Brad Hogg: happy to be on the field than off it © Getty Images

That really is the question, isn’t it? Serena Williams recently went on record saying that she dislikes tennis and would much rather shop. The irony is that tennis has made her close to $35 million in prize money, which in Sri Lanka would provide for a large portion of the national health budget.

Once you get over the fact that some professionals probably don’t enjoy the fame, the stardom, the money, the glamour, the paparazzi, and realise that with all that comes the pressure, the constant travelling, being away from loved ones, high-profile failure, media attention and disproportionate dislike from some segments of the population, you begin to realise you’re really better off at your desk. Serena also went on to say she “doesn’t like working out” and also doesn’t really fancy any sort of physical activity. That said, she doesn’t have such a bad record for a couch potato. She is also not alone in taking a large chomp at the digits that provide her sustenance. Andre Agassi, one of the few men to win all four grand slams (five, if you count Steffi Graf), said in his book: “I hate tennis, hate it with a dark and secret passion, and always have.” Imagine what he may have achieved if he actually liked what he did?

Trolling through ESPNcricinfo’s excellent Quote Unquote section, I stumbled across a contrary view from the irrepressible Brad Hogg. “There are people out there digging holes for a living and we're actually playing cricket. So stop whingeing,” he is reported to have told Melbourne Stars coach Greg Shipperd, who criticised the scheduling of the Big Bash League. Despite Williams' and Agassi’s admitted dislike of their sport, they are clearly the more celebrated superstars than the ever-smiling Bradley Hogg. Rightly so, one may argue, because they are both champions many times over, while Hogg is "merely" a good bowling allrounder. Isn’t that the problem, though? Some of those international sportspeople we don’t look at twice may just be the ones we should be looking at. We love the entertainers, the ostensibly successful, on a superficial level.

Hogg will always remain etched in my memory as the perennial competitor. Bowling, as he does, in chinaman style, with that unwavering wide grin on his face, he played the international game in the spirit in which all sport should be played. I remember the incident vividly from several years ago, when Hogg chased a ball to the boundary, slid in to scoop it back, and went into the boundary wall feet first. His technique was impeccable, except that his left foot didn’t land squarely on the wall. As he sliding into the wall, at full pelt, with the camera behind him, we saw replays of Hogg’s ankle turning 180 degrees and the sole of his foot pointing towards the back of his head. The replays confirmed that it was a pretty horrific injury. In real time however, despite suffering that break, Hogg saved the boundary, got up, limp-sprinted back to the ball, got it into his keeper before collapsing in pain. Even he couldn’t bowl that day though.

In an era where we see players who are paid hundreds of thousands of pounds a week, falling over in the European Football Leagues and writhing in pain when replays confirm that they were barely touched by opposing players, it is unfortunate that we don’t venerate the tenacity of players like Hogg. Of course, there are others like him – but they are in the minority.

Recently the Sri Lankan cricket team’s travails, both on and off the field, were well-documented. South African players said they were surprised the team was playing without being paid. In that regard the Sri Lankans deserve a pat on the back. On the flip side however, the delay was with respect to central contractual payments. Match fees and per diems were being paid on time. And a single match fee for, say, an ODI, is worth close to about five middle management executives' monthly wages in corporate Colombo. It’s hardly like the Lankan team were functioning amid the opprobrium of poverty.

So does anybody really like their job? And for us cheering from the sidelines, does cricket mean more than it actually should?

Hogg’s perspective certainly seems rational. You don’t get miners complaining of having to work an extra shift, because they generally could do with the pay. Cricketers complaining of “too much cricket” really need to take a long hard look at themselves lest they appear as distasteful as Serena and Andre.

Yes, there is a lot of cricket being played. But the last I heard, none of it was being played for free. Also, given that one half of the game – on average - is spent (unless you’re AB de Villiers) in the dressing room with your feet up, it hardly seems the most physically demanding of sports. In a relative sense, cricket has got to be one of the least physically demanding of sports. The recent South Africa v Sri Lanka series coverage sported the “Player Tracker”, which analyses how much sprinting, jogging or walking a player does. For the fast bowlers this would go occasionally up to nearly a kilometre of sprinting over a session. Compare that with a football midfielder, who runs close to 15 kilometres, almost non-stop, over 90 minutes.

