The Legend of Pradeep Mathew (5 page)

In 1938 a test between South Africa and England went on for nine days and remained unfinished. Pursuing 696, England had to stop their run chase at 654–5 as their ship back to Blighty was ready to leave. After that, test matches were restricted to five days. Some say they are still too long; I think they are just right.

‘I’ll tell you what I love about you Shree Lankans?’

The shrink has been paid a consultancy fee and sent home while we do his job for him. We help Graham through the first bottle and most of his depression. His wife had caught him with a barmaid in the West Indies and left, leaving a hole in his life that no amount of parties in presidential suites or sponsorship deals could fill.

‘You’re passionate about the game, but you’re also easy-going. The Indians and the Pakis have gone absolutely bananas.’

It is November of 1995. Little do we all know that in less than six months Sri Lanka would also be going bananas. In the preceding year, Sri Lanka had won their first series overseas, humbling Craig Turner’s New Zealanders, and had become the first team to beat Pakistan at home in fifteen years. Later this year they would travel to Australia, where Darrell Hair would no-ball Murali for chucking, setting in motion a chain of events that would climax at a World Cup final in Lahore in March 1996.

‘I read all of your articles,’ says Graham. ‘The
Times
could do with writers like you.’

I hope he means the
Times
of London.

‘England it’s all Cantona and Mansell. No one gives a flying fuck about cricket. But suddenly these little Shree Lankans are capturing the imagination of the world.’

Ari and I chuckle quietly. We decide against telling Graham Snow about our silly game. ‘Sir Richard Hadlee reckons they might grab the Cup. Not sure I’m sure about that…’

‘Graham, please.’ I begin counting down my fingers. ‘Look at our batting. Sanath, Kalu, Guru, Aravinda, Arjuna, Roshan, Hashan…’

‘Flair at the top, maturity in the middle, discipline lower down,’ Ari says with gusto. ‘And our bowling and fielding are much more focused.’

‘For the first time,’ I say, ‘we are real contenders for the Cup.’

‘Hmm. You may well be right,’ says Graham. ‘This fella Mathew. Will he play?’

Ari and I exchange glances. Pradeep Mathew had not played a test since the 1994 Zimbabwe tour. He was a surprise selection for the tour to New Zealand, but did not play a single game. I attempted to contact him when researching the
Sportstar
article, but the Sri Lanka Board of Control for Cricket, SLBCC, refused to give me his details. He did not play in that year’s domestic season. There were murmurings of a serious injury.

‘You know that boy holds the record for best bowling in a one-dayer,’ says Graham.

‘You are mistaken,’ says Ari. ‘That is Aaqib Javed with 7 for…’

‘7 for 37. Right. Mathew got 8 for 17.’

‘Impossible,’ says Ari.

‘Wanna bet?’

‘You don’t want to bet with me, Mr Graham.’

‘Listen,’ says the great man. ‘There are two reasons I called you here. One is for a business proposition. The other is to show you this…’

He pulls an envelope from his shirt pocket. And right then, the Russian brunette, formerly bra-less, now topless, runs into the garden, chased by Rambo – and Mohinder Binny who is wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Ari and I look on in disbelief. The Russian is rolling on the tiles while Binny tries to hold her down. We are unsure if she is laughing or crying.

‘This is not an opium den,’ says Ari. ‘It’s a bloody orgy house.’

We both shrug, clink our glasses and stare at the envelope while Graham Snow yells raw expletives at Rambo.

An all-rounder is a player who can bat and bowl. A genuine all-rounder should be able to make the team on either skill alone. A genuine one is as rare as a punctual Sri Lankan.

There are plenty of bowlers who can bat a bit, and plenty of batsmen who roll their arm over occasionally. Such players are patronisingly described as ‘useful’. The New Zealand team once comprised eleven such ‘useful’ players, prompting the Turbaned Indian Commentator, or TIC, to remark, ‘I bet even the sheep in New Zealand can bowl medium pace and bat number 7.’

The 1987 World Cup was the first to be held outside of Blighty. It was the beginning of the eastward march of cricket’s power base. A move that would be completed by the time Sri Lanka held the trophy aloft nine years later.

In ’87, the number of overs per innings was reduced from 60 to 50, giving Lady Luck a greater hand in close games. Spin replaced pace as the dominant force, and for the first time neutral umpires stood in the middle.

Games were closer. Here is a random sample of results: Australia beat India by 1 run, NZ beat Zimbabwe by 3, Pakistan beat us by 15, but lost to the West Indies by 1 wicket. For the first time ever the Windies failed to reach the semis, despite Viv Richards plundering a then record 181 against, who else, Sri Lanka. It was the beginning of the end for them. The baton of supremacy would soon be wrested from their ebony fingers.

The curry-phobic West came well prepared. New Zealand shipped tins of beans and bottled water and had to book two extra rooms in Hyderabad to store provisions. England brought an expert in tropical diseases and a microwave oven, but sadly not too many batsmen who could score over a run a ball.

Nevertheless, the land that invented the game overcame hosts India to reach the final, while Allan Border’s Aussies, fired up by Zaheer Abbas calling them ‘a bunch of club cricketers’, outplayed the favoured Pakistanis at Lahore.

