Eknath Solkar takes a brilliant catch to dismiss Alan Knott © Getty Images

From S.Giridhar and V.J. Raghunath, India

Madras, 1956: India v New Zealand, Umrigar catches Bert Sutcliffe
Sutcliffe is the mainstay for New Zealand. If India get him they have won half the battle. Well set, Sutcliffe goes for a pull off Jasu Patel and the ball soars to square leg. Umrigar stationed near the square-leg umpire, turns and sprints back 25 metres, looking over his shoulder all the while, to take the catch. Next morning in the Hindu, SK Gurunathan wrote that unfortunately for Sutcliffe, he hit the ball in the direction of the only fielder in the Indian team who could have attempted and made the catch!

Madras 1964: India v Australia, Surti catches Lawry
Simpson and Lawry are trying to build a sizeable lead and set India a goodish target. The Indian captain Tiger Pataudi has Nadkarni at one end, keeping them on a leash. Patrolling the deep is substitute Rusi Surti, perhaps India’s best ever outfielder, swooping in on everything coming his way and throwing back in one action. When Nadkarni tosses one up, Lawry puts his right leg out and on bent knee swings Nadkarni hard and high to the square-leg boundary. At the end of the Nadkarni over, Pataudi, Nadkarni and Surti meet mid-pitch and a plan is hatched. In Nadkarni's next over to Lawry, the third ball is tossed up a bit more; Lawry goes for the big shot again. Even as the ball leaves Nadkarni’s hand, Surti from long leg starts sprinting towards deep square leg. Running flat out, Surti takes a sensational catch and the crowd rises to its feet spontaneously.

Oval, 1971: England v India, Solkar catches Knott
Chandra has ripped the top order of the England team in the second innings. If India get the troublesome Knott out, victory is theirs. Venkat – Chandra’s spin partner in that series – has the usual cordon around the bat. Crouching low at forward short leg is one of the finest in cricket history, Eknath Solkar. As Knott plays forward to Venkat, it is the merest of inside edges – hardly a chance – but Solkar diving full-length forward miraculously takes the ball. The innings folds and India go on to record their first-ever Test win in England.

Attempting to select capable Indian fielders before the advent of ODIs yields about a dozen names. It was only since the growth of ODIs in the eighties that India’s cricketers began to run up laundry bills. The most often heard comment on radio when a boundary was hit off an Indian bowler was “and the fielder escorts the ball to the boundary”. In the sixties, Pataudi the young captain, despairingly surveying his team told them, "All I expect from you is to see dirty trouser knees at the end of the day."

India in the fifties to seventies threw up some wonderfully gifted Indian batsmen and bowlers but the great fielder was almost an apparition. Grounds on which we learnt our cricket were bumpy and grassless. Many of us grew up playing cricket on gravel grounds. By the time we reached college we had developed an aversion for fielding and weren't inclined to dive for the ball. So while being self-deprecating about our fielding, we are not without empathy.

	Rahul Dravid is one of India's finest slip fielders © AFP

It is also true that Indians are not as athletic as the Australians, New Zealanders or the South Africans. Our reflexes are second to none but in our ability to sprint, change direction without hurting ourselves or to throw ourselves we are woefully behind. It is only in the last 25 years that India has narrowed the gulf with the other countries. Our grounds have improved, coaches are giving importance to fielding and budding players know that better fielding will help them move ahead of competitors.

And so from the late seventies we have a line of excellent fielders – Brijesh Patel, Madan Lal, Yajurvindra Singh, Kapil Dev, Azharuddin, Tendulkar, Robin Singh (even though he learnt his cricket in Trinidad), Ajay Jadeja, Yuvraj Singh, Mohammad Kaif, Aakash Chopra, Suresh Raina, Rohit Sharma, S Badrinath and others. Our slip cordon was also more assured – Gavaskar, Dravid and Laxman are good examples to support that claim. But before the advent of the ODI era, who were the Indian fielders good enough to be bracketed with the best of their times?

The first twenty years of India’s Test cricket, the era of Nayudu, Merchant and Amarnath - yield just a couple of names. Mushtaq Ali, the cavalier opening bat, and Gul Mohammad, easily the best Indian fielder of his time. When Test cricket resumed after World War II, India’s fielding was marginally better. Luckily we had a sprinkling of players from the Services - all fit and agile. Hemu Adhikari was easily the best among them and his colleagues Gadkariand Muddiah showed the benefit of training and serious fielding drills. An electric cover point, Adhikari was the first Indian team manager to put a premium on fitness and fielding. Portly Prasanna made way for the fit and agile Venkat in the 1971 series against England because Adhikari wanted Venkat’s combined prowess more than merely Prasanna’s spin brilliance. Adhikari, therefore, is in a way India’s watershed man.

