SPECIAL FEATURE Muhammad Ali. Pete Sampras. Andre Agassi. Dhanraj Pillay. Sachin Tendulkar. What is it about sport and its romance with legends? In each and every sport played around the globe, there exists this mythical subtype. A whole genre of its own. The legends of the game – whose feats are replayed endlessly, who are talked about in bated breaths, who are treated reverentially… those who have perhaps come to define the very sport they play.
Perhaps, it has to do with the lack of legends elsewhere. All our legends in sport are perfect. Perhaps, sport is the only human activity present nowadays which gives us the ‘perfect legend’. These are individuals who are flawless. People who seem to have never put a foot wrong, completely untarnished by the frailties of human life. Society celebrates perfection in sport, because it does not exist elsewhere. That is why it hurts, when a Lance Armstrong, a Oscar Pistorius or a Mohammad Azharuddin are compromised. The legend is broken for us, the illusion is over. We realize that they are not really legends, just mortals like the rest of us. But the outpouring of rage is greater because we feel betrayed.
This obsession with legends makes us play a peculiar game. Let’s call this game ‘Spot the Next Legend’. The rules of the game are simple: as one legend winds down, another one has to take his place. We, sports-lovers, are uneasy with vacuum and need to find another one, anyone, who can take his place. So we start anointing the burden of ‘legendary’ on anyone who remotely performs to the levels we have to come to expect from our icons. We do not stop for a moment to ponder if this comparison is even justified. No, we just need to fill the gaping hole that exists in our hearts once our favourites exist.
Thus, Virat Kohli is the new Sachin. We haven’t really bothered to ask him if he’s ok with the comparison. Probably, he’ll grin back with his dimpled smile. After all, who doesn’t want to be compared to Sachin? But, he probably wants to be known as just ‘Virat Kohli’. Not the next Sachin. He probably knows in his heart that there was only one Sachin. Yet, he has probably resigned himself to being compared to Sachin his entire sporting career.
But is it fair to Sachin Tendulkar? Is it fair that the legacy that he so painstakingly created, over 16 years, scoring those massive runs, can so easily be passed over to someone else? Does he not get irritated that his legacy is considered ‘transferable’?
Let us go back a bit further in time. If Virat Kohli can be called the Sachin Tendulkar of our generation, then by the same yardstick, is not Sachin the Sunil Gavaskar of his generation? Blasphemy, we would immediately cry. ‘Sachin is not Sunil Gavaskar! ’, we would exclaim in shrill tones. And in the same breath, I implore, ‘Virat Kohli is not the next Sachin’. The comparisons are unnecessary. Legends cannot be compared. Their legacies are not transferrable from one entity to the next.
Sunil Gavaskar’s achievements cannot be compared to anyone else, not even Sachin. He was the first Indian superstar, the man who could tame the best pace attacks of his day. He played at a time when pitches were uncovered, when helmets were considered bike-gear and when bowlers had nothing stopping from aiming at the head. He fought the fastest and the grimmest head-on, and his iconic status is well-deserved.
Then came Sachin Tendulkar. True, he might have been also called ‘The Little Master’. But Sachin played in a different era. His time was different and his circumstances doubly so. Sachin carried the Indian team over a period where they had no one else. Sachin remained the glue which held India together. The burden of expectations he faced when he walked out to bat would have bowed down any lesser mortal. Not Sachin though. He never walked away. Sachin’s legacy lay in not just in the magnitude of his achievements, but also in his cheery, focused demanour. Sachin built his own legacy, distinct from Gavaskar, but never overpowering him.
And like Sachin, today Kohli inhabits a different era. He probably reflects the India of his time; brash, in-your-face, and cocky. He drips exuberant confidence when he plays a cover drive. Detractors say he plays in an era when there are hardly any world-class bowlers; but I disagree. Kohli did not choose to play in this era. He cannot do anything about the card he has been dealt with except make the most of it.
The point I try to make is simple: why do we make these comparisons between different eras? By calling Kohli the next Sachin, we disrespect both Sachin and Kohli. A comparison can only be made between two similar objects. We try and compare legends from different eras. Comparing Kohli with Sachin is paramount to stating that Kohli could have played that same iconic ‘Desert Storm’ innings in Sharjah. Whether he can or he cannot is not the point here, the point is this: is it not fairer to let Kohli create his own Desert Storm moment?
Before Federer and Nadal burst onto the scene, tennis basked in Agassi and Sampras’ legacy. Today, tennis is richer for having let Federer and Nadal create their own rivalries, their own legacy, and to create their own cults. My humble request to all Indian cricket lovers is this: let us let Kohli be. Enough of burdening him with comparisons which he will never be able to live up to. He does need to be the next ‘Little Master’. Let us give him the chance to create his own legacy.
And let us remember Sachin as the only one who lived in our hearts the way he did: The Little Master.
Happy Birthday Sachin!
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