A few words about cricket

“But we don’t judge a cricketer as much by the runs he gets as by the way he gets them.” In both literature and finance, says Washington Irving, “a lot of paper and a lot of poverty can coexist.” And in cricket, too, a lot of racing and a lot of boredom can be associated.

If cricket is threatened with creeping paralysis it is because it is losing the spirit of joyous adventure and is becoming a mere instrument for compiling tables of averages. There are boring, mechanical types who produce races with as little emotion as a machine produces pins. There is no color, no enthusiasm, no character in his game. Cricket is not an adventure for them, it is a business.

So it was with Shrewsbury. His technical perfection was amazing; but the soul of the game was missing. There was no sunshine in his game, no sudden surprise or lavish generosity. And without these things, without joy, daring and self-sacrifice, cricket is a dead thing. Now the Jam Sahib has the root of the matter with him. His game is as sony as his face. He is not a miser who accumulates careers, but a millionaire who spends them, with splendid but judicious lavishness. It’s as if his pockets are full of cum that he wants to spill with his blessing on the waiting crowd.

It is not hard to believe that in his small kingdom of Nawanagar where he has the power of life and death in his hands, he is extremely popular, as it is obvious that his pleasure is in giving pleasure.