The Legend of Pradeep Mathew

by Shehan Karunatilaka

  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.

  All-rounders

  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.’

  Nineteen Eighty-seven

  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.

  Who Wins?

  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.

  Andy Ganteaume

  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.’

  Flat 7C/123 Cotta Road

  Colombo 8

  Sri Lanka

  To: Lord Colin Dexter, President International

  Cricketing Council

  Re: Humble suggestions

  Dear Sir

  Pardon for intruson.

  I play for small country torn by war, a poor relation of cricket world. I write you becauce game in my country is controlled by PUPPETS. I am dropped from the national side due to refusing to cheat during Pakistan series and due to my race which is Tamil. In Sri Lnka, if Captain or Coach or Minister likes you, you are in team. I do not wish to waste lordship’s time with personal issue. Instead to offer suggestions for your kind perusal. Here are ways we can remove corruption in Sri Lanka and improving the game.

  Umpiring—Neutral umpiring is very essential. Bad umpiring is ruining cricket

  Technology—Use television cameras for run outs and to look at player discipline. There is TOO MUCH SLEDGING on field. Old friend of mine, David Hawkins has developed technology to judge LBW. Contact him at Ham
pshire University.

  Change structure of cricket in developing nation. Encourage Sri Lanka cricket board to select from all over the island and FROM ALL RACES. Not just Colombo school Sinhala Budhist.

  Local coaches too much politics. Give Sri Lanka foreign coaches, fitness trainers and more home tours. We need coaches who can analys game. Give us chance to host next world cup. Only then we will learn.

  I am earning less than $50 per test match. Last 3 years Sri Lanka has played 4 test matches. All of us have to work for full time jobs. We play becauce we have passion and talent. But talent will leave game if there is no money.

  If you put reforms and promote cricket in Sri Lanka, we will for sure produce teams like the great West Indies. Please make no mention of this letter to my cricket board or fellow countrymen.

  Yours faithfully

  Pradeep Mathew

  14/4/87

  ‘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.

  Graham applauds and the game begins. The names come thick and fast.

  Ray ‘The Goat’ Manigault, described by Jordan and Magic as the greatest street basketball player there ever was, succumbed to crack addiction and failed to make the NBA.

  Laxman Sivaramakrishnan, India’s leg-spinning boy wonder, with three gods in his surname, exploded on the international stage with 6-wicket hauls in his first three innings and then lost form permanently. Bob Massie and Narendra Hirwani took 16 wickets on debut and faded into obscurity.

  Everyone tells the story of the fiery pace bowler from Jaffna who bowled at 110 mph during an SSC trial, returned to the war zone to gather his belongings and was never heard of again.

  ‘Wasting talent is a crime,’ says Graham.

  ‘A sin,’ concurs Ari.

  I think of Pradeep Mathew, the great unsung bowler. I think of Sri Lanka, the great underachieving nation. I think of W. G. Karunasena, the great unfulfilled writer. I think of all these ghosts and I can’t help but agree.

  De Saram Road

  We shake hands as Graham leads us to the lift. All that is left of the party are empty bottles, fallen ashtrays and broken furniture.

  ‘You know, WeeJay, when I asked you to come at 10, I meant tomorrow morning,’ smiles Graham.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I never drink with the press or let them see me drunk.’ ‘But you said come at 10…’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Graham lifts his hand. ‘Was a pleasure meeting you both. Can I trust you not to write about my personal life?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  Ari looks smitten and does not let go of Graham’s hand. I wonder if I should leave them alone for a goodnight kiss.

  ‘We didn’t get to talk business. Will you be at home tomorrow?’

  Ari and I say yes at the same time.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  This time I let Ari say it by himself. ‘17/5 de Saram Road, Mount Lavinia.’

  ‘Shall we say 10?’ says Graham to the closing lift doors.

  While drinking and talking cricket till 2 a.m. may offer the illusion of friendship, I was not expecting to hear from Graham Snow ever again. Many people have promised the world over bottles and delivered little more than nothing. I am one of them, and they are one of you.

  The next morning I’m arguing with the urchins playing cricket on my road. It is the second ball to hit my windows and I’m in the process of confiscating it.

  ‘Let them play,’ calls out Ari from the next-door balcony. ‘We must nurture cricket at street level.’

  When Graham Snow’s 4WD pulls up, the urchins gaze in awe. Graham rolls down the window. He is wearing a suit and a frown.

  ‘Sorry, chaps,’ he mutters. ‘Just got called to the airport, problem with NSPN, need to be in Mumbai.’

  He hands me a huge purple file. It is filled with legal documents with Snow’s signature. Ari has run down in his sarong and shouts for the whole neighbourhood to hear. ‘Ah. My good friend. Mr Graham Snow. How? How?’

