To Sanga, Happy Birthday, From Shanaka.

Today I posted up something about Kumar Sangakkara and Kieran Read sharing a birthday. And how they are the best players in the world at their sport. Immediately, I was asked whether I was fraped and whether I was being sarcastic. That’s when I realised this whole Kumar Sangakkara thing needs a bit of clearing up. And what better day to do that, than on his birthday.

That I’ve been a critic of Sangakkara is something I won’t even try to deny. Most people have gone on to assume and infer that it is in some way personal. Even Sanga, actually, since he doesn’t speak to me anymore. But it isn’t. It never has been. But people’s reactions, and some introspection, has made me understand how easily it is possible to think that. Even one of the last times I met Mahela, we were talking about my strained relationship with his buddy and he said laughing, in Sinhala ‘u lakunu kochchara gahala thiyanawada, umba thaamath baninawa ne?’ (he’s scored so many runs and you’re still scolding him). And that’s when I realised I was actually being uncharitable.

Here’s why.

I first heard of Kumar Sangakkara in 1997, when my good friend Bhathiya Karunaratne – who had just scored the fastest Royal Thomian hundred without breaking a sweat – came back from the Sri Lankan U19 tour and announced the the Prefect’s Room that he was giving up cricket. I was so taken aback I nearly fell out of my seat, because as far as I was concerned Bhathi was one of those natural, gifted cricketers who not only batted, bowled and kept wickets, but had an amazing understanding of the game even as a 15 year old. So to hear that this guy who was earmarked for greatness was giving up the game, I was naturally curious. When I asked him why, his career choice was so matter of fact, that it hit home pretty hard. He said simply, ‘Kumar Sangakkara kiyala ekek innawa bung Trinity ekey. Uth ekka gahanna bae’ (there’s a guy called Kumar Sangakkara at Trinity. There’s no way I can compete with him). I always remembered that conversation and I think I regretted Bhathi’s decision that day more than he ever did. But I didn’t realise what a wise decision it was until I saw Sangakkara blossom into what he has become.

His start was patchy, especially behind the stumps, and in my eyes he had a lot to redeem himself for after that 2003 run out of Aravinda De Silva. He has done that, I think. And a little bit more.

The legacy that Sangakkara leaves is going to be that he is the second best batsman of all time. Behind The Don. And that’s not too bad is it? And I’ve always, always admired how hard he worked to get there. He would spend inordinate time in the nets, harass coaches, do his own training, focus on his fitness. All things that other cricketers will not do in half the doses the 37 year old has done for all his career. It boggles most people’s minds then how I can find it within myself to criticise, or at least not jump on the bandwagon, of such greatness. The simple answer was, that I knew he could, and should be doing even better. And that is why I wasn’t able to sing the praises off the same hymn sheet that everyone else did. Why do I say that? It’s pretty simple.

Sanga’s father has been a hard task master all his life. He still is. And it was after I read my friend Andrew Fernando’s excellent interview with Kshema and Kumar that I began to understand the psyche of the Sangakkara mind. Sanga and I had always had mutual friends and I had heard the stories about how his Dad was never happy however many runs he scored. It must have been hard for him, especially until he made it in the national side, when Saranga Sangakkara, his sister, was the more celebrated tennis player as well. It’s hard, really hard, to be grow up without the unadulterated approval of a parental figure. Modern kids have it easy, with today’s parents doting on them if they manage to tie their shoes, but my generation, which is Sanga’s generation, had it tough. I came from a similar background and really should have empathised earlier. I remember once scoring in an inter school water polo final from 17 metres out. It’s probably to date, the longest goal scored in Sri Lanka. S. Thomas’ won the match and I remember my dad saying ‘that was a fluke no?’.

It wasn’t Dad. It was supposed to go in.

Growing up in that environment is never easy. And the aversion to failure becomes instilled. And debilitating. And since you are a creature of your own nurture, it doesn’t matter whether you’re the best batsman in the world or not, that mindset is going to haunt you. Mahela Jayawardena has always been the star batsman. And you can see it in the way he plays. How he dominates, how he carries himself, his swagger, and also his carelessness. That’s his childhood. That’s how he plays.

Sangakkara was not so. He was a guy who had to work hard, took to cricket later in life, and came through the ranks. Always terrified of screwing up. Letting himself down, letting his Dad down, letting the team down. It’s a horrifying mental place to be. I am assuming all this, and it’s not something I’ve been told by him or anyone, so I may well be wrong. Even though I knew for the longest time he could be batting differently, batting even better, by approaching the game as enjoyment, I never really thought I understood why until recently.

For the longest time, I think that fear overtook his talent and ability. It caused him to stop just short of being the Dominant Force that would have won Sri Lanka games, and instead made him the Reliable Mainstay of an eccentric batting lineup. For ages he would be satisfied – and I will explain the use of the world – with a 70 or 80 not out, when a 100 was within, what I thought, was his grasp. And he would hardly ever go for it. Not take that risk because the fear of failure loomed so large. For years I watched him, willing him to take that risk, come down the wicket, hoist that ball. And for years he didn’t. His first hundred when Sri Lanka were chasing in an ODI came as late as 2012. And that was the shackle I wanted him to break for so long. He was so good that ‘scoreboard pressure’ shouldn’t matter. Together, he and Jayawardena were a batting hybrid that should have made Sri Lanka the greatest ODI team on the planet. They didn’t. Why not? Because of Mahela’s fearlessness to the point of being careless, coupled with Sanga’s carefulness to the point of appearing fearful.

