From Alan & Philip Sutherland, Australia

	Simon Katich's superb second coming © Getty Images

After a disappointing Australian summer for lovers of Test cricket as an even non-partisan contest, one continued come-back slipped under the radar.

Immediately after the 2005 Ashes, Simon Katich’s career showed about as much life as an 800-a-day ODI pitch. He’d averaged 27 and had been severely troubled by English swing. His initial step across the stumps had all the hallmarks of a fatal flaw which would see him finishing his days as a well-credentialled skipper for his adopted New South Wales. By 2007, he’d even lost his national contract. For one who had started so brightly and had so much to offer the Australian game, this would have been a sad end indeed.

At a time when Australian cricket needed diversity, Katich had his attractions. A natural left-hander when it seemed almost every batsman had swapped in their youth, such as Michael Hussey from right to left or Michael Clarke in the opposite direction, Katich never seemed troubled by bottom-hand dominance despite this.

In full flight, his wristy style was a treat to watch, especially square of the wicket, as was the placement of his drives along the turf. With decidedly the most subcontinental-looking technique of any Australian batsman, it was Katich’s series in India in 2008, following on from a successful trip to the Caribbean, that confirmed he was back to stay.

Over 300 runs, including a century in Nagpur was a fine return, but many were left asking why only 19 overs of his left-arm wrist-spin was utilised that series. It was a far cry from his four wickets against India in Adelaide five years earlier. Age and injury take their toll, but chinamen are a rare species and one wonders what may have happened during the Ashes in England if Katich could have bowled more often.

Amid all the hoopla over Shane Watson’s success in the Allan Border Medal, it is often overlooked here that Simon Katich was recognised as Australian Test Player of the year. In many ways it was a win for the old-fashioned cricketer. His behaviour on the field is exemplary and his Sheffield Shield captaincy is first class. His wristiness is somewhat of a throwback to the days of Alan Kippax, in a land where such things are not necessarily widely appreciated at grassroots level.

For a style which is sometimes said to best suit lower, slower Indian-style pitches, it is worth remembering that Katich began his career at the WACA in Perth, in days when it was decidedly harder and bouncier than it has been of late. The result is unquestionable, for he has made an opening berth his own with steely resolve and determined concentration. Were he a few years younger, or a little more fortunate, he may well have eventually become his country’s 43rd Test captain. In many ways, Simon Katich has taken the long, hard route to success, which is just what five-day cricket is about.

From S Giridhar and VJ Raghunath, India

	Andrew Flintoff immediately consoles Brett Lee after the famous Edgbaston Test of 2005 © Getty Images

There is something innate, something unique about how every person is wired that determines the sporting spirit quotient of an individual. What is special about cricket is that from the time we begin to play the game expectations are set – of upholding the spirit of the game, that spirit signifying integrity, uprightness, honesty, keeping team interest above self interest and so on.

In this essay we describe some of the most moving incidents of warmth, generosity and nobility seen on the ground, to show that sportsman spirit transcends times, cultures and geographies. Many of these wonderful sporting gestures extracted their price – the games turned in favour of the opponent; some of these players lost their places in the Test team but none of these considerations ever entered their mind.

In an Ashes Test in 1964, Fred Titmus, the England batsman, slipped on wet grass and was hopelessly stranded mid pitch, but Wally Grout, the Australian wicket keeper, did not whip the bails off and instead allowed Titmus to gain his ground. In Grout’s books taking advantage of a mishap like that was simply not cricket.

Grout is famous for another magnificent act of sportsmanship. At Melbourne in the last Test of the famous 1960-61 series against West Indies, when Grout ran two runs, the Windies keeper Gerry Alexander was pointing out that a bail had been dislodged. With no one sure of what had happened the Umpire gave Grout the benefit of doubt. But Grout felt he should not have been reprieved and simply gave his wicket away the next ball.