Sri Lanka had an awful tournament. Even Zimbabwe looked more competitive. Our team was shunted from Peshawar to Kanpur to Faisalabad to Pune: two-day journeys each way, with more hours spent in transit lounges than in the nets.

Sri Lanka toured with three spinners: Sridharan Jeganathan, Don Anurasiri and Pradeep Mathew. Mathew played only one game against Pakistan, which we lost by 113 runs. He picked up the scalps of Imran Khan, bowled by an angling googly, and Javed Miandad, yorked by a darter, causing some to question why he was not used till our fifth game.

In 1987, my son Garfield played Under-13 for Wesley. He began the season as an opening batsman and a left-arm spinner. He ended the season as a reserve in the B-team. I told him not to worry. That we would work on his game. That next season he would be a regular player and in three years he could try for the 1st XI. What happened was nothing of the sort.

Graham Snow remembers 1987 as the first rock-and-roll World Cup. A masala of noise and colour. ‘The fireworks, the magic shows, the armed escorts and, we didn’t know it at the time, the bookies. I tell you, this was a far cry from the members’ stand at Lord’s.’

I tell him I do not remember Mathew playing more than one game in that tournament.

‘Oh, Mathew was rubbish. So were Shree Lanka. Forget the World Cup. I’m talking about the qualifying games. Me and Bill did the commentary.’

In 1987, Sri Lanka had been a test nation for five years, but were, statistically at least, a disappointment. 25 tests: 2 wins. 61 one-dayers: 41 losses.

NZ took twenty-six years to post their first test victory, we took just three. Yet in 1987, Sri Lanka, five-year-old test nation, suffered the indignity of having to qualify by playing third-string sides like Zimbabwe, Bangladesh, Denmark, Argentina, Israel and Gibraltar. Yes, Israel has a cricket team.

‘Against Gibraltar, Pradeep Mathew took 9 wickets. 9 for 40-odd. Gibraltans were all out for 120, your men Mendis and Dias belted those runs in 20 overs.’

This is news to us.

‘9 wickets? Can’t be. In ’87, the record belonged to Winston Davis, 7 for 51,’ says Ari the show-off. ‘Are you sure, Graham?’

‘No one reported it, because Gibraltar were not a recognised side.’

‘Fair enough,’ I say, winking at Ari.

It is another of our recurring arguments. Do records count if they are against weak opposition, at home, or in favourable conditions? To this day Ari argues that Sri Lanka are still not a great side, since we win all our matches at home. Like our record-breaking 398 against Kenya in Kandy. I argue that he is talking through his rectum.

‘Against Bermuda, in the semi-final, he takes 8 for 17,’ says Graham. ‘Now Bermuda were losing finalists in the ’82 ICC qualifiers, which gave them temporary one-day status, which meant…’

‘…that Mathew’s figures were official,’ I say. ‘Which means a Sri Lankan holds the record for best one-day bowling.’

‘Not officially,’ says Graham. ‘But yes.’

Ari starts laughing. Sri Lankans deal with injustice in different ways. I grumble and moan, Ari laughs.

Batsmen score, bowlers try and get them out, fielders catch and stem the runs. Whoever is left standing on the most runs at the end, wins.

In test cricket, unless four innings are completed, a draw is declared. If teams bowl defensively or if batsmen play too slowly, no one wins. Least of all the poor buggers who wasted five days watching.

I no longer feel the roof vibrate under my feet. The party has quietened and the vodka has wrapped a fluffy blanket across our mood. We are joined by Mohinder Binny, still in boxer shorts, sans the topless Russian. He sits down, toasts the memory of 1983 and passes out.

Hashan Mahanama and a hard-hitting Sinhalese Sports Club, SSC, batsman whose name I forget smoke cigarettes at the other end of the balcony.

‘Buggers shouldn’t smoke,’ says Ari. ‘They are professional sportsmen.’

‘Hogwash. We lived on beer and fags and steak and pies,’ says Graham Snow. ‘Would Gower have been more elegant if he’d been raised on isotonic drinks? Nonsense.’

Graham lets us read and reread the letter he obtained from the International Cricket Council’s Sri Lanka file. ‘After I read your article, I got my PA to do some digging around. She came up with this a few weeks ago. Convinced me of two things. That Shree Lanka is filled with passion for the game. And that I should do everything I can to help you guys.’

‘Typical sour grapes letter,’ says Ari.

In my time I have heard many such whinges from players on the fringes. Captain favours certain schools. So-and-so bribed his way into the squad. Some even attempt to pass them off as autobiographies.

‘Mate, this was the letter that got the third umpire agenda on the ICC table. Dexter consulted with Sri Lanka cricket a few years later. You now have foreign coaches and are about to host a World Cup.’

I feel the cheap paper between my fingertips. How did a man who could barely speak English write the blueprint for Sri Lankan cricket reforms?

‘I wasn’t talented. There’ve been players more gifted than me who never reached their potential. Do you know who has the highest test average?’

I step to the wicket. ‘Most people think Bradman. But not so. Andy Ganteaume. Played one test and scored 112. Never played again.’

Andy Ganteaume was blamed for scoring too slowly and turning a possible victory into a draw. He never did manage to break back into a strong post-war Windies side featuring the three Ws, Sobers, Kanhai and Stollmeyer. His average sits at 112 for all eternity, 13 above the great Don.