked off something inside VVS Laxman. He seemed to feast on Australian bowling, at home and away, anywhere, anytime, every time he felt hungry. In 2004, Brisbane, Laxman steered India to a historic ODI win over the Aussies. He wasn't brash. Never really flashy. He has hit a total of 9 sixes in 220 international games, unfortunately, none of which I have seen. But Laxman didn't need to hit sixes, unlike others, to make himself devastating. He had the knack of beating the opposition black and blue through fluid strokeplay and unerring calm. And he did it more so when the case was lost and his team was packing up. In Mohali, 2008, he delivered the most perfect example of that, once again with the Australians at the receiving end. Chasing down a tricky score, once again on a deteriorating pitch, India were in deep trouble. The top and middle order, and almost every recognized and recognizable batsman, had gone away for close to nothing. Doctor Laxman was left with the likes of Pragyan Ojha and Ishant Sharma for company and over a hundred runs yet to get. But the Doctor didn't need much assistance. He carried out the surgery all alone - carefully and craftily. History was recorded. India had beaten Australia to nil in a test series for the first time. The Australians looked on sulkily. Doctor Laxman smirked in the background.
But Laxman could do what he did against the Aussies with equal ease against everyone else as well - South Africa, England, New Zealand, West Indies. It caught more attention that he did what he did against Australia, almost unfailingly, all the time. For they were the finest of all time. They played hard. They believed that to defeat the opponent, you had to break him apart. They tried the strategy on Laxman on innumerable occasions and in innumerable ways. But he was unflappable. He seemed to like it. And that irritated the Australians even further. He was a stoic on the pitch. Nothing annoyed him. Not even the pitch itself, never the playing conditions. The Doctor believed he could cure any disease and he rarely faltered. Today, Indian cricket has been made poorer by the retirement of a Very Very Special cricketer. It might be customary to call a retired cricketer 'irreplaceable'. But it's not often that you have a Doctor around, always at your service.
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