Even that game in which he got 102, we needed Sachithra to hit a six off the last ball. To think think that a guy who is obviously veneratated universally for his batting, took 12 years to score his first 100 in the second innings of an ODI is probably something that escapes his most ardent fans. And also, I guess, because of my contrarian nature I plugged those stats to highlight what I thought was a chink in his armour that the statistics wouldn’t reveal. Although I highlighted it I never, ever, wanted to drive a spear through that chink. I just wanted him to shed the suit so he can be free. Why would he need armour, when he has a bat? Too often he has stood like Horatio and guarded the bridge, when I think he should have run into the enemy flailing his sword, saved the bridge, and destroyed the opposition. I couldn’t point out his failings, because there were so few. But what I did want to do was show his fans, and him, how he could be even better. Clearly my methods were flawed.

If I came across as exacting, uncharitable, mean or unreasonable in expressing that expectation, I apologise. In all sincerity and seriousness. I understand now, how it could have been so.

Sanga is a legend and a hero to all bar very few Sri Lankans. Naturally any criticism of him becomes and automatic criticism of them. And I urge his fans – and even Sanga himself – not to see it as such. As much as I want individual cricketers to do well, I also want the team to win. Like in England. Just ten months ago I lambasted Angelo Mathews and the Fear of Failure led us to the ignominy of that defeat on the fifth day against Pakistan. I stand by my criticism, however harsh it may have appeared at the time. I don’t mince my words, and maybe it is sometimes too much to expect cricketers to take it in the spirit that it is given. But Angelo responded. And he has responded brilliantly. He has led bravely, taken on the opposition and backed himself and his team. And the results speak for themselves. I’ve been doing my job for a long time as well, and just once in a while I criticise something because I know doing it differently can bring a different result. Angelo doesn’t, or at least I don’t think he does, hold anything against me, which I appreciate. Not many people were happier than me when we won in England. Any critique I make at all, is because I desperately want to win, and this is the only way I can help.

In the last 24 months Sanga has been a revelation. Since I haven’t actually spoken to him in longer than that, I haven’t been able to get at what the difference is, but it is nothing physical. It is mental. I don’t know when the change occurred but somehow is a more relaxed player than he has ever been. Remember that amazing 192 he scored in Australia? He scored that because the match was done. We were in an impossible situation and couldn’t revive that match. So Sanga threw caution to the winds and went for it, and I beseech all his fans, and himself, to anticipate what could have been achieved with just a little, a tiny bit, of caution being shed. Even in the T20 World Cup final, when he came out to bat, he looked tentative. A guy who hadn’t scored many runs all tournament, and worried as hell he would have an uncharasteristic flop of a tournament. He tried too hard, and luckily for Sri Lanka he was dropped. That drop seemed to set him free. And like a man who has had a near death experience which makes him appreciate life a bit more, Sanga took us to that win with aplomb. He didn’t change as a batsman from the one that began, to the one that ended that innings. He just relaxed and let things happen without trying to control too much. And that is the Sanga I always knew was hanging about deep down. Inside that very accomplished cricketer, there WAS match winner, a match winner that I feel could have adorned that jersey a few years earlier if he allowed himself to succumb to the freedom and joy of batting as he can. Being hopelessly risk averse myself, I frustratedly watched him limit himself to a glittering, gilded cage which went unnoticed to many, but which has broken free of, finally.

That is not to say he shouldn’t work as hard, or obsess as much. Of course he must. That is who he is. But when he’s out there, just enjoy the fruits of that labour. So what if he had 10% more failures? We, and he, would forget those in a heartbeat when we look at the 25% more wins that we have as a result.

Perhaps I didn’t go about it the right way. Yes, I may have appeared to get personal. But it was never intended as such. It’s hard trying to make what you think is a valid point when everyone is against you. And being human, I’m sure I erred.

Maybe some will agree, maybe some won’t. But as far as I’m concerned, the Kumar Sangakkara who celebrates his birthday today, is a very different person from the one that captained that ill fated 2011 final, and the one that gave the Cowdrey lecture. Even during that speech at Lords’ he did well, but stopped just short of saying exactly what and who was wrong with the system. And I even then I thought he could have said more. Those who have no expectations, like the fuddy duddy white people of Lords’ are happy to hear a familiar accent and praise it to the skies. But I wanted this man who has commanded so much attention to put the Sri Lankan house in order. I want him point fingers, I want him to say his piece without veiling the barbs. I want him to tell a few people in the establishment to ‘piss off’, because if he can’t, who can? I don’t want him to say ‘Oh look, there’s the dragon’, I wanted him to take the damn sword out and cut its neck off. Because he can.

That’s why I think his Tweet about the hasty Indian tour was a more valid criticism, than most he’s said before. In 140 characters. He didn’t stop to think. He just said it. And as Ed Smith noted in a brilliant article about technique, everything comes easier when you don’t stop and think about it. Just let it flow. In the last few months Sanga has done that. Something has changed in the way he approaches his batting and Sri Lanka’s fortunes have mirrored that. So has his stats. We won series at home and away, and have played some pretty entertaining cricket.

Maybe the harshness of my critique tried to flog that out of him. Little did a realise how counter productive that was. But then again, I’m learning things too. I desperately wanted him to bask in the glory and pressure of all those expectations, laugh in their, face and succeed. The more he seemed daunted by them, the harsher I would become, and having dealt with that while growing up, I can see why he would abhor it from a complete stranger who’d never lifted a cricket bat. And I understand his antipathy.

It is pretty amazing that Sri Lankan will have produced the greatest modern batsman and bowler cricket has ever seen. Sanga and Murali. The latter played his cricket with a smile for most of it. The former’s on-field smile is more recent. But it has made an incredible difference.

Happy Birthday, machan! And godspeed.