In the 1950s our fielding came to be represented by Polly Umrigar. Back then, when Subhash Gupte, Vinoo Mankad and Ghulam Ahmed bowled spin for India they had just one special catcher, Polly Umrigar, who was probably the only one who could be counted upon to take difficult catches both in the outfield and close in. Madhav Apte in the outfield was the other good fielder.

Later, in the sixties, we had Nadkarni close in, the brilliant Pataudi, Surti and Borde in the outfield. It was the advent of Pataudi in 1960 that put a stop to that depressing spectacle of Indian fielders jogging to merely fetch the ball back from the ropes. An excellent fielder, Pataudi also plucked astonishing catches from his position at covers or midwicket. In the Delhi Test of 1964 - we recall as though we saw it yesterday – a cover drive by Mike Smith, the MCC captain, struck sweetly flew just inches off the ground. Pataudi swooped forward, and took the ball even as it was dying in front of him. Some wickets must be credited only to the fielder - this was one.

This trendsetter was followed by a succession of good outfielders - Brijesh Patel, Madan Lal, Yashpal Sharma and Kapil Dev. As Indian cricket came of age in the early seventies they had a formidable close-in cordon manned by Solkar, Abid Ali, Venkat and Wadekar.

Picking the good fielders of that era might be an effort. Unfortunately, to pick the poor fielders of those days is not difficult - Ghulam Ahmed was among the worst; Merchant, Rusi Modi, Manjrekar and Sardesai were all poor fielders; Vinoo Mankad was very good only off his own bowling. A whole lot of them short and portly - Sarwate, Mankad, Gupte, Roy, the list goes on - were not quick movers. Some who looked lithe and elegant – Jaisimha for instance – unfortunately did not take their fielding seriously enough.

Fielding is something one can work on and get consistently better at. As we get better we begin to enjoy it even more. Both of us found catching drills so thrilling that even when we were into our forties and playing nothing but office cricket we would exult like children while holding a difficult catch. Raghunath for instance would forever be indebted to his league captain Rangan who gave such intensive close-catching practice that he became an absolutely fearless short-leg fielder. Great close-in catchers in the pre-helmet days were supreme brave hearts.

India’s best close-in fielders emerged during the pre-helmet era of the spin quartet, 1964-78. It was the Solkar-era. When Solkar passed away in 2005 the most moving tributes came from the spinners who knew he provided them a unique cutting edge standing at forward short leg. Solkar had courage, anticipation, reflexes and the god-given ability to go for anything with both hands. There has been none like him. Venkat had equally good reflexes and the ability to spring up from his crouching position at gully or in the slips and took sharp overhead catches with nonchalance.

And thus we come to the end of this tale – we have brought to you memories of the very good fielders of those days. Gul Mohammad, Mushtaq Ali, Adhikari, Umrigar, Borde, Pataudi, Surti, Solkar, Abid Ali…… A dozen names at best but reflective of the fact that India before 1970 was, to put it kindly, ponderous in the field. Perhaps there will be an occasion to write about the world’s best fielders in Test history – about Simpson, Cowdrey, Sobers, Mark Waugh, Jonty Rhodes, Colin Bland and others - but even in such an illustrious list, surely there will be place for Solkar and Surti from India.

From Suhas Cadmabi, United States

With his spectacular lofted shots, his electric fielding and almost-West-Indian persona, Vinod Kambli injected the side with a dose of cool © PA Photos

Not with a bang, but a deafening whimper. In what must be the most anti-climactic announcement since the ICC's recommendation that Zimbabwe Cricket's selection system needs an overhaul, Vinod Kambli has decided to call time on his international career.

Fine joke, you may say, for it has been nearly nine years since his last game of any significance for India. Me, I can't help but feel amazed at how inappropriate the manner of this exit is. After all, Kambli was someone who always did things in style. This had me wondering for the umpteenth time: why has a section of Indian cricket followers - specifically, those of us who grew up in the early nineties - chosen to confer cult status upon Kambli, overlooking his obvious deficiencies and celebrating his fleeting successes? Why do the lot of us continue to hold out for his recall, knowing fully well he would only embarrass himself?

The answer seems to lie in his flamboyance; that of his batting, as well as manner on the field. When he first arrived on the scene, India's batting was somewhat lacking in the 'style' quotient, being more sedate than sledgehammer. Kapil Dev was on the wane, Sachin Tendulkar was yet to fully come into his own, and Azhar was still a caresser, not a bludgeoner.