  ‘Hello, Aree. Gotta rush. No time to explain. You’re the blokes I’ve been looking for. I’m recommending you for the Graham Snow Commonwealth Cricket Grant.’

  The urchins have stopped their game. Housewives are peeping from balconies. A crow drops a watery turd on my gate.

  ‘Go to the Sri Lanka Cricket Board and speak to Danila Guneratne. She’ll give you the details. Tell her I have picked you and Aree for the grant.’

  ‘How much is the grant?’ asks Ari.

  Graham’s driver revs his engine. ‘Gotta go. See ya. My card’s there.’

  ‘How much is the grant?’

  ‘Speak to Danila. Good luck.’

  His jeep speeds off, leaving me and Ari with a purple file and a requisition for…

  ‘Seven lakhs!’ gasps Ari.

  The number is scrawled in a fancy font on a certificate that carries the Queen’s seal.

  The urchins resist the urge to chase after the jeep, and, sensing gossip, walk towards us. I throw them their ball and pull Ari to the veranda. ‘It says here we have to make five half-hour documentaries.’

  ‘So? Let’s do it. I saw this video camera for sale in the Observer….’

  ‘But what do you know about making documentary films?’

  ‘How many documentaries I have seen. How hard can it be?’

  Harder than we thought. It was three years before those documentaries aired. By that time, kingdoms had been won and lost. The bubble of Sri Lankan cricket had ballooned and burst. And sadly, so had W.G. Karunasena.

  Strange Ways to Die

  91 per cent of all dismissals are caused by bowlers hitting wickets, fielders taking catches, batsmen obstructing stumps and runners falling short of their ground. Bowled, caught, LBW and run-out are to cricket what cancer, heart disease, stroke and road accidents are to life.

  But there are more unusual ways of surrendering your wicket. You can be out for handling the ball, hitting the ball twice, obstructing the field, not coming out on time, or falling on your wicket. All of these occurred in the 1994 Sri Lanka vs Zimbabwe series. You-know-who featured prominently.

  The First Meeting

  At the first meeting, everyone is late. Ari and I are the first to arrive at 00.15 Sri Lankan Time. That is, fifteen minutes after the scheduled start. By 01.23 SLT, everyone is gathered around a table in an air-conditioned room.

  Representing the SLBCC are Miss Yasmin Alles, giggly and girly, looking just out of school uniform; and Ms Danila Guneratne, older, fair and flawless, could have been a model, probably was. Representing Independent Television Limited, ITL, are programming director Dr Rakwana Somawardena, sports editor Mr Abdul Cassim and Mrs Kolombage, stenographer. Representing us is just us. We are wearing ties. I have even combed my hair and polished my shoes.

  ‘What experience do you have, Mr Karunasena, in creating television?’ Rakwana, specs on nose, scrutinising our proposal, his eye
darting towards Miss Alles leaning over her notebook.

  I feel like asking this bearded bureaucrat in national dress the very same question.

  Ari speaks. ‘I lectured in filmmaking in the UK, I have studied it and taught it for over thirty years.’ Ari always smiles, but he only shows his teeth when he is lying. In truth, he attended a workshop in filmmaking at the British Council in ’79 and has been master-in-charge of the Science College AV Club since the late 1980s.

  ‘You have showreel?’ Danila sounds like a vatti amma selling veggies on the street, even though she looks like a Parisian model. Fair skin, dark eyes, a beauty spot below her nose, a smile that could stop traffic and a voice like a car crash.

  Fluorescent light falls from tubes on the ceiling and bounces off Ari’s exposed teeth. ‘My showreel is on Kodachrome Color Reversal film stock. It has deteriorated over the years. It is currently being restored in Singapore.’

  ‘Graham Snow recommends you highly. We like your articles, but we’ll need a script to approve budget.’

  ‘Script is essential,’ says Cassim, more for his boss to hear than for us.

  ‘Must have script,’ nods Mrs Kolombage.

  ‘Directing documentary is no joke,’ says Rakwana to us.

  ‘Not a joke,’ nods Mrs Kolombage, closing her notebook.

  Secret Weapons

  A week later, we bounce back, but this time with some secret weapons. We unveil our first.

  ‘Danila, meet Brian Gomez, sports presenter for…’

  ‘We know Brian,’ smiles Danila.

  ‘Aren’t you contracted to RupaVision?’ asks Cassim.

  ‘No, my dear,’ grins Brian. ‘I’m a free agent. Doing some NSPN work. Behind the scenes. Presented a few shows for Sirasa. Now I’m at your service.’