God Of Cricket: Sachin Tendulkar MovieJockey.com

It is a chicken-and-egg thing whether we Indians love cricket because we are good at it or the other way around. The fact is that cricket is now inextricably woven into many different levels of the subcontinent's societal fabric. It's the one passion that cuts across divides of religion, caste and class, as a megabusiness, as a vessel for pride and patriotism, as a spectacle giving release to our collective blood lust, as a sexual metaphor, as the one grand narrative of the nation, the only one that competes with that other historical epic—the struggle for independence.

Embedded at the center of this vast and crazily complex circuit board of emotions is Sachin Tendulkar, who occupies the middle like no other cricketer before him. This has partly to do with the outrageous reservoir of talent he is blessed with, partly to do with his will—the seemingly German-engineered suspension that keeps the engine of that talent from going off the road—and partly to do with the era during which he came into world cricket.

At the time Tendulkar was born in 1973, cricket on television was not a widespread phenomenon in India. Most cricket fans had to make do with radio commentary, photographs and cruelly short snippets of speeded-up black-and-white newsreels. In the short 16 years it took Tendulkar to reach the international stage, all that changed. Cricketers were now intimate presences in millions of households, winning, losing and promoting everything from shaving cream to radial tires.

Though earlier stars had taken their share of promotion contracts, Tendulkar was the first one to simultaneously assume the twin thrones of sporting glory and media prominence. It was as though the big advertisers were waiting for him—if he hadn't existed they would have invented him. As Tendulkar began to deliver even more than he had promised as a preteen batting prodigy, the Pepsis and the Adidases lined up with unprecedentedly long dollars.

I interviewed Tendulkar eight years ago for a documentary I was making for the bbc. At the time he had been playing for India for a little more than four years and was already knocking on the door of cricket's hall of fame. Despite the huge media exposure, he came across as a shy young man, speaking in a barely audible voice, stumbling over his answers, his pauses almost as long as his scores. Today, when I see him on TV, that shy young man is gone. What is fascinating about Tendulkar is the sense he exudes of constantly wanting to improve. The core of his humility never seems to wander too far away from him. Over the years, Tendulkar the media performer has changed beyond recognition, and unbelievable though it is, the batsman is even better than before.

What has not changed is the impression he still gives of being a kid: a tough kid, hungry to learn and achieve. Yes, sometimes, when the batting helmet is off and India is on the brink of losing yet another game, his face falls, even drops into a scowl, and the cheeks imperceptibly push out a stubble of defeat. But otherwise there is mischief, impishness, an ability to laugh at himself, something rarer than plutonium in sportsmen.

And then again, give him his batting gear, give him a fresh innings, and it all changes. Modern technology has computed the reaction time a batsman has. The faster deliveries give the batsman between half and three-quarters of a second to respond. This responding business is not as simple as it sounds when you consider that, more likely than not, the bowler is an extremely strong, lithe man who has taken a run-up of 36 meters to build up velocity for his projectile, which is a hard, small, cricket ball that weighs around 140 grams. The ball leaves the bowler's hand at the apogee of a leap and a full swing of the arm, and travels the distance of the pitch—20 yards—at a speed sometimes close to 160 km/h. To further complicate matters, as it comes at you the ball hits the ground and changes direction to torpedo toward the most precious parts of your body. The only weapon against this assault is a bat made of willow.

Awaiting the ball, Tendulkar performs a signature crotch yank as he adjusts his abdomen guard—people have been known to bet on how many times he will tug at it between each delivery—sometimes the jaw goes up and the mouth grimaces as the strap on the helmet is tightened, and that's all—nothing else shows, no fear and no glee. He bends his knees, sticking his muscular bottom out, crouching to get himself even lower. As the bowler turns to start his run-up, the kid taps his bat as if waking up spirits within, and then he is ready.

[/SIZE]