Vox

One of the delights of the T20 World Cup has been the commentary. Even allowing for he occasional cliche-riddled specimen the broadcasters’ quota-driven recruitment throws up, the standard has been streets ahead of those set by IPL’s band of hyperventilating hypemeisters who appeared to operate on the theory that if you scream something loud enough and often enough, it will somehow seep into the public consciousness and take root there.

The atmosphere is fan-TASTIC! The crowds are abso-LUTELY amazing! [Aside to cameraman: No, no, don’t show those empty stands]. The T20 magazine is on the stands all over the world and it is absolutely fantastic, with great articles and great pictures and there is even an interview with Lalit Modi!!! That was a fan-tastic shot! Hit right off the middle of the bat — and a fan-tastic bit of fielding at mid off, no run…

Yeah, sometime in the first hour of the first game, we got the point — everything is fan-tastic! The fours brought to you by Airtel, the sixes DLF Maximums brought to you by — surprise — DLF…

When I cribbed about the commentary after a particularly trying phase [“That is improbable because the probability factor is less”], he told me it wasn’t easy to talk live. You should try it sometime, he advised. Thing is, I have. Had. For the 2000 World Cup, Rediff had the bright idea of streaming audio commentary, and by the time the tournament was over I was heartily sick of commentary, cricket, and everything associated.

I’d get locked into this soundproof studio on our premises some 15 minutes before the game. I wasn’t allowed to take drinks in there [no tea, coffee, nothing] or eats;  there was no relief since I was the only commentator, so I ended up in that room, talking three and a half hours non-stop, running off to take a leak and have some coffee, then getting back in there to do it all over again for the second innings.

Hated every damn  moment of it.

I agree — talking live is tough; finding the right balance between shrill and somnolent is tough; staying out of cliche territory while trying to talk around the visuals is tough [“That was a great cover drive” — Err, how the hell does a great cover drive differ from the ordinary sort, for a guy who is listening to you?] — but that is the point, really: it is a demanding profession but if the practitioner is willing to work at it, it can be done and done well.

Hence the delight as we listen to the acerbic Mike Atherton, or the dry to-the-point prose of Ian Chappell [They were discussing fielding the other day, and wondering why Pakistan was stuffing up. The co-commentator suggested that maybe they don’t practice enough. “It depends on what you are practicing,” Chappelli chipped in. “You could be practicing your mistakes.”]

The WC has fielded a great lineup, with the odd exception and even so  — color me biased, if you will — the best periods are when Harsha Bhogle teams up with Anil Kumble. They are not much given to superlatives — to get a ‘fantastic‘ out of them, the on-field action actually has to merit it. And Anil is in my book the MVP of the commentary team: a distinctive voice, a calm, measured delivery that reeks of authority.

“He was understandably a bit nervous to start of with,” Harsha said in mail just now in response to a note from me. “But he is very earnest; he asks about how he is doing and looks to improve. He was asking if he sounded energetic enough — I suggested to him that he talk to someone about ten yards away. His second stint in the studio was already significantly better than the first. He is keen to speak with the producers about how he is doing and how he can add something different — in all, good to have him.”

Amen!

PostScript:  Credit Sunil Gavaskar with this story. He was once sharing the box with Richie Benaud. Someone — Kim Hughes, I think — had just hit a century, and Sunny went into ecstasies. Or started to, but then he noticed Benaud holding his hand up, so he shut up, thinking the senior commentator wanted to say something.

Benaud let the silence build, and then at one point, gestured that SMG should  start talking. At the end of the session, Gavaskar went to the producers, asked them to replay that bit for him, and realized what Benaud had just taught him. The batsman taking off his helmet and kissing the crest, his partner and even his opponents coming up to congratulate him, the crowd rising to its feet to vocally acclaim a brilliant innings — the visuals spoke volumes, the commentator didn’t need to.