Genius, it is said, is what talent alone can't do. It transcends mere skills, it rises above the extraordinary, evokes more awe than admiration and, almost paradoxically, leads you to believe through its simplicity that it is commonplace. Genius, and commonplace? Desert, and snow? Get the picture?
In this age of instant gratification, of hype boundless and hoopla driven by a plethora of motivated reasons, the term 'genius' is used beyond even unreasonable justification. Geniuses aren't dime a dozen, in any given field. They do, however, come in various shapes and sizes, almost always go hand in glove with humility and, strangely enough, with the rare understanding that they have been blessed enough to provide joy and entertainment, never mind that they are left to bear a cross triggered by expectations and attendant pressure.
Is Muttiah Muralitharan a genius? Could Beethoven compose? Was Einstein special? Can Tendulkar bat? Case rested.
Almost single-handedly -- and that is perhaps Muralitharan's greatest triumph, because cricket is essentially meant to be a team sport, eleven versus eleven -- the little man from Kandy has dictated the cricketing fortunes of a strife-torn, war-ravaged island. He has done that with a quiet smile, with utmost dignity and no histrionics, a man on top of his game and aware of that. Aware, also, that he doesn't need to scream from roof-tops that he is a rare talent, a special performer -- and not, most certainly, with a cricket ball in his hand.
It's one of the great ironies of our times that while we will pardon Shane Warne his numerous dalliances with the mobile phone and recipients of lewd text messages, his ill-advised hobnobbing with bookmakers and his 'mom-inspired' tryst with a diuretic whilst celebrating him as the man responsible for resurrecting the fast-fading art of spin bowling, we are less than generous in acknowledging the skills of Sri Lankan Murali as well as his fellow wrist-spinner from the continent, Anil Kumble.
Warne has at once been colourful and controversial, captivating and entrancing. Perhaps, the fact that he has blundered repeatedly lends him -- in the eyes of the onlookers -- the touch of the mortal that the fans might not see in Murali and Kumble, both paragons of virtue, prone to let the ball do the talking for them. If straying from the straight and narrow is what it takes to be acknowledged as a trend-setter and a trailblazer, neither Murali nor Kumble will particularly covet that.
Murali, of course, has had his fair share of controversies, of that there is no doubt. All of them have had to do with his unique action originating from a congenital defect. He has been humiliated and embarrassed, lampooned and ridiculed. A lesser man -- even a slightly lesser man -- would have crumbled under the weight of incessant scrutiny and repeated barbs. No off-spinner will take kindly to being called a 'javelin thrower'; Murali's ability as a spinner non-pareil is without question, though it is debatable if the strength of his mind has been given the due it deserves.
Sometime in the next few months, most likely when the Lankans travel to Australia for a two-Test series towards the end of the year, Murali will supplant Warne as Test cricket's leading wicket-taker. At 35, with 700 sticks from 113 Tests under his belt, Murali is a safe bet to leave Warne's tally of 708 well behind him, and set a benchmark that is bound to stand the test of time. His wondrous strike-rate of more than six wickets per Test has been attributed to the lack of firepower in the Sri Lankan bowling, resulting in him sending down a majority of the overs. If that doesn't smack of sour grapes -- there might not have been men to share the spoils, but were they around to create pressure at the other end?! -- then we really are living in an ideal world!