Cricket’s superstars need to do more to enhance their status as role models. Proactively. Merely not getting caught with your pants down is not enough. Especially in South Asia, where it has far fewer sports to compete with, cricket can be a primary tool in shaping social attitudes. In Australia, England, South Africa and New Zealand, rugby, football and several other sports share the limelight with cricket. Asia’s sporting ambassadors have little or no competition, and like Spiderman before them, they must discharge their great power with great responsibility. Sachin Tendulkar, regardless of his place on batting’s Mt Olympus, has conducted himself exemplarily in this regard. But do we have enough Sachins?

Has Sachin too, apart from being the face of everything, from eggs to car batteries, done enough to promote the sporting values that we should seek to cultivate? Individually his work rate and dedication would suggest he has. It is not his sole responsibility, though. It is also time that we as fans ask ourselves what we expect from the objects of our adoration. Mindless entertainment as a result of their lovelessly honed skill, or role models that we can proudly valourise for our children.

Kohli was quite Australian after winning the U-19 World Cup in 2008 © AFP

Recently Virat Kohli was fined for showing his middle finger to the Sydney Hill crowd in response to insults, that Kohli described as the “worst he’s ever heard”. Which brings us to the reference points Kohli probably has, and the cultural dichotomies in a cricketing world that is held together purely and exclusively by its appreciation of the game.

History tells us that Kohli is not averse to a bit of good old swearing himself. When but a wee lad, and captain of the U-19 World Cup-winning side some years ago, he came under justified criticism for the hostility of his celebration – one that would have made Captain Haddock blush in its choice of language. Judging by his general demeanour on the field, Kohli looks an intense bloke who can handle himself. But appearances can be misleading. The U-19 victory celebration showed that, for anthropological reasons that we cannot go into here, the release of tension and emotion generally manifests itself in fairly offensive language. Kohli, in taking offence and reacting to the Sydney crowd, seems to be holding them to a higher standard than he holds himself.

Aussie crowds are passionate about their sports. They have also been passionate about hating the enemy, and aren’t shy about making that fact known. These are presumably qualities that Kohli shares. So does he have the right to react as he does? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

While discussing the whole hand gesture and subsequent fine, a Sri Lankan friend who had spent a lot of his life in Perth disclosed the abuse he took from the crowds at the WACA. He revealed that he and his family had been asked to maybe repatriate to their ancestral homeland - in not so polite a fashion. A discerning cricket fan who had grown up in Western Australia and had been disciplined during his schooldays by Tom Moody’s father (who happened to be his principal at school), he remarked how distressed he was by the fear of imminent physical violence. This sort of abuse is not on, and it is no surprise that evictions of spectators from Australian grounds are commonplace.

But this wasn’t exactly Kohli’s experience was it? He was never in any real physical danger, and his lot was not any better or worse than that of any opposition fielder on an Australian boundary line. The fact, though, is that in South Asia, slights against mothers and/or sisters are viewed in a very dim light. This is what riled Kohli.

It is the same sort of cultural difference that led to the unsavoury scenes between Harbhajan Singh and Andrew Symonds in 2008. Legend has it that Harbajhan called Symonds a monkey, which can be construed as among the worst racial slurs to aim at someone of Symonds’ lineage. The subsequent negotiations - sorry, investigations - led to the conclusion that Harbhajan had, in fact, used a Hindi phrase that sounds like “monkey” instead. The fact that this word was closer in meaning to what the crowd may have insinuated to Kohli, didn’t seem to matter, because it was not racist. Funnily enough, in Sri Lanka (I can’t speak for other countries), calling someone a monkey is almost a term of endearment or affection. Therein lies the rub.

The cultural divide between cultures in the way English is spoken, understood and assimilated will always make cricket, on occasion, a volcano. At other times, though, it is a melting pot – without, I would argue, the need to be sanitised. What is needed is a little education.

Asia does not carry the same sort of historical racial baggage that England, Australia or South Africa do. Similarly, the cultural mores and references of Asia are alien to straight-talking, no-nonsense non-Asians. If we all stopped being so uptight about it all and enjoyed the diversity, though, things might become far more interesting and inclusive. A case in point is congenital Western inability to grasp the Asian bob of the head. You know the one. The one that says “yes”, “no” and “maybe” in one economical swivel. It drives tourists bananas (oops, there’s the monkey theme again). Native English speakers in the cricketing world are used to a nod for a “yes”, or a horizontal shake of the head for “no”. This in-between bobbing does nothing but infuriate them, hilariously.