Kambli, with the bandanna and earrings, his predilection for spectacular lofted shots, his electric fielding and almost-West-Indian persona, injected the side with a dose of cool. This, allied to the weight of his runs, made him an instant hit among us impressionable boys. The answer also lies in the not insignificant fact that his Test career was done before he was 24; if Tendulkar was our Don Bradman, Kambli was our Archie Jackson - the whiz kid who (metaphorically) died young.

While it is a hackneyed exercise to compare the respective career paths of Kambli and Tendulkar, for a brief period it was impossible to talk of one without mentioning the other. During those three glorious years, it was uncanny how they shared a great sense of occasion, how they always seemed to be there for each other.

There was Eden Park, 1994, when Tendulkar - opening the batting for the first time - went about dismantling the Kiwi bowlers for 82 off 49 balls, while Kambli kept the momentum going at the other end, unleashing some spectacular Caribbean drives off Danny Morrsion.

	Kambli bet the house on style, but it didn't pay off consistently enough © Getty Images

Their partnership at Jaipur in 1993, when Kambli reached his first international century, was often replayed on TV as a duet made in heaven. And when Sachin himself finally got to his first one-day hundred the next year in Colombo, Kambli was around to finish the job by hoisting Shane Warne repeatedly over the top. This fire-and-ice combination meant the young Indian fan had never had it so good; cricket was sky-high in the coolness stakes, not the stilted old man's game it had seemed a while ago.

Kambli's subsequent fade-out has been well documented. Ironically, the very attributes which made him a much-loved cricketer were to bring about his downfall. In Men in White, Mukul Kesevan likens Kambli, in the manner of his attitude and flourish, to how Brian Lara might have been without the genius: "He could have tightened up and become a less ambitious, more reliable batsman, but he bet the house on style ... the over-the-top crowd pleasing on the field..(it) didn't add up to runs on the board."

It is unfortunate that for most fans, the one lasting image of the man is from the closing stages of the Eden Gardens semi-final, 1996; Kambli was reduced to tears, obviously believing against the odds he could win it off his own bat. Such a demonstration of his raw, emotive side was completely in keeping with his spontaneous brand of batsmanship, but this moment was the beginning of the end for him. He was omitted soon after for reasons which have never really been made clear.

He made several comebacks to the one-day side thereafter, prompting unfavourable comparisons with Graeme Hick and Phil Simmons. But, even allowing for the fact that his average of 54 could be put down to mediocre opposition on flat pitches, how could the selectors not be compelled to recall him to the Test side?

It is generally agreed that he never fully recovered from being bounced out by Courtney Walsh and Kenny Benjamin at home, but he was never given the opportunity to redeem himself, either; during a four-year period in which India toured England, South Africa, Australia and the West Indies, the batting line-up was being juggled about in a bid to find a stable combination, and everyone who impressed in the Ranji Trophy, from Vikram Rathore to Hrishikesh Kanitkar, was given a go. And yet, Kambli's name rarely even came up for discussion.

Looking at the case of the similarly flamboyant Yuvraj Singh - whose extended run in the Test team can be put down to the strong cushion provided by India's batting heavyweights - one wonders if the comeback kid might not have re-established himself in today's Indian side, with a solid middle-order to lean on.

Those of us who care will have to make do with 1993, instead. My mind is cast back to a Pepsi advertisement, closely tied in with its epoch. Kambli and Sachin enter the room after a training session, dripping in sweat. Their eyes simultaneously turn to the sole bottle of Pepsi in the room, and they make a mad dash for it. Their hands reach the bottle at precisely the same instant, so they decide to settle it with a round of arm-wrestling. As the duel is about to be decided, in walks Azhar, who helps himself to the bottle and remarks: "Chillax boys! Have a Pepsi." That was another time, a time when I enjoyed being bombarded with ads, and a time when I preferred the cavalier to the orthodox.

From Jacob Astill, Australia

It seems the English press is already planning Andrew Flintoff's legacy to cricket before his career has actually finished, calling him, among other things, England's best player since Botham. And as his Test career is ending after the final Ashes Test at the Oval, it seemed like as good a time as any to ask, considering his record at international and domestic level, does England's favourite son deserve to have had such an effect on world cricket? Does he deserve the accolade "great"?

In the sporting world, cricket stands alone in allowing individual statistics to tell the story of a player's career. Admittedly, statistics don't tell the whole story- Garry Sober's bowling statistics don't reflect his true brilliance as an all-round bowler alone. But could you possibly describe the imperiousness of Franz Beckenbauer by looking at the amount of goals he scored for Germany? Or can you illustrate the genius of Roger Federer by quoting his first-serve percentage? The answer is an unwavering no. But you can get an accurate idea of how good a batsman Brian Lara is because of the amount of runs and centuries he's scored. So, after hearing all the hype about him, and rolling your eyes at the English media saying he's a better allrounder than Botham, when you finally get around to perusing his Test records, one thing unexpectedly stands out: he's not actually that good.