Whatever we may say, one plays to compete and win and nothing exemplifies this as much as the battle for the Ashes. As England beat Australia by two runs in the Edgbaston Test of 2005, Brett Lee the batsman sank to his knees in utter despair. The English players embraced and celebrated but Andrew Flintoff, the hero of England’s triumph, had already slipped away to Brett Lee, to console him. The picture of Flintoff putting his hands around the disconsolate Lee is probably the most memorable one of the year.

Such spirit is not restricted to players. Certain cricket grounds are blessed with a special bond with the spirit of the game. In December 1998, all of India was disappointed when India lost to Pakistan by 12 runs and one of Tendulkar’s greatest tons went in vain. The crowd at Chennai ought to have been the ones who were most devastated. Somehow, the 60,000 people at the stadium found the nobility to rise up and give the Pakistan team a standing ovation and the picture of the Pakistani team’s victory lap is etched in memory for ever.

Captains can set the tone for such uplifting behaviour. In the Jubilee Test (1980) at Mumbai, with England tottering on 85 for 5, Bob Taylor was given out caught behind. But India’s captain for the test Gundappa Viswanath pleaded with the umpires to recall Taylor because he thought the batsman was not out. Taylor returned to forge a match-winning partnership with Ian Botham. None of this mattered to Viswanath, because he simply did not know any other way to play the game.

Should batsmen walk or not has always been a hot debate. To Viswanath it was no debate. How many times have we seen, Vishy simply tuck his bat and walk the minute he snicked, even before the fielders could appeal. Lara too was priceless in this aspect. To the consternation of umpires, he would turn and walk on LBW appeals, even as umpires were shaking their head to turn the appeal down. Dravid, Indian readers will remember walked, when he was on 95 in his maiden innings at Lord's in 1996. How many would do such a thing? Among the Aussies, Gilchrist was the sole exception, walking even before the umpire gave him out. He set such high standards for himself that it became an embarrassment for the rest of the Australian team. By no means should we look down upon batsmen who wait for the umpire’s verdict but these walkers simply tug your heart.

	It was a photo finish after both Shane Watson and Simon Katich ran towards the same end in the Melbourne Test against Pakistan © Getty Images

Among the bowlers who have been great ambassadors for the spirit of cricket, we cannot think of a better example than Courtney Walsh. In a 1987 World Cup match against Pakistan, Walsh earned eternal respect as a gentleman cricketer because in a needle situation he refused to run out the Pakistan batsman who kept running out of the non-striker’s crease despite being warned not to do so. Walsh’s sporting gesture cost West Indies the match (and they were knocked out of the tournament) but Walsh quite simply did not want to win any other way.

One of the great and towering personalities of cricket in the early days of Test cricket, Dr. WG Grace was known to take advantage of his position and stature at every opportunity and would intimidate umpires even in village matches (remember the famous “they have come to see me bat, not to see this fellow bowl”). There is this story of an exasperated bowler telling Grace, “Doc, why are you going, there is still one stump standing”.

Luckily some of the great batsmen who followed him were wonderful sportsmen. Jack Hobbs was the epitome of sportsmanship. In a Test match, he asked Aussie keeper Bert Oldfield if he was out and when Oldfield confirmed this, Hobbs walked. And Australian hero Victor Trumper was revered by all as the perfect human being - naïve and kind hearted to a fault.

One of the finest instances of sportsmanship was in 1953 when Australia played South Africa. Neil Harvey was in superb form. Batting with Harvey, was Arthur Morris on 99 when they were stranded at the same end as a result of Harvey’s bad calling. Morris sacrificed his wicket. As he passed a crestfallen Harvey he is supposed to have told him - you better make up for my missed century and score a double hundred. Harvey did go on to make his first double century. This is in such stark contrast to a recent muddle in the Australia-Pakistan series, when Shane Watson and Simon Katich literally competed against each other to regain the nearest crease after a muddled call had them stranded. They had to be separated in a photo finish!