And Asian teams will continue to infuriate with their niggle and cheekiness, and non-Asian teams will continue to be dominant and unwittingly offensive for no fault of either party. It’s what makes cricket fun.

Kohli was quite Australian after winning the U-19 World Cup in 2008 © AFP

Recently Virat Kohli was fined for showing his middle finger to the Sydney Hill crowd in response to insults, that Kohli described as the “worst he’s ever heard”. Which brings us to the reference points Kohli probably has, and the cultural dichotomies in a cricketing world that is held together purely and exclusively by its appreciation of the game.

History tells us that Kohli is not averse to a bit of good old swearing himself. When but a wee lad, and captain of the U-19 World Cup-winning side some years ago, he came under justified criticism for the hostility of his celebration – one that would have made Captain Haddock blush in its choice of language. Judging by his general demeanour on the field, Kohli looks an intense bloke who can handle himself. But appearances can be misleading. The U-19 victory celebration showed that, for anthropological reasons that we cannot go into here, the release of tension and emotion generally manifests itself in fairly offensive language. Kohli, in taking offence and reacting to the Sydney crowd, seems to be holding them to a higher standard than he holds himself.

Aussie crowds are passionate about their sports. They have also been passionate about hating the enemy, and aren’t shy about making that fact known. These are presumably qualities that Kohli shares. So does he have the right to react as he does? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

While discussing the whole hand gesture and subsequent fine, a Sri Lankan friend who had spent a lot of his life in Perth disclosed the abuse he took from the crowds at the WACA. He revealed that he and his family had been asked to maybe repatriate to their ancestral homeland - in not so polite a fashion. A discerning cricket fan who had grown up in Western Australia and had been disciplined during his schooldays by Tom Moody’s father (who happened to be his principal at school), he remarked how distressed he was by the fear of imminent physical violence. This sort of abuse is not on, and it is no surprise that evictions of spectators from Australian grounds are commonplace.

But this wasn’t exactly Kohli’s experience was it? He was never in any real physical danger, and his lot was not any better or worse than that of any opposition fielder on an Australian boundary line. The fact, though, is that in South Asia, slights against mothers and/or sisters are viewed in a very dim light. This is what riled Kohli.

It is the same sort of cultural difference that led to the unsavoury scenes between Harbhajan Singh and Andrew Symonds in 2008. Legend has it that Harbajhan called Symonds a monkey, which can be construed as among the worst racial slurs to aim at someone of Symonds’ lineage. The subsequent negotiations - sorry, investigations - led to the conclusion that Harbhajan had, in fact, used a Hindi phrase that sounds like “monkey” instead. The fact that this word was closer in meaning to what the crowd may have insinuated to Kohli, didn’t seem to matter, because it was not racist. Funnily enough, in Sri Lanka (I can’t speak for other countries), calling someone a monkey is almost a term of endearment or affection. Therein lies the rub.

The cultural divide between cultures in the way English is spoken, understood and assimilated will always make cricket, on occasion, a volcano. At other times, though, it is a melting pot – without, I would argue, the need to be sanitised. What is needed is a little education.

Asia does not carry the same sort of historical racial baggage that England, Australia or South Africa do. Similarly, the cultural mores and references of Asia are alien to straight-talking, no-nonsense non-Asians. If we all stopped being so uptight about it all and enjoyed the diversity, though, things might become far more interesting and inclusive. A case in point is congenital Western inability to grasp the Asian bob of the head. You know the one. The one that says “yes”, “no” and “maybe” in one economical swivel. It drives tourists bananas (oops, there’s the monkey theme again). Native English speakers in the cricketing world are used to a nod for a “yes”, or a horizontal shake of the head for “no”. This in-between bobbing does nothing but infuriate them, hilariously.

And Asian teams will continue to infuriate with their niggle and cheekiness, and non-Asian teams will continue to be dominant and unwittingly offensive for no fault of either party. It’s what makes cricket fun.

This year has been the gestation period for Test cricket's rebirth © Getty Images

Apparently the end of the world is signalled by the rise of two suns. Now this hasn’t happened yet, but a year with two World Cups in it comes uncomfortably close for my liking: 2011 saw the cricket World Cup played in March, and the rugby World Cup in September – so perhaps the end of the world as we know it, is nigh? Hopefully not, though, for there are plenty of stars rising on the Test cricket horizon to herald not an end but a new beginning for the original format of the game.