In 78 Tests, he's made 3816 runs at 32.06, and taken 225 wickets at 32.59. A rather underwhelming record, wouldn't you say? There is only one criterion that a good allrounder must fill: he should be able to hold his place in the side as either a batsman or a bowler. With a record like that, Flintoff would be lucky to hold his place as either, and yet he is picked because he "brings an X-factor" to both the batting and bowling departments. Yet Flintoff's record becomes even more uninspiring when you consider he's made only five Test centuries, and taken only three five-wicket hauls in his 78-Test career. Now at this stage I can almost hear every single Englishman screaming at me from the other side of the world. I can hear snatches of "What about 2005?", "Statistics don't tell the whole story" and "He's always injured", so let me counter these.

The Ashes series in 2005 will forever be known as Flintoff's Ashes, mainly because it was his batting and bowling that really proved a turning point in the series. But it wasn't like he made 700 runs and took 35 wickets; he made 402 runs and took 24 wickets, which are good figures, but not amazing. And look, even though I'm writing this trying to tell you Flintoff isn't that good, in that series he was irresistible, and any Aussie would've swapped Dizzy Gillespie or Matty Hayden for Flintoff in a heartbeat.

But is a great performance in one series the basis for a legend? Should the English community be tearing down the "Our best player" plaque from over Sir Ian Botham's mantlepiece and placing it on bended knee at Flintoff's door? I'll say it again: statistics don't tell the whole story. But in cricket, if you don't make runs or take wickets, there is not really anywhere to hide.

Before the current Ashes series, I heard that Flintoff made an unbeaten 90-something in a County Twenty20 match, followed by a large amount of fawning from the British media, to the effect of "He's coming good at the right time". But a conveniently ignored fact about that innings is that it was his highest score in all top-level cricket since he made a century at Nottingham in the 2005 Ashes series (But he was injured..., Yeah, yeah, I'll get there in a minute). And look, excuses can always be made for his lack of centuries, runs, wickets, and Michelles at Test level, such as batting at 6 and 7, he doesn't get as much of an opportunity with the bat as players batting higher. But take the example of Marcus North, Australia's current No.6. In six Tests, North has already made three centuries and a 90, almost four-fifths of Flintoff's Test century tally in one-thirteenth of the Tests Flintoff's played.

And an excuse for his bowling: he's an all-rounder, he's not a frontline bowler. But he is a frontline bowler. He opens the bowling, bowls by far the most out of England's pacemen, and doesn't take wickets.

Now for the final point: But he's always injured, and look, I won't disagree with you there. But if he's been injured so much, how has he had the chance to have such an impact on the game that using the adjective "great" doesn't seem like overkill? And now contrast him to the truly great players that have earned their adjective after injury: Dennis Lillee had almost crippling stress fractures in his back such that he had to wear a full-torso cast for 12 months, and then remodel his action so he wouldn't break down again; Shane Warne had numerous shoulder and spinning finger surgeries during his career, and after a particular spinning finger surgery, had to learn how to spin the ball a totally different way; Garry Sobers recovered from a car crash that killed one of his best friends in the mid-1950's; Sachin Tendulkar has overcome a recurring tennis elbow problem throughout his career that has, at times, prevented him from being able to hold a cricket bat; Bradman almost died from peritonitis midway through his career.

Flintoff's recoveries from injury tend to pale in comparison, don't they? Even if Flintoff was to produce a match-winning performance at The Oval, it would be wrong to suggest he should join the pantheon of great allrounders that includes Botham, Miller, Imran and others. Sobers has a category to himself. But throughout his career, Flintoff's performances have been overvalued. He bowls fast, but bowls too short and too far outside the off-stump. As a batsman, his technique is inherently flawed, and his record lacks consistent contributions to an English total. Flintoff's "legend" has come not from performances on the wicket, but from his ability to gain the support from a parochial crowd, and to an extent, a nation. A nation which will forever nostalgically harp back to his performances in 2005 and say, "That Flintoff, wasn't he something?" But an underachieving career punctuated by injury, interspersed a brilliant but solitary performance in an Ashes series is not basis for a legend.

