Dec 7, 1998
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SACHIN TENDULKAR Lord of the Runs When he goes out to bat, people switch on their television sets and switch
off their lives. What makes Sachin Tendulkar the icon of New Age India? How does he
prepare, what does he think and what drives him? The story about a winner's mind and how
it works. By Rohit Brijnath Beneath the helmet, under that unruly curly hair, inside the cranium, there is something we don't know, something beyond scientific measure. Something that allows him to soar, to roam a territory of sport that, forget us, even those who are gifted enough to play alongside him cannot even fathom. Listen to this story about Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, but be prepared to gulp. Normal men set normal targets for a tournament. An Indian bowler may have fantasised about five wickets on Sharjah's dead track last month, a batsman prays for a 50. But Sachin ...
Did you set a goal for Sharjah? "I did." Which was ...? "I never disclose these things." Yeah, but now that the tournament's over ... "I decided to win the tournament for India." Gulp. It is absolute impertinence that a man could even think like this. So what does one call it when he makes it happen. Genius seems too mild a word. The American writer Frank Deford once wrote, "What is so amazing is that he has achieved a certain mythology without benefit of our fevered imaginations. Everything he has done is on tape ... none of it has been dreamed or exaggerated." Deford was talking of Michael Jordan, but it could have been Tendulkar. There is a cost to this genius. In his own restaurant Jordan must sit in his own private dining room; Tendulkar dare not even go out to dine. People in India stand for hours waiting for him; when he plays they switch on their television sets and switch off their lives. It is hard for him. Says Tendulkar now: "People expect too much of me. A hundred every innings. They call and say, 'You scored a 100 in Kanpur, why not in Delhi?' They must accept my failures." But the reason for their extravagant demands is Tendulkar himself. His entire 1998 has been a flirtation with cricketing exaggeration; he has played with such majesty that good men seem mediocre in comparison. Sighs Saurav Ganguly: "People do not score nine centuries in a career, he did it in one year." In 27 matches, with six of them at better than a run-a-ball. And there's more:
It seems too simple, as if there must rest some darker reason. Aha, perhaps it is his self pride that has been bruised, and he attempts now to make up for his inadequacy as captain. But that sounds too artificial. Perhaps it is just that at 25 he is no longer an excitable apprentice but an assured craftsman. The great tennis player Big Bill Tilden once said, "The great player owes the gallery as much as the actor owes the audience." Tendulkar is already there, achieving and pleasing at the same time, yet like a young buck restless for more. If you sit in the stands you can feel the flame of his fury. No wonder Ajay Jadeja says, "There is a fire burning inside him." Ask Zimbabwe's Henry Olonga. An executive is playing basketball with Jordan. He knocks in a basket over Jordan's head and says, "Now I can tell my grandchildren that I kicked Michael Jordan's ass." It's a joke, even Jordan knows it. Still next play Jordan comes in and dunks over him. And says, "Now you can tell your grandchildren that Michael Jordan kicked your ass."
There is also a brutality to these men. To chase perfection is to make no allowance for mercy. Would Tendulkar, aware that his friend, a bowler, was on the edge of selection to the Indian team, gift his wicket away in a qualifying match? "No, why should I give him false confidence? He may be my close friend but that's off the field. I never compromise on my cricket." It's happened too. During the 1994 Challenger Series, Tendulkar remarked that Mumbai teammate Paras Mhambrey was a "very fine prospect", except when the very fine prospect bowled to him he went for 41 runs in the first four overs. So when Tendulkar was made to look silly in Sharjah, fending off a ball like a timid tailender, Olonga should have left for Harare immediately. It was not just that Tendulkar was personally embarrassed, Olonga had got in the way of a champion's journey to his goal. Did it annoy you to get out like that? "It did, of course. We should have won that game." Apart from losing did you get personally irritated? "But if I get out like that we're going to lose the game. When you're looking at winning the game every batsmen must be alert and must concentrate." Did you want to prove a point? "Yes. You can get me out once like that, you can take me by surprise, but it's not going to happen everyday." Indeed, the previous day he had issued a warning. When Jadeja teased him about his dismissal, Tendulkar quietly replied: "Watch the next game." In which Olonga's deliveries were duly despatched towards downtown Dubai and 124 was made in 92 balls. There was an insolence to his batting, a braggadocio. Yet he knew clearly what he was doing. |
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Sitting in the massage room
at Wankhede Stadium as Mumbai plays Gujarat in the Ranji Trophy, Tendulkar is calm. The
"silent murderer", as Vinod Kambli calls him. He offers no explanation for his
ascent in form, just saying, "I wanted to prove my commitment." 
Do not step on the egos of these men, not
in jest, not while playing tiddly winks, not ever. For these men, winning is to draw
breath, the very oxygen of their existence. Tendulkar, who says "I've always played
to win, why should I lose", is obsessive. When he was 16 on his first tour to
Pakistan, Sanjay Manjrekar beat him in a set of tennis. When Manjrekar refused to play a
second set Tendulkar, like a child whose doll has been stolen, begged, pleaded, to get a
chance to salvage his honour. 