The sporting spirit in cricket has usually been discussed in rather simplistic frameworks. There is a section of opinion which believes that when the game moved from amateur to professional status and then to the intense commercialisation of modern days, it lost the gentility associated with the game. The other section is of the view that because we see and hear everything on TV, we feel the spirit has deteriorated whereas it may not be really so. Both may be correct to an extent but there is much more to it.

We hope that we have been able to bring out some evidence to show that magnanimous gestures have embellished modern times as much as the earlier times. In an ironic sense, perhaps modern-day TV coverage might well become the reason that the spirit of cricket is preserved, for no cricketer would want to be shown up as a boor or have his integrity questioned. From there to more voluntary acts of sportsmanship may not be such a big leap after all.

From Rahul Bhasin, India

	New mid-over advertising is an unwanted innovation © Associated Press

If you haven't been living under a rock for the last week, then you would have realised that the IPL has indeed started. And it has started with a bang! If chasing 200 seemed a realistic feat after Rajasthan's effort against Mumbai, then Bangalore ended the debate after their emphatic eight-wicket win against Punjab, where they chased more than 200 runs with relative ease. At the same time, we've seen strong batting sides struggle a bit chasing a modest total (Delhi's win against Punjab) and we've seen that a score of 160-odd can seem very imposing if you get your bowling basics right (Chennai's victory over Kolkata).

Great cricket so far! Pity can see only half of it on the TV, though. Sure, there's a lot of money involved in the IPL - I get that, but I fear how long my eyes and ear can bear this torture of over-advertising. The previous two seasons brought up the unwanted innovations of ‘DLF Maximum’ and ‘Citi Moment of Success’, but the new concept of advertising which I am about to mention is one that is really a slap on all our faces.

You know that little time period when the bowler is going back to his mark to start the next ball - yes, those little 2-3 seconds, well they're too short to cut for commercial, right? Yup. And thank god for that. However, what our broadcasters are doing is that they are showing advertisements on the big screen in the ground, so that when the bowler is going back to his run-up the camera can quickly zoom-in on the big screen and show us an advertisement from within the ground straight to our TV!

May seem ingenious to some, but I seriously feel like throwing the remote at my TV screen every single time this happens. I mean, are you serious? How about focusing on the captain for a second? Or on a discussion that the players may be having? Sure we can't hear what they're saying, but you get a sense of the tension level. Or how about just focusing on the bowler? Seeing him concentrate as he goes back to the mark. All this is a part of cricket, not something which can so easily be ignored, but alas, it is.

I love cricket. I love every format of cricket. Always have and always will. I will continue to support it even when or if others say it is dying. It has never been dying and will never die for me. But please, at least let me watch it properly!

From Satchit Bhogle, India

	What the IPL has done is give us more choice in our loyalties © Associated Press

So, the IPL rolls on again, ready, as every year, to be hailed and derided in equal measure. I must confess I am a huge fan of the IPL for creating a league system where we are given the freedom to choose the team we support based on the style of cricket we enjoy, and am quite surprised to see so many condemning it with such alarming ferocity.

I find little reason to denounce either the IPL or the people involved in it. What the IPL has done is give us more choice in our loyalties. Earlier, there was only India, and though I am young, and have seen strong Indian sides play, for decades on end, India dragged its feet through one loss after another, and cricket fans in India had to support them with pessimism and reluctance.

Now, we have eight teams (soon to be ten) and one has a range of teams to pick from, to pin one’s loyalties to. Unlike in the past, we can pick teams we can identify with, whose style of cricket we enjoy (and to be sure, in two short years, each of the eight teams has evolved its distinct identity), and not face the guilt of betraying one’s country.

Of course, people from Mumbai are more likely to support their home team, as I do, but they suffer no censure for supporting Bangalore (some mock supporters of Kolkata for being in either the “Dada cult” or the “Shah Rukh cult”).

The IPL also provides an invaluable platform for youngsters to showcase their talent. Earlier, players would scratch away in second-tier Ranji teams, ignored by even the proverbial three men and a dog (and most importantly, the selectors, who would sit with a languorous eye hovering between Mumbai and Delhi), in the hopes of being a part of the lucky eleven to live a comfortable life playing the game they love.