From Alfred Moore, Ireland

	Shane Warne was suspended from playing cricket for a year after being found guilty of taking a banned substance © Getty Images

Our beautiful game is in grave danger. In the name of the global war on drugs, a zealous bureaucracy fitted to the very different world of athletics threatens to seize control of cricket. We will ultimately pay for it with the loss of great players for procedural improprieties. WADA, remember, had criticised Shane Warne's one-year suspension as "disappointing". If there is a drug problem in cricket, then WADA’s cure is worse than the disease. Since the BCCI until now has rejected the World Anti-Doping Agency’s advances, drugs have been on the mind of cricketers and fans worldwide, and sage commentators like Peter Roebuck and Mike Atherton have weighed in on the side of WADA. What’s the harm, they said, in submitting to international best practice on drug use in sport? Surely the innocent have nothing to fear? However, I think the innocent have everything to fear. We need to take a step back and ask ourselves, we lovers of cricket: What exactly is the problem? And is the solution going to cause more harm?

By all accounts, drug use is not a major problem in cricket. There are at least three main uses for drugs in cricket. The first is to recover more quickly from injuries. There are a lot of entirely legal techniques and chemical crutches to keep players fit for a punishing international schedule. While on the road to recovery, Andrew Flintoff’s veins were coursing with cortisone. Mohammad Asif, on the other hand, was banned for using non-permitted drugs to help him recover from injury. I’ll put my cards on the table here: I think players ought to be allowed to use drugs that help them recover from injury. In itself, using cortisone (or whatever) to play through pain doesn’t introduce an unfair advantage, except in as much as it’s unfair for Philip Hughes to have to face Flintoff around the wicket.

A second kind of drug use is more familiar outside the world of elite sport. I’m talking about recreational drugs, like alcohol, cocaine and marijuana. Ed Giddins, a middling English bowler, got in trouble for taking cocaine. He said someone must have spiked his drink with cocaine, though of course in some parts of the world it would be the alcohol that would have landed him in hot water. Phil Tufnell and Ian Botham actually admitted to smoking pot. In many countries this is against the law, but it couldn’t possibly be described as performance enhancing, unless by ‘performance’ we mean the ability to taste the colour in Pink Floyd. Recreational drugs have brought pleasure to some and destroyed the lives of others, but they aren’t a problem special to cricket.

‘Performance enhancement’ is the third, and, we would assume, most important, use of drugs. It might be confused with the first; masking pain can surely improve performance but it is usually associated with a different purpose, namely, to build up one’s body in order to run faster, jump higher and lift greater weight. In sports like swimming, cycling, running and other athletic events this is a massive problem because triumph is decided by a stopwatch or a yardstick and the difference between glory and failure can be a millimetre or one hundredth of a second. Twitchier muscles or more highly oxygenated blood confer a clear advantage for the users of certain drugs, who are rightly called cheats. Yet such drugs are utterly irrelevant to the enhancement of cricket performance. In none of the salient dimensions of the game of cricket - bowling, batting, catching - do medicines enhance performance. No amount of steroids would have made Steve Harmison hit the cut strip on that fateful Brisbane morning in November 2006. It’s not for want of pseudoephedrine that Alistair Cook plays across his front pad. And a pill has yet to be invented that can lend Graeme Smith the effortless beauty of Mahela Jayawardene’s cover drive.

So much for the disease. What about the cure? WADA developed stringent and zealous procedures in the context of athletics, and rightly so. But one size does not fit all. To apply rules designed for athletics and apply them to cricket is disproportionate and potentially destructive. The ‘whereabouts’ clause, to which the BCCI objected, means that violations of the procedure of testing become grounds for a ban. That is, by not giving your whereabouts correctly you will be treated as though you have taken banned substances.

A word of warning. If WADA had their way, Shane Warne would have been struck from the game. Think about that. Because an unapproved chemical was found in Warne’s bloodstream, one of the all time great players would have been kept from the stage for far longer. There was never any suggestion he gained an unfair competitive advantage. He just broke a rule. If you think about it, he broke a lot of rules, and that’s one reason he’ll always be my favourite. But it never was, and could never have been, the case that drugs made him great. If you imagine a 1920s international sports council populated entirely by pious American prohibitionists trying to ban Jack Hobbs for drinking a beer, you might get a sense of what is at stake. Cricket is our game, and it should be us, not athletics administrators, who make the rules. While the BCCI’s motives may be murky, if they can keep WADA out of cricket, they will be doing the game a great service.

	Ricky Ponting was booed by the Headingley crowd © Getty Images

From Simon Lewis, United Kingdom

The evening session on the fourth day of the third Ashes Test: England make the vital breakthrough while searching for the victory which would take them 2-0 clear in the series, sending Simon Katich back to the pavilion for just 26. With only 47 runs on the board, Ricky Ponting - the Australian captain - strolls out to the pitch with his usual air of confidence, however this time he makes the long walk out to the middle surrounded by something entirely different: resounding boos. Ostensibly, Ponting's brief stay at the crease - in which he amassed a meager five runs - was not to be memorable, but the antics surrounding his arrival, and subsequent exit, would not be quickly forgotten.