This year also saw two subcontinental cricketers of substance making their voices heard. Kumar Sangakkara, indisputably Sri Lanka’s greatest Test batsman, and Rahul Dravid, arguably India’s equivalent, called with passion for the revitalisation of Test cricket. Their plea may or may not have fallen on deaf ears as far as the game’s administration is concerned. The long-awaited Test Championship seems to be a non-starter, and the traditional powerhouses seem to be dictating who plays whom, where and when. Sri Lanka have long been requesting more tours to England, South Africa and Australasia, and when those opportunities are provided, perhaps, Test cricket will be a more equal-opportunity genre. However, until the ICC wakes from its short-format slumber, Dravid’s and Sangakkara’s peers have taken it upon themselves to raise the profile of Test cricket.

It may be that the cricketers have been influenced by the astrological shifts taking place unbeknownst to us. The sages have led us to believe that 2012 will usher us into the Age of Aquarius. A more enlightened, spiritual, philanthropic age (i.e. Test cricket), freeing us from the shackles of the Age of Pisces, which is marked by organisational structures pursued and protected through violent means (i.e. the birth of T20 cricket). So perhaps the end of the world in 2012 is not really the end of the world, merely the end of the world as we know it.

Dravid, during his Bradman oration, lamented the fact that he was playing Test cricket, and sometimes even ODI cricket, to sparse houses in India. With the following it has in the subcontinent, it seems inexplicable that Eden Gardens should not be packed to capacity every time India plays. But that, Dravid evidences, is the state of things as they are. There can be no doubt, assuming that Sangakkara and Dravid speak for a majority of their colleagues, that Test cricket is the preferred format for players themselves. It is what they consider the toughest test. Test matches are a cricketer’s Wimbledon.

Be that as it may, perhaps the recent upheavals in Test cricket have led to some introspection. And with the planets contributing their collective might, Test cricketers have become more altruistic, more Aquarian. The not-quite-tied Test between India and West Indies was second to none for its drama. The low-scoring yet tense second Test between the Black Caps and the baggy-green caps was a riveting affair, and the Boxing Day matches, in both South Africa and Australia, are proving to be superb contests.

I’m not sure whether it’s just me, but close, tense, hard-fought Test matches are far more memorable than down-to-the-wire ODI or T20 games. Similarly, the frequency of close Tests, as opposed to closer short games, has taken a major leap forward. The ODI that goes down to the last over with both teams still very much in it is a scarce commodity. More so the T20 game that does so. Instead of fulfilling the promise of excitement on tap, a vast majority of T20 games end up being decided fairly early on in the piece - meaning spectators have to be satisfied instead with the number and size of sixes hit, a swashbuckling individual score or scantily clad cheerleaders. Given the nature of the formats, it stands to reason that T20s and ODIs should probably be decided in the final over more often than not. The marked absence of such results can lead us to conclude either that the balance of power in world cricket is lopsided, where some teams are very good and others average, or that the formats are flawed. I seek to draw no conclusions, merely mention something that seems empirically incongruous.

Going back to newly reborn Test cricket: we have seen some stellar new performances. Vernon Philander has four Michelles in three Tests, plus a match bag. Virat Kohli’s performances look like he will be one for the Indian future. And Marchant de Lange and Dinesh Chandimal have signaled their intent on debut with seven wickets and an attacking fifty.

I’ve been involved in recent Facebook discussions on what a good target for a fourth-innings chase might be, and friends call to ask whether I saw that last spell by Pattinson, Steyn, or now even Umesh Yadav. Ravichandran Ashwin, after making a name for himself in limited-overs cricket, has become a century-scoring offspinner who adequately fills the Harbajhan void. The world of Test cricket is exciting.

It’s not the end, it’s a new dawn. Hooray!

Ouch. That's got to hurt. But will it leave a mark? © Getty Images

So I was watching the All Blacks play the Wallabies the other day. Given that this is the world’s premier cricket website, it might be necessary to reveal that those are the rugby union teams of New Zealand and Australia. It wasn’t so much watching them “play” each other as much as batter, maul, punch, thump, and make the best possible attempt to destroy, each other. For the uninitiated, international rugby is a hybrid of professional wrestling (minus the scripts) and American football. To say that it is brutal would be an understatement. Yet here are these 30-odd professional athletes, playing week in week out, with little or no drop in intensity and even less regard for their bodies, representing their countries, provinces and franchises.

