The Legend of Pradeep Mathew Read Online Free PDF Page B

God and your family the centre. What is cricket?’
    ‘Good advice,’ I say. ‘Except for two things. His family hate him. And God doesn’t exist.’
    White T-shirt Rambo interrupts what could have escalated into World War III. With him is a middle-aged man wearing a tie and a just-been-dragged-out-of-bed expression. ‘Mr Graham. Dr Nalaka is here.’
    The man blushes, scratches the back of his head, and then extends a limp wrist. ‘You called for a psychiatrist. I am Dr Nalaka. Sri Jayawardenapura Hospital. I don’t usually do night calls…’
    ‘You’re the shrink?’ Graham Snow looks at me and Ari. ‘Then who are these jokers?’
    I flash my old press pass like a cop with a badge. ‘W.G. Karunasena, Sportstar magazine.’
    Ari bows. ‘Ari Byrd. Scientist. Statistician.’ He extends his hands like a preacher.
    And then the man who had been sobbing just ten minutes earlier bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
Till the Ship Sails
    6 balls make an over. 50 overs, or 300 balls, give or take, make a one-day game innings.
    In a test match, each team bats twice. An innings ends when ten batsmen are out or when the batting captain declares the innings closed. This is not measured in overs, but in days.
    From the dawn of cricket till the late 1930s, when yours truly was still a toddler chasing lizards in Kurunegala, test matches were timeless, played till both sides were bowled out twice. At first, games did not last longer than seventy-two hours, but then, as the sciences of batting and pitch making developed, matches began to stretch to four, five, sometimes six days.
    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.
These Little Shree Lankans
    ‘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