Ahead of the fourth Test, the boos from England's 'Barmy Army' had sparked a reaction from those in power, who asked that no booing should take place, stating that it showed no respect to the player, nor the game of cricket. However, this seems unrealistic, and given the current state of Test Cricket worldwide, wholly counter-productive.

Test Cricket is widely believed to be on the decline, with the ICC striving to think up new and inventive ways to 'freshen up' the longer format of the game, ranging from day/night Tests, to shortening the matches from five to four days. Given the stance taken by players such as Chris Gayle, who was quoted as saying that Twenty20 cricket was the way forward, it seems that something certainly needs to be done to rescue a form of the game which may otherwise be on a downward spiral. The time when cricket was a game for gentlemen to enjoy, is not gone, but it is certainly no longer the dominant view.

Attempting to ban booing closes off the world of Test cricket, keeping it for those who subscribe to the somewhat outdated view that cricket should be a way of having a quiet, sophisticated day out, when in fact, cricket needs to evolve and embrace the new breed of fans introduced to the game thanks to Twenty20: the so-called 'football fans'. In football, booing is simply part and parcel of the game, and gives the fans an opportunity to influence the outcome by intimidating opposing players; ask any player whether they would prefer to play in front of a quiet crowd, or a hostile one, and of course they would pick the former every time.

So, why not then in cricket? The game can no longer afford to cater for the upper classes alone, and must welcome the more vocal fans who would traditionally be more suited to Old Trafford than Lord's. Booing is not necessarily malicious, and in Ponting's case, this certainly seems the case. England's captain, Andrew Strauss, pointed out: "It's probably a sign of respect for him." Fans do not boo in order to show hatred for Ponting, but instead do so as a mark of respect, as they see him as a threat who needs to be unsettled in any possible way; just as opposing fans would boo a player stepping up to take a penalty in football in order to try and prevent him from scoring.

The facts are simple, every Test in this Ashes Series has been sold out, a state of affairs which all lovers of cricket, whether a simple armchair admirer or an ICC official, would wish to continue. It seems that in order to keep up crowd interest, and subsequently high attendances, this 'new-breed' of fan should be embraced, not shunned, otherwise Test cricket's future could be as short as some predict. Only when this crosses the line from banter to abuse does a problem arise, but this seems far from the case at this moment in time. So, far from being against the spirit of cricket, booing is simply part of growing fan interaction which can help to prolong the life of the pinnacle of the sport - Test cricket.

From Sam Komaravalli, United Kingdom

	Test cricket is alive and well and predictions about its imminent death are premature and misleading © Getty Images

Preparations have begun. An elegiac lament has been adopted as an anthem by a notable few. Some have even begun talks with the funeral directors for a fitting tribute and a suitable coffin, nails and all. The leitmotif tune of rigor mortis seems to be echoing in the distant corners. The Citi moment of ruin can’t be far behind ably followed by the Citi moment of slow death. Is Test cricket on a Zimmer frame slowly meandering towards the precipice of damnation? Going by the recent news bytes on its near certain demise, and unless drastic action is taken urgently, Test cricket as we know it may not exist in the same form, if at all. Amid this unfounded pessimism, one would have to wonder if Test cricket is so fragile that it can be blown away by a format that relies so heavily on grunt than grace; enormous than elegance; razzmatazz than refinements; strength of willow than strength of character; brawn than brain; frenetic than fortitude.

As we embark towards the abyss of the unknown, it is natural to give gloom a helping hand. Would a format that stood the test of time for over hundred years not possess the strength of disposition, appeal and character to withstand the new kids on the block with their fancy wares? Surely the Wiis and the PS3s have yet to discard the need to indulge in a bit of scrabble or monopoly. Okay, I lie. Just a bit. No, a fair bit actually but let me not beat my own argument here. It would look pretty daft.

For the die-hard traditionalists, with or without the hallowed MCC membership that is nothing more than a glorified snoozing zone, such glum sentiments are not welcome. However, the calls for change they can’t be ignored. There was a time in the past when the mere mention of a tinker or two raised the eyebrows so high that a few have had accentuated battle-scarred foreheads ever since. Now, they just wince and grunt despairingly like prisoners do when they are short-changed on their daily dose of crack.

The sanctity of cricket is being adulterated, they groan in typical rigid tones. What is so sanctimonious about Test cricket anyways? Has it been baptised in Scottish Highlands spring water with no expiry date? Has it had some divine outpouring of sanctified blessings from some guru stranded in the Himalayas with no GPS? Cricket is evolving and Test cricket finds itself stranded on its own for its custodians are hesitant to tinker, timid to adapt, and tentative to evolve.

