In this undeniably enchanting Asia Cup, the TV commentary tastes like a stale salad, unfriendly and unschooled. The box is mostly manned by eager beaver aspirants, who haven't cleared any permissible entrance examinations, certified by the equivalent of Competition Success Review.
Being a game of English origins, the quality of word craft has been a well-honed hallmark, both in the written and spoken domains. The BBC Test Match Special was a lesson in both language and sport, as Brian Johnston and his ilk spewed elegance comparable to David Gower's cover drive. Kerry Packer's Channel 9 replicated this tradition with indigenous impunity, and we are fully versed with Richie Benaud and his merry band of compatriots, or should I say fugitives.
In England, commentary followed the journalistic tradition of specialization, and rarely were superannuated players entrusted with the microphone, unless in possession of formidable articulation. While Australia truthfully pioneered the culture of ex-players graduating to a verbose second inning, perhaps a clever measure for garnering viewership eyeballs, just like Night Cricket in the 1970s.
But one thing was clearly guaranteed - a confluence of cricketing acumen and TV affinity was the minimum entry criterion, failure in either destined for rejection. On TV affinity the point to be reiterated was audio-visual synergy, the volume and value of conversation adding substance to the gameplay, neither repetitive nor monotonous. The super-sharp duo of Sunil Gavaskar and Harsha Bhogle understood this cogently followed by folks like Ravi Shastri and Gautam Bhimani, while many other copybook worthies blundered majorly on basics.
Those who watched yesterday's eponymous sub-continental Derby would have been reasonably appalled by the quality of commentators, shallow schoolboys entrusted with jiving joysticks. The deadly giveaway was the insistence on speaking nonstop, the veritable cloning of a Sidhu cum Arnab avatar, with little or no awareness of medium or game. Plus, an appalling abdication of neutrality or objectivity, with passionate overtures betraying the obstinate roots. It was painfully torturous for lovers of the game and I would love to meet folks who adore this diarrheal overdrive of jampacked words and delirious emotions.
The solution to delight both business and connoisseur is startlingly simple and let me unfurl a possible idea. Nowadays, networks have multiple channel outlets and it is very easy to imagine a twin-tier commentary feed, separated not just by language but also by appreciation. So a version of commentary staffed by Gavaskar, Shastri, and Bhimani ( with suitable regional peers)while a parallel projection hires the current Asia Cup types, boisterous, rabid, and unfettered. Let AI-led data devices recommend the customer-centric choice of feed, and every investing wallet can sleep happily ever after, whatever the format of the encounter.
In sum, there is a very simple tale to tell, devoid of agenda or wishlist. Like most known to me, I am a meaningful Indian with extreme parameters of pride, and yet I seek objectivity and class in the commentary on Cricket, not a stiflingly volcanic eruption of amateur emotions. Which is exactly why the separation of verbal feeds is critical, to sustain the sensibilities of both the beautiful game and its timeless following.
In the Asia Cup surely, I am rooting for my motherland, with both belief and belligerence. But yet, a romantic in me, gently nudges the possibility of an Afghan triumph, the terminally failed nation seeking a semblance of token resurgence. We will know the outcome shortly while in the meantime, the callous commentary must not become a sordid documentary.
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Do we deserve the Asia Cup Cricket commentary we're getting?
In this undeniably enchanting Asia Cup, the TV commentary tastes like a stale salad, unfriendly and unschooled. The box is mostly manned by eager beaver aspirants, who haven't cleared any permissible entrance examinations, certified by the equivalent of Competition Success Review.
Being a game of English origins, the quality of word craft has been a well-honed hallmark, both in the written and spoken domains. The BBC Test Match Special was a lesson in both language and sport, as Brian Johnston and his ilk spewed elegance comparable to David Gower's cover drive. Kerry Packer's Channel 9 replicated this tradition with indigenous impunity, and we are fully versed with Richie Benaud and his merry band of compatriots, or should I say fugitives.
In England, commentary followed the journalistic tradition of specialization, and rarely were superannuated players entrusted with the microphone, unless in possession of formidable articulation. While Australia truthfully pioneered the culture of ex-players graduating to a verbose second inning, perhaps a clever measure for garnering viewership eyeballs, just like Night Cricket in the 1970s.
But one thing was clearly guaranteed - a confluence of cricketing acumen and TV affinity was the minimum entry criterion, failure in either destined for rejection. On TV affinity the point to be reiterated was audio-visual synergy, the volume and value of conversation adding substance to the gameplay, neither repetitive nor monotonous. The super-sharp duo of Sunil Gavaskar and Harsha Bhogle understood this cogently followed by folks like Ravi Shastri and Gautam Bhimani, while many other copybook worthies blundered majorly on basics.
Those who watched yesterday's eponymous sub-continental Derby would have been reasonably appalled by the quality of commentators, shallow schoolboys entrusted with jiving joysticks. The deadly giveaway was the insistence on speaking nonstop, the veritable cloning of a Sidhu cum Arnab avatar, with little or no awareness of medium or game. Plus, an appalling abdication of neutrality or objectivity, with passionate overtures betraying the obstinate roots. It was painfully torturous for lovers of the game and I would love to meet folks who adore this diarrheal overdrive of jampacked words and delirious emotions.
The solution to delight both business and connoisseur is startlingly simple and let me unfurl a possible idea. Nowadays, networks have multiple channel outlets and it is very easy to imagine a twin-tier commentary feed, separated not just by language but also by appreciation. So a version of commentary staffed by Gavaskar, Shastri, and Bhimani ( with suitable regional peers)while a parallel projection hires the current Asia Cup types, boisterous, rabid, and unfettered. Let AI-led data devices recommend the customer-centric choice of feed, and every investing wallet can sleep happily ever after, whatever the format of the encounter.
In sum, there is a very simple tale to tell, devoid of agenda or wishlist. Like most known to me, I am a meaningful Indian with extreme parameters of pride, and yet I seek objectivity and class in the commentary on Cricket, not a stiflingly volcanic eruption of amateur emotions. Which is exactly why the separation of verbal feeds is critical, to sustain the sensibilities of both the beautiful game and its timeless following.
In the Asia Cup surely, I am rooting for my motherland, with both belief and belligerence. But yet, a romantic in me, gently nudges the possibility of an Afghan triumph, the terminally failed nation seeking a semblance of token resurgence. We will know the outcome shortly while in the meantime, the callous commentary must not become a sordid documentary.