It was harder than any competitive exam [11 “seats” for more than a million aspirants? Can the Indian Institute of Technology entrance exam even compare?], and yet we now begrudge these players for receiving “obscene” sums of money, now that their value has been recognised. It is a trifling sum compared to the salaries of film stars and bigshot corporate honchos, and yet no one criticises them on such a regular basis.

The truth is, we are overwhelmed by our desire for wealth and fame, and so despise anyone achieving them, like the proverbial crabs in a bucket. Desire resides in every breast, yet, hypocritically, its acknowledgment is taboo. Let he who sinneth most cast the first stone. Thus, in our frenzy to denounce, we heap abuse on players and commentators, on those who believe what they are saying and on those who don’t indiscriminately.

The commentator too is possessed by desire; two desires, in fact. One is the desire for purity, the other for the assurance of his job, and different commentators possess these in different measure. Thus, each tries to circumvent the system; avoid saying cringe-worthy terms like “DLF Maximum” and “Citi Moment of Success”, while resigned in the knowledge that he has to, sooner or later. Don’t we all make small allowances in our jobs for tasks we find distasteful?

As an aside, I don’t know how much this branding of cricket terms is actually benefiting companies; there exists such a vehement and unanimous dislike for it that I imagine it can do only harm to their public perception. Or is there no such thing as bad publicity? We all hate this commercialisation of cricket, to lesser or greater degree, but it is not a perfect world. One wishes one could do away with ads constantly blaring at us, but we cannot, and without the ads, cricket cannot run at the high standards we have come to expect from it.

For a cricket tournament to be successful, it has to be popular and reach out to a wide audience. But, a TV channel will not feature it unless it is popular, or has potential, and it will not be popular unless it is broadcast and promoted well. This is a vicious cycle, and can only be broken with money being produced by one or the other side. We, as viewers, are not loth to part with our money if we are receiving quality entertainment, but this entertainment’s quality is supported by its sponsorship by XYZ. As long as certain basics are maintained, like not sacrificing the precious first ball of an over on the altar of the commercial break, commercialisation can be tolerated.

From Ibrahim Moiz, Canada

	The PCB's punishment reeks more of a diversionary tactic © AFP

Cricinfo, as far as I can tell, isn't the place to vent one's frustrations. At the very least, one can outline valid reasons in an organized, mature manner. And that's why Samir Chopra's latest post "Should any 'family' be this tolerant?" strikes me as, in the author's words, "patently offensive".

I do agree with Mr. Chopra in one regard - that we should stop with the increasingly grating cliches of wonderfully unpredictable, charmingly volatile, and capable of spectacular blows both to itself and to its on-field opponents. It sounds entertaining enough, but it's not helping Pakistan cricket. A far more agreeable term for all concerned would be quietly clinical, thoroughly professional...but Pakistan isn't anywhere near that. The board, in my opinion, has exacerbated matters.

Yes, Pakistan suffers from too much player power and yes, it needs to be checked. But what exactly the bans slapped on two of the team's veterans, Mohammad Yousuf and Younis Khan, are supposed to achieve is anybody's guess. Younis, by all accounts a dignified and sincere member of the side, has been one of Pakistan's most stalwart performers over the years. His results may not impress in terms of Standard Deviation - a first-baller can be followed by a match-winning century, or some-such, but, in general he gets the job done. So he didn't particularly take to captaincy. He was certainly taking Pakistan in the right direction when political interference into over-hyped defeats in the Champions Trophy insulted his integrity. Few players have had so ill-deserved a send-off.

Yousuf, whose easy, graceful strokes could melt butter on a frigid winter day, was perhaps Pakistan's best performer of the topsy-turvy 2000s. A fluent, dashing stroke-player to begin with, he then displayed an increasing tendency to fight it out at the crease, culminating in a record run-tally in the calendar year of 2006. An undignified off-field spat with Shoaib Malik and some tactless comments during a disastrous captaincy aside, he hardly deserved so wretched a punishment.