It has always surprised me that there are not as many injuries in rugby as you might expect; which speaks volumes for the amazing adaptability and strength of the human body. I have never ceased to be amazed at the limits to which the body can be pushed, without irreparable damage being caused. Remarkable.

Which brings us to cricket, a game played by elite professional athletes, who make a pretty damn decent living, especially in the subcontinent. Given the general per capita incomes in, say, India, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and Pakistan, cricketers are well paid in comparison. Especially given the lack of any sort of rival sport played at the same level. So one could be forgiven for assuming that their commitment to cricket should possibly be all-encompassing. In a day and age where the average white-collar worker spends a minimum of eight hours behind a desk, cricketers ought to, we assume, spend a similar amount of the day on matters associated to cricket.

A bowler or a batsman can’t possibly spend more than a couple of hours in the nets at a time. Even if this is done twice a day when not playing matches, that still leaves a considerable amount of time to hit the gym. Which is not something that players from the subcontinent seem to be all that worried about. Surely, if they were concerned about it, the likes of Ramesh Powar and Thilina Kandamby wouldn’t exist in their current proportions? The fact that you can be among your country’s elite athletes and still be in such upsetting shape is an indictment of the culture of fitness that surrounds the game of cricket, most particularly in Asia.

Take a look at Shane Watson. A towering brickhouse of a man, who said during his mammoth innings of 185 not out against Bangladesh earlier this year that he started whacking sixes because he was feeling a little too tired to run. He hit 15 (and as many fours). Thirty boundaries from a man who admitted to being knackered. Even Sanath Jayasuriya in his pomp would have baulked at that sort of power-hitting. Foremost among the modern Asian crash-bang-wallopers are Jayasuriya, Afridi, and to a lesser extent Dhoni. All three men are exceptionally strong. Jayasuriya has Popeye-like forearms, while Afridi packs a Pathan punch.

While watching endless reruns of games from previous World Cups in the lead-up to this year’s edition, I couldn’t help but notice the power and grace of the young IVA Richards. Beneath the white shirt and the skin-tight trousers, the bulging muscles are hard to miss. Richards’ destructiveness is legendary, but not many would attribute that to his physical superiority in an era where Mike Gatting and David Boon were not considered entirely misshapen.

“Get to the blinking point,” I hear you urge, with not unreasonable consternation. My point, simply, is that cricket is a physical game. And as long as we keep shying away from that, Asians will win World Cups on dirt tracks and teams with big, strong players will win everything else. It’s no coincidence that the all-conquering England team are playing so well at the moment. They are a well-drilled unit, who not only look good skill-wise, but also physically. Andrew Strauss bulked up considerably over the last winter. Alastair Cook now looks like a Backstreet Boy with muscles, and the likes of Jimmy Anderson have toughened up. Chris Tremlett is also an archetypal specimen, and Kevin Pietersen’s physical prowess is obvious.

It didn’t need Andrew Flintoff to point it out, but the Indian team’s almost complete failure on the physical front contributed in no small measure to their results on the disastrous tour of England. The injury to Zaheer Khan was typical of the apathy that many (though not all) Asian players show for their fitness. Sourav Ganguly’s aversion to running was rumoured to have ticked Greg Chappell off. Non-contact injuries are usually preventable with proper preparation, warming up and cooling down.

Sri Lanka have also faced their share of injuries recently, with some fast bowlers breaking down. This is mainly because the young lads don’t look after themselves when they are playing through the age groups, and break down in the high-intensity environs of international cricket.

It is probably time for Asian batsmen to shed the mindset of being primarily “touch” players, who use their delicate wrists to such good effect, and hit the gym. Naturally, a Mahela Jayawardene will never emerge from the bowels of the gymnasium looking like Watson, but it probably wouldn’t hurt if he bulked up a bit. Kumar Sangakkara is Sri Lanka’s best batsman and has, among other things, his tennis-playing forearms to thank for his power and dexterity. Strength won’t slow you down and stiffen you up. It’ll help you hit sixes. Really, it will. The evidence is overwhelming.

It’s time coaches and physios of subcontinental teams realised that they probably need to increase the proportions of strength- and fitness work they do with their teams. In a region where players are more naturally talented, arguably, than their Caucasian cousins, it would be criminal not to keep up with the physical demands of modern cricket. The relationship between strength and skill is a symbiotic one. It’s time to get on yer bikes, mates.