Empty Carnival

Now that World Cup fever has spread like an epidemic in South Asia, the stage has been set for heartburn and narcissistic wounds. Nationalist aspirations that have begun to find pathological expression in cricket in recent years cannot be satisfied except in the case of one country, the one that wins the World Cup.
And there is no guarantee that that country will be South Asian.I am not entirely unhappy about this. Cricket in South Asia is a carnivalesque, festive game.
It carries not merely the baggage of competition and achievement, but is also a participatory cultural event that invokes images of religious festivals, convivial social gatherings, picnics and theatre. It is now gradually becoming a substitute for war, a means of redeeming self-esteem and expressing xenophobia, and a depot of weird conspiracy theories.
No country now loses a game because the other side is better; a country loses only because its cricketers and cricket administrators are under-patriotic, corrupt, greedy or self-centred.
At the same time, persons who have not lifted a finger to do anything for any cause beyond their immediate self-
interest have begun to talk of the interests and honour of India that has to be defended in the cricket field.
Paradoxi-cally, under the expert guidance of an Australian coach who in his distinguished days as the captain of Australia persuaded his brother to bowl underarm the last ball of a match to deny the opponents victory and, thus, bring glory to Australia.
Frankly, it is sickening how glib, unthinking, phallic nationalism now drives our concept of ourselves and the world, even in sports. I am tired of all the talk of toughness, killer instinct, professionalism and graduated performance-based scales for the cricketers.
Unfortunately for ultra-nationalists and fortunately for the rest, cricket is one game in which the best training, organisation and preparation do not yield corresponding results. It is a subversive game that rebels against the
productivity principle on which is built the world of globalised capitalism.
Luck plays a major role in the final outcome of a match or series. In this respect, cricket is unlike football, tennis or chess. Years ago, i described cricket as a game of luck that had to be played as if luck did not matter, as if it was only a game of skill.
The grandeur of cricket and the cliched reference to its glorious uncertainties come from a cultivated ignorance of this inner contradiction in the game. Cricketers and their fans to say nothing of the experts have to learn to live with the unpredictability without getting overly judgmental or paranoiac.
All games have some built-in uncertainties; only cricket has turned the gracious acceptance of this into a measure of character.
Let us not forget that in cricket the 22 players involved are never on the field at the same time. Consequently, one team may play in full sunshine, while the other may have to play under an overcast sky when the ball begins to swing. One team may bat on a green top, the other on a wearing pitch.
You can never truly equalise the outer conditions for the two teams. So a cricketer not merely plays against the opposition, but also against his own fate. That is one reason why it is a typically Indian or, if you prefer, South Asian game.
This is a cultural region that recognises the role of destiny in human affairs. All cricketers are superstitious because of the nature of their job. Only South Asians are not embarrassed about it and have unashamedly built ritualised ways of dealing with destiny as a normal part of a cricketer's life.
If you want a game where the investment of money, hard training and ruthless professionalism will pay predictable results, and the results will be a pure reflection of skill and talent, you should choose another game.
I am terribly uncomfortable that a country of one billion tries to build its self-esteem on the performance of 11 players in their twenties and thirties as if what the political leaders, administrators, business tycoons, the army and the law and order machinery cannot deliver has to be delivered by India's cricket team.
It is pathetic how, to achieve this, young players are being pushed into a political-diplomatic role early in life and expected to display hyper-professionalism, business acumen and diplomatic shrewdness.
Much of their pleasure of playing is taken out of the game, which becomes for most players an onerous, stressful, regimented work and participation in symbolic warfare. That some cricketers still remain under-professionalised, risk-taking, adventurous and happy-go-lucky is a mark of defiance and a tribute to the resilience of human nature.
All sport, it is true, is becoming a business venture. The difference between work and play is diminishing everyday in the case of professional sportspersons. They are now part of the entertainment industry and media empires.
While giving the spectators pleasure in the form of a leisure-time activity, they are becoming cogs in the wheel of the modern industrial-managerial culture at an early age. But in no other game is the plight of the players more pathetic than in cricket.
For the culture of the game has traditionally been a defiance of the urban-industrial rhythm of life. The reader may like to remember these details, however strange or uncomfortable they may sound, when celebrating a national victory in cricket hysterically or lamenting a defeat as a catastrophe.
The writer is a political psychologist.