In a recent speech at the MCC Working Committee meeting, Rahul Dravid said: "Test match attendances around the world have dropped. You want to be playing in front of crowds. Apart from England, attendances are down." And that the crowds elsewhere are dwindling faster than Mohammad Kaif’s chances of making a comeback. Okay, I made the last bit up, but heck it’s true.

Australia too has drawn very healthy crowds for its home Tests. I guess they’re never short of an excuse to buy beer, sound each other off with strewths, gidday mate and not hesitate to hurl abuse while all the time talking about playing cricket in the true spirit of the game. English grounds are like stretched soup bowls with a max capacity of 28-29,000 at Lord’s while the MCG and the Eden Gardens, for example, can draw anything up to 100,000. In the context of stadium footprints, even 20-odd thousand at these huge stadiums in India or Australia look thin on the ground. So, let’s forgive Dravid this flawed observation and move on.

Do attendances determine the longevity or success of the game? Playing to empty houses isn’t much fun. Just ask Michael Bolton. Recently Hayden rued: “When Sachin Tendulkar became the highest run-getter in Test cricket (in Mohali last season) there were only a handful of spectators in the stadium. So, something needs to be done.” Something is being done, though it isn’t the ICC that is wasting its breath over this.

	A packed house at the Adelaide Oval © Getty Images

Lalit Modi, enfant terrible in the scheme of things, has blitzed the comfort zone. “One needs to go out and capture the fans. I think that's the most important thing right now,” he says and who can disagree with him. It is about retaining fan base and attracting new spectators. The ICC revels in inaction. As such, it neither has the will nor the desire to pull heads together and be proactive. Again, its ineptitude is in stark contrast to those who run the IPL.

The IPL, for all its crassness and overdose, has proven that allegiance can be bartered. Recent chilling admissions by Daniel Vettori and Gary Kirsten that players may choose IPL over country are a case in point. When Chris Gayle uttered those dreaded words a while back on not giving two hoots about Test cricket, he probably didn’t envisage others to feed off him.

Cricketers have a choice now. Something they haven’t been privy to all these years. No longer are they married for life to country. A divorce can be fashioned with relative ease and players are free to ply their trade at the expense of country commitments. Such a scenario can well determine the longevity and popularity of Test cricket in its current form.

Or will the organisers of Twenty20 leagues spell their own doom with their overzealous avarice? Lack of direction and strategy from the top tier can have a lethal effect on operations. Cricket is at the crucial crossroads. There is a temptation to treat Test cricket as a seriously ill patient in pressing need of a quintuple bypass.

Thankfully, Test cricket is not dying by any stretch of downbeat imagination. It needs some fine tuning; a bit of DIY to keep up with the times. It also needs the custodians to take a grip and ensure Test cricket takes precedence in the yearly calendar. A two-tier Test system wouldn’t be amiss either. Night cricket, coloured balls, and what have you do contribute in enhancing its appeal. One-sided contests can be avoided with the likes of Bangladesh shunted to the second tier. The pool of Test-playing nations can be increased by providing Test status for Kenya, Ireland and Afghanistan. This gives an incentive for the teams in the second tier to aspire for the top tier. Moreover, the ICC needs to work with the IPL and other leagues and not perceive them as a threat.

Twenty20, ODIs and Test cricket can co-exist and strike a common ground. The IPL needs an exclusive window. The magnitude of its lure and attractiveness is enormous. By no means is Test cricket dead and neither is it on course to a sudden arrest in its fortunes. However, the authorities must ensure that the exodus is restrained. Priorities have changed. This is what being professional is all about - having a choice. Test cricket is alive, but it needs to live and breathe easily without being suffocated by other formats. So, save on the obituaries for now. Nothing beats the balance Test cricket provides between bat and ball. Nothing can supersede the theatre, the drama, the enjoyment and the pride that one associates with Test cricket. Nothing can emulate its experience, but unless it embraces the changing times and demands, it runs the risk of becoming a forgotten experience. Cricket’s landscape is altering. It remains to be seen whether Test cricket gets on board or becomes a mere bystander and a victim of its apathy.

From Benjamin Matthews, United Kingdom

	Australia had no answer to Ian Botham's heroics in 1981 © Getty Images

Reginald Shirley Brooks earned himself a certain immortality with 40 words published in The Sporting Times in 1882. Little did Brooks know that his mocking obituary was to spark more than a century worth of bouncers, beamers, slingers, sledgers and wangers perennially being flung in disdain between two nations with the sole aim of beating each other hollow. Such a fusillade of antagonism is not present in any other series worldwide.

