ANYTHING ELSE, just isn't Cricket
I’M CONVINCED THAT PRETTY MUCH EVERY READER OF DISCOVER INDIA
stopped in their tracks when they reached the opening picture of this feature. What are a bunch of fat, bald men caught in catatonic suspension in cricket kit doing in a travel magazine?
I’ll tell you, because I play (loose terminology!) for The Viceroys. We travel. Cricket travels. It has to, otherwise, it’s a dozen or so blokes in silly equipment with infrequent or no opposition. Since The Viceroys were formed in 2011, they’ve journeyed the length and breadth of India, and played at some of the country’s most famous and architecturally beautiful grounds. One might argue, the planet’s. They are tourist attractions in themselves. They live and breathe history. They sit with wicket and bail, within it.
Let’s take Roshanara Club in Delhi. It’s wedged just north of Old Delhi Railway station and Civil Lines. Until I was invited to play as part of The Viceroys team a month
back, I’d never even heard of it. That’s after 10 years living here. I’ll wager my best batting figures, you haven’t either.
Okay, so I wasn’t betting much (right now around five or six), but the point is that one of the city’s most beautiful hangovers from colonial times sits there, encircled by an exquisite Moghul garden founded by Emperor Shah Jahan and fringed by markets etched in history. Pop by. Visit. Watch a match, perhaps.
You may last longer than I did. A two ball duck. A dropped catch and one over for around 23 runs were my very limited contribution to the afternoon. Though, I did console myself in the marvellous old clubhouse, a few cold beers and the knowledge that legends like Sir Jack Hobbs have graced the pitch.
The same can be said of The Viceroys and their travels all across India. We’ve played at the Cricket Club of India, Mumbai with its incredible art deco pavilion; the Secunderabad Club in Hyderabad with its stunning interiors, and the Calcutta Cricket & Football Club in Kolkata—a club founded in 1792 and the donor of the famous Calcutta Cup (awarded to winner of the England versus Scotland rugby union match).
I’d argue that the contribution of these fabulous institutions are just as worthy of your attention as any of the most famous monuments in the cities I’ve mentioned. At each of these grounds, you will
“We’ve played at the CCI, Mumbai, the Secunderabad
Club in Hyderabad, and the Calcutta Cricket & Football Club in Kolkata.”
witness how India has changed over the last two centuries. The names in the first XI’s shifting from mixed to largely English to totally Indian; the geographical positions; how the nation has evolved.
But back to the Viceroys. Don’t let any of these prestigious grounds let the idea seep into you that we might be any good. As I write, we have not won in 11, the odds, look likely that by the time this article finally reaches the stands, it’ll be more like 12 or 13. But that’s not the point of The Viceroys. We play our Saturday morning games at schools grounds and our night games at a floodlit university pitch.
Playing for The Viceroys is a little like being part of a Dirty Dozen. On occasion, a Baker’s Dozen. But I’ve never played with the same group of guys more than once. We come from all over the world. Of course, there’s the usual Australian suspects and a handful of Brits, a fair few repatriated NRIs too, but
there’s also any number of islands of the Caribbean represented and a growing number of nations not noted for their cricket. I played in a side under flood lights that featured no less than five Americans, a Canadian, and even a German.
We come from all walks of life, too—hobbles in my case; I’m carrying a dodgy ankle. As an expat side, of course there’s always been a rich vein of the Diplomatic corps running through the team, but again as the stream of awareness about the club has rippled through the city, so has its diversification.
Last week among my team mates were a US Navy SEAL (remains nameless, but not a word of sledging from the opposition) and a chap who makes robots. Robots? This week, we are an equally disparate band of brothers, but nonetheless enthused by Kingfisher and the local egg rolls.
I’ve bowled four very varying overs (defined more
by width than length and line), so have opted out of the bat. Well, actually was asked to step aside by the Club President, Joe Phelan, “so everyone gets a go.”
It’s no loss and under the glaring light of the flood lights and a plague of mosquitoes, we sit and watch our openers. It’s as good a time as any to quiz him about the Roys’ spirit: “There’s an argument to say that we are the worst cricket team in the whole of
“We get to travel around India, see an India you don’t always get to see. We’ve seen amazing things through cricket. But its not just about that. Cricket here mirrors so many aspects of daily life.”
the country because we have people who play for us, who have never picked up a bat before in their lives,” I can only nod and watch a full pitched ball totally deceive one of our Americans. He survived.
“Our average age is 46, so even those who have played cricket are in the August of their best.” I tell him it’s possibly September. Middle to back end. October, possibly.
He laughs, then gets slightly irate, but verging on profound. “Hey, it also makes us the best cricket team in the country because the team spirit says anyone can come along and have a go,” He means it. Club Captain, Tom Carroll, who’s been adjusting his pads and next up to bat, adds his ten penny’s worth.
“Mate,” (he’s Australian, so everything starts with ‘Mate’, or something unprintable), “The Viceroys will give you a bat if you have never batted, a bowl, a cold beer, and a laugh at the post match ‘debrief’. We all work some tricky and demanding jobs, but you’ll see more of India this way, then any tour operator can…” Wicket.
Something unprintable is uttered from the middle and another of tonight’s Australians, Mutt Murray, trudges back to our makeshift pavilion, shaking his head.
While Mutt bemoans the umpire, the pitch, cricket, and everything else this side of civilisation, for the ‘thin edge to the wicket keeper’ that never was, for the rest of the evening, Joe concludes Tom’s sentiment: “He’s spot on. We get to travel around India, see an India you don’t always get to see. We’ve seen some amazing things through cricket. Doors have opened through cricket. But it’s not just about that. Cricket here mirrors so many aspects of daily life. Highs and lows, so it’s also a great leveller.”
Six. Wicket. Two. Wicket. The story of the night. We lose again, but only just. It’s not always this way, though. We have two players capable of tons and ripping the opposition’s bowling apart. A few more accomplished stroke players and there’s enough flair and experience through the batting to give younger sides a run for their money. The same applies with the ball; we’ve some pace and plenty of guile (why, even I’ve bagged three wickets once upon a dream). I’ve also seen guys who’ve barely picked up a bat smack the thing for six and watched virgin bowlers deliver a peach that rips out the middle stump. The point is that every dog has his day.
We just never know which dogs and which days.
Driving back through South Delhi later that night, I can’t help but agree. It sounds a bit gooey, but we are always winners. The result, a distant second cousin to camaraderie and being part of a ‘real’ India.
There are plans to travel up to Jim Corbett National Park to a tiny ground situated the other side of the river from a delightful little property called The Den (thedencorbett.in). Talk of getting up to Dharamshala to play at the highest cricket ground in the world. Getting back to Jodhpur where none other than the Maharaja himself was among the crowd last time. Then, there’s the annual staples of Goa in February and a balmy Mumbai to consider.
One thing is for sure, the runs I concede bowling are going to grow. Rapidly. But, so are my Air Miles and knowledge of this beguiling country.
More than that, it’s the deeper dive (no pun intended, I cannot dive for catches these days), ‘playing’ cricket has given me into the city of Delhi I live in. I claimed to know it, understand it, but I am so much better equipped; my knowledge and understanding of its people, history, and geography richer, now I have The Viceroys and a bat and ball in my hand.*
*The author cannot guarantee that the ‘ball’ will either start or end up in his hand!