It has become too easy — and too common — for cricket writers to vandalise the well-intentioned and badly conceived commentary of their televised counterparts.
It is a well-established hypocrisy by now, writers heaping scorn upon a mispronunciation or a stammer, as monosyllabic redundancies pour from their laptops, garnished with dusty hyperbole, bits of Cardus dug up, sewn together and reanimated into the undead misery that stalks modern reportage.
Indeed, there is nothing quite like a Wednesday copy deadline to heighten one’s sympathy for those commentators; for how can one discuss a match not yet eight hours old at the time of writing with the erudition and equanimity that hindsight normally bring?
How to craft a tiny piece of literature, as lasting as newsprint and the digestive tract of one’s parrot allow, in the knowledge that its value lies only in its fleeting honest, not yet infected by post-result revisionism?
Filling space and time with chatter must be difficult for television commentators: it’s extremely taxing trying to sound engaging and informed for 30 minutes at a time.
But they share one tremendous advantage with the writer of a premature report like this: nobody remembers what they’ve said once it’s all over.
The sneers and snorts of their critics are numerous, but ask for individual examples of their verbal clumsiness on day six and you’ll be disappointed.
Fortunately there are hypocritical writers about who submit retrospective reports three sessions into a Test and who tick off their colleagues before emulating their vices.
The blunders of the commentators on the opening day at Galle on Wednesday were understandable, but that doesn’t prevent one from recalling them —
As batsmen, Australians Dean Jones and Ian Chappell took the Genghis Khan approach, and although the latter last hooked a ball in anger almost 30 years ago, there was a clear desire to turn up the heat on a dim, damp, and tactical opening day.
Not content to observe that the pitch was flat, that Shaun Pollock was bowling beautifully, and that Sri Lanka would probably be able to defend anything over 220 on the last day, they set about entertaining each other.
‘Nantie Hayward is a mean cookie,†said Chappell, as the object of his fleeting affection slung another undeviating ball past off-stump at 133kph. Certainly, going at five an over, Nantie did look like a mean cookie, some sort of peevish ginger-snap.
‘Jacques Kallis normally takes five or six wickets per Test,†said the much younger Jones, lost in an alternate universe in which part-time bowlers outstrip Muttiah Muralitharan.
It would have gone on — already Chappell was describing someone called Nicky Bore-yer as a ‘bloody good cricketer†and comparisons with Shane Warne seemed imminent — but Sanjay Manjrekar had a game to call, and the microphones were surrendered.
Now there’s still yesterday to look forward to.