The Indian and Pakistani rivalry can undoubtedly be extremely intense, hostile and pressured but its roots stem from political and diplomatic unease. In purely a cricketing sense, a win-at-all-costs mentality epitomised by early characters such as Warwick ‘the Big Ship’ Armstrong and Douglas Jardine, echoed more recently by modern greats such as Glenn McGrath help stage these Anglo-Australian stand-offs as incomparable cricketing theatre. “We have come to beard the kangaroo in his den - and try to recover those Ashes”, said Hon. Ivo Bligh in 1882. Bligh was the first to speak of this glorious rivalry in terms of winning the ‘Ashes’ and it is a series which has produced wonderful cricketing quotes and jargon thereafter.

Bernard Bosanquet was the first to bowl the ‘googly’, or the ‘wrong 'un’, for instance. ‘Bodyline’ was coined after Jardine’s infamous tactics to prise out the impeccable Don Bradman and ‘sledging’ is a technique used since the inception of these biannual engagements, refined as an eminent fielding tactic in the 1990s by a poker-faced Steve Waugh. ‘Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust’, ‘if Lillee don’t get ya, Thommo must’ read the Sydney Telegraph in 1974-75 Ashes series. This grand spectacle can represent two nations colliding with malice aforethought as Bill Voce’s threat to the Australian team of 1932 to ‘knock their bloody heads off’ can highlight.

Such contempt provides a player with the necessary inspiration to stake his claim for cricketing immortality and to remould the record books. Evocable performances within Ashes matches can define careers. Jim Laker’s 19 wickets for 90 runs in the 1956 series remains a bowling record to this day, Shane Warne’s ‘Ball of the century’ to Mike Gatting in 1993 created an iconic sporting moment. Individual rivalries are created that linger in the memory; microcosms of particular series that compound the importance of the continuing competitiveness of the Ashes and more importantly, Test cricket as a sport.

	The ball of the century was the start of more than a decade of torment for England's batsmen © Getty Images

Another record that still stands today is Don Bradman’s aggregate of 974 runs in the 1930 series, surpassing Wally Hammond’s 905 a year earlier, forcing the latter, fine player as he was, into the role of eternal understudy to The Don’s leading batsman. These rivalries have helped to forge standards and inspire players to strive to play in this pinnacle of Test match cricket. “[the Ashes has] always been the pinnacle of Test match cricket ... the only thing I ever wanted to do was to be part of an England Test match or an Ashes series,” said Australia’s leading run-scorer Ricky Ponting this year.

Test cricket remains the pinnacle of the game despite the emergence of the IPL, its piles of cash and potential exodus of world-class talent to its temptations. The IPL has an understandably increasing appeal as its profile and investors become larger year-by-year, however its draw is not irresistible for all. Players such as Michael Clarke, Mitchell Johnson and Stuart Broad have rejected advances from the IPL; decisions that embody a commitment to Test cricket and highlight the importance of the Ashes. Broad sums up this importance in justifying why he chose not to travel to play in the IPL: “You can make history. People have a passion for the Ashes and I think to the nation it’s the most important thing in the cricketing world. It’s the pinnacle.” These are thoughts also echoed by Ricky Ponting, who believes that the Ashes remain the pinnacle of the game for any Australian cricketer. As alluded to by such players, the Ashes retains a competitive edge that no other series comes close to. WG Grace’s perfidious Albion through the Bradman era, the unrelenting Lillee and Thomson, Beefy’s last stand, ‘The Ball of the Century’, Waugh’s ‘mental disintegration’, right up to the return of the Urn in 2005 - these are a few of the many threads of history running through the rich tapestry of the Ashes, instantly re-callable for anyone involved with the game.

“The aim of English cricket is, in fact, mainly to beat Australia.” Jim Laker’s sentiments echo that it is a series that unites a country. Losing to the Poms is unthinkable for any Aussie captain for the backlash he will face back home. For both sides a loss will render any other successes of an Ashes year redundant. An Ashes summer can blind foresight to future series and the ecstasy of a victory can erase any memories of recent team failures. Both England and Australia were knocked out of the World Twenty20 at the beginning of this summer without so much as a whimper, no huge disappointment was evident - minds were already set on the main event of the summer. Little can equal the public euphoria stoked up by Test cricket’s most important series. Memories can be conjured from instances ranging from the ludicrous (David Lloyd’s pink sheath), to the brilliant (Bob Willis’ hostile 8 for 43 in 1981), from the genuinely unsettling (Bert Oldfield’s head fracture inflicted by a searing Harold Larwood bouncer), to moments of sheer hysteria (John Snow’s ‘come on, then’ gestures to Sydney’s Hill and the ensuing volley of beer cans). Herein lies the magic of the Ashes: an enchanting sporting institution that will forever captivate, exhilarate and provoke.