When India toured England in the summer of 2018, R Ashwin delivered a Sky Sports masterclass like no other.
These masterclasses had been running for years, with Ian Ward, a former Test cricketer himself, coaxing the likes of Shane Warne, Muthiah Muralidaran, Ricky Ponting, Jacques Kallis and Curtly Ambrose to give viewers a peek into their inner workings. Ward is an expert at steering players into talking about their craft in a way that straddles the line between nerdy and accessible to regular folk watching on TV.
Now Ward juxtaposed two Ashwin deliveries on his screen: one that slid on with the round-the-wicket angle into the left-hand batter, and one that dipped and ripped past Alastair Cook’s groping bat and flicked the top of off stump. Ashwin dismissed Cook the same way in both innings of that Edgbaston Test.
“For a youngster,” Ward asked Ashwin, “what’s the difference between the wrist position and where it’s coming off the fingers, to do those two deliveries?”
Scores of current and former greats have given Ward precisely the kind of TV-friendly answer he’s looking for. Warne, famously, put his variations in neat, beribboned boxes: this is how I bowl the big, sidespinning legbreak; this is the one with a bit more overspin; this is the toppie; the googly; and oh, I flick the flipper out with my thumb, like this.
Warne, of course, knew and mastered the infinite gradations between the sidespinner and the overspinner, but he also had an intuitive grasp of what TV audiences wanted.
Ashwin didn’t give Ward the neatly packaged insight he was after. Instead of showing how he released the undercutter and the big offbreak, he launched into a demonstration of the various ways he cocks his wrist while loading up different deliveries. He even described how he does this for the arm ball, a variation Ward hadn’t even asked about.
Viewers who had followed Ashwin’s career for any length of time may have chuckled at this, because this was typical. Among the many things this great cricketer has excelled at over his long career is denying interviewers the answer they’re looking for, while giving them entire chapters of tangential material. Few players have been as generous with their insight, but as with everything else about Ashwin, the generosity has come on his own terms.
It has always been this way. The first time I interviewed Ashwin was during a Tamil Nadu-Railways Ranji Trophy game in 2008, a year and a half before his international debut. I asked the questions of a 21-year-old cub reporter, and he gave the answers of a man only a few months older but already nearing elite status in his profession.
I asked him about his strengths as an offspinner. He told me that his big, strong fingers allowed him to give the ball a rip, and that this, allied with his height, enabled him to generate bounce on most pitches. And immediately, unprompted, he went on to describe the bounce as a double-edged sword, and explain why he often bowled with long-on back even in red-ball cricket, because the bounce made it easier for batters to hit him over the top. “I don’t want to give them that release shot.”
It took me years to grasp the wider implications, but it was a valuable early lesson that cricket is all about trade-offs. If you want to strengthen the slip cordon, you’ll have to leave a gap somewhere else. A middled drive off a good-length ball is no less risky than one that’s edged behind. A fielder at long-on isn’t always a sign of defensive thinking. If you want to describe the sport properly, you must look at events in the context of these trade-offs. Never in isolation, never through the binary of good and bad.
How Ashwin railed against binaries. After his most chastening home series, against England in 2012-13, he bridled against the wave of criticism that came his way, but what bothered him wasn’t the tone of the criticism but the fact that so much of it was inaccurate. He was happy to admit that he had struggled to control his length during that series, but couldn’t fathom the narrative that this had happened because he bowled too many carrom balls.
For all the misplaced criticism he attracted, Ashwin also gained a growing band of admirers who tried to keep up with what he was doing to his craft. Wittingly and unwittingly, he went on to spend his entire career in the eye of a cyclone of narrative and counter-narrative.
He came to occupy that space for many reasons. It was partly because he came along when cricket was being recorded at far higher resolutions and far greater frame rates than before, when holes in conventional wisdom were becoming increasingly evident to the viewer. He came along at a time when a significant number of journalists, analysts, commentators and observers on social media – the lines between these categories were also becoming blurry – were making a concerted effort to see the game for what it was, even if the mainstream was slow to respond.
But it was also because Ashwin was a singularly active challenger of conventional wisdom, not just on the field – as no doubt many others also were – but off it too. He cared deeply not just about his game but the game too, and how it was described.
He went to great lengths to explain the effects of sidespin and overspin, and the typical behaviour of red-soil and black-soil pitches, but would roll his eyes if you generalised too broadly. “Come on, man,” he seemed to tell you. “It’s not that simple!” He contributed greatly to a widening of the terms of cricketing discourse, winced when those terms were misused, and never stopped trying to tell you how things worked. Sometimes, he’d throw in a stunning revelation when you least expected it.
Watch that masterclass now, and it’s clear Ward has no idea what’s about to hit him when he asks Ashwin about his carrom ball, summoning onto his screen what he believes is an example of it.
Then Ashwin tells him, and all of us: “The one there, actually it’s not the carrom ball.” He explains that he flicks the carrom ball out of the front of his hand, and this variation – he describes it as a “backflipper” here, but will soon begin calling it the reverse carrom ball – from underneath it, with the seam up. He says batters have begun to pick his carrom ball now, so he occasionally slips in this variant; the right-hander shaping to punch with the turn, through the off side, is suddenly confronted with a monstrous inswinger.
All this becomes obvious when you watch it alongside Ashwin’s explanation, but it’s far from clear until he’s talked you through it.
Ashwin revealed all this unprompted, in a widely televised interview, and along the way revealed something of who he is. Throughout his career, he has been more invested than most in broadening the boundaries of his sport, and more willing than most to throw open the doors of his laboratory. And he’s been entirely secure in the belief that he’ll remain a step ahead of the rest of us, everyone from his opponents to the casual fan, even if he gives away all his secrets.