The punishment reeks more of a diversionary tactic. In the aftermath of a disastrous Australian tour, the PCB needed to be seen as doing something. Like the shameless politicians before them, they tried a cheap distraction. And the sad thing is it's not the first time, either. Of course, as Chopra says, it would not be surprising if these banned players made a comeback. Pakistan has a history, not just in cricket, of confounding comebacks. And instead of affectionately oozing over the glorious uncertainties, Pakistan would do well to pick itself up and try to instill some consistency and accountability into its cricket.

But Mr. Chopra, with all due respect, seems to have taken this latest twist as an opportunity to vent a lifetime of misgivings. He has his right to, of course, and I hope he won't begrudge me my right to respond, but the stream of "endemic indiscipline" and "stunning lack of professionalism" seems to strike me as somewhat one-eyed. Yes, Inzamam-ul-Haq once lost his temper with a Toronto spectator. Shameful, and not pretty to watch. But it's all too easy to forget Khalid Latif's prudence when confronted with a worse situation just over a month ago. Those volatile Pakistanis, indeed. And not to make this a slanging match, but when accused of "Test-match forfeits", it's too easy to point out Bishan Singh Bedi and Sunil Gavaskar's tantrums against West Indies and Australia respectively; when accused of crying "racist", it's too easy to recall Indian fans' recent fits against an admittedly suspect Australia in 2007-08, as well as the infamous Mike Denness Affair of 2001-02; when accused of crying "umpiring conspiracies", it's all too easy to recall the Indian media's public mangling of Steve Bucknor, who admittedly had a terrible Sydney match, in 2008.

Yet Indian cricket, largely to its credit but also due to the sometimes ill-disguised indulgence of other nations, has emerged stronger. Mr. Chopra's lambasting of Pakistan cricket is correct in theory, not method, much as the Australian media months ago laid into a supposedly haphazard West Indies and were called to show some decency by an unusually-stirred Joel Garner. Does Pakistan cricket need to introspect? You bet. Is such open contempt and disrespect necessary for that to happen? Probably not. Perhaps Mr. Chopra's truest statement is "We could all do with a little tough love." Quite. Pakistan, much like West Indies and Zimbabwe, is in some strife at the moment. Hanging out all misgivings to dry is hardly an appropriate response. (P.S. I understand this post may be slightly inflammatory. No personal attack on Mr. Chopra is intended and I hope the editors understand.)

From Veer, United States

	Will playing Tests under lights just be gimmickry which won't help the five-day game? © Getty Images

Is Test cricket really the only game played over several days? I was reading Mr. Modi's interview regarding eyeballs to Test cricket necessitating a move to a day-night format. Is that the cure that will set right the ills of this format? He also mentioned advertiser friendliness as a motivator for broadcasters to carry it consistently - is this an issue?

I am not certain that these are, infact, unique to Test cricket. There are other sports played over multiple days - golf is one example. Each golf tournament is played over four days - it just so happens that the four days always include Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. In other words, all tournaments get a weekend, some tournaments get to enjoy the crowds over a three-day weekend.

The crowds are not huge at the venue as most holes do not have galleries and the sport being played over many acres is not exactly the most spectator friendly. Even so, TV contracts are still sizeable.

Would Test cricket alone fetch similar contracts today? A highly doubtful proposition. But then, what makes golf succeed in preserving its long format while cricket struggles to keep it true to tradition? A prime cause is the dilution of the competitive quality of Test cricket. Second, is the negligent attitude shown by having some Test matches played from Monday to Friday, missing out on the weekend crowds. Third, is scheduling - a uniform schedule will go so much farther across nations.

There are more, but of one thing I am certain; if golf can do it with its smaller audience, cricket can do a whole lot better if only the right questions are asked. Gimmickry is not the solution in my opinion, though Mr. Modi, as a seasoned cricket administrator, has had the experience to hone his views.