Ricky Ponting: resented by many, admired by all
In 2007, I heard the news that Michael Bevan, the best finisher in the game in his hey-day, had announced his retirement. The Australian Cricket Board declared him an invaluable asset to the side, and said he would be deeply missed for the World Cup the following month. Players spoke about how the Australian side was always better with Bevan in it. Some said his decision was worth respecting because he was going out on his own terms.
Bevan deserves all the accolades he gets, but the issue here is that they were all lying through their teeth. Not long ago, national selector Trevor Hohns had said “his contribution to the one-day side had decreased” and there wasn’t a chance he would go to the upcoming World Cup. Going out on his own terms? Bevan had not played an international game in almost three years, and I was surprised he had actually been available until he announced he was walking away.
As Ricky Ponting struggled over the last couple of years, failing to get underneath the short ball quickly enough to play his beloved hook, jabbing late at seaming deliveries that the Ponting of yesteryear would have cover driven for four, and scrambling to put together a decent run of form that seemed as elusive as a Shane Warne century, one could not help wondering if he, too, would meet his former teammate’s ignominious end. The selectors, given time, would not hesitate to wield the axe; Australia didn’t become cricket’s greatest by letting their emotions get ahead of reason. Ponting’s scores in his final series read 0, 4, 16, 4 and 8, his second worst aggregate in a series in his 17-year career. As he himself acknowledged, he was simply not good enough to be an international cricketer for Australia anymore.
Ponting didn’t need all this strife; his legacy was secured years ago. Everyone knew what he was really after – one final crack at the English next summer. One final chance to get on the honours board at Lord’s. And, most importantly, one last swing at winning the Ashes in England again. He cannot be blamed for wanting to bow out in the perfect fashion – Warne, McGrath and Langer all retired after whitewashing England in 2007 (McGrath even followed that up with a Player of the Tournament performance at the World Cup for good measure). It was understandable he wanted to dilute his greatest fear – that he will be remembered for being the first Aussie captain since the 19th century to lead his country to three Ashes defeats – rather than his other remarkable achievements. Test cricket, after all, was the pinnacle, and the Ashes remains Test cricket’s finest hour.
Don’t let that worry you, Ricky. Only a nitpicking quibbler (or an Englishman) will remember you that way. People will remember Ricky for the teenager who would have had a Test century on debut if the DRS had existed in 1995, for that fearless century he scored in his maiden Ashes Test in ’97, or for the more mature masterclass at Old Trafford eight years later which single-handedly saved the game. He may well be remembered for arguably the finest ODI innings of the last two decades, an unbeaten 140 off 121 balls against India in the 2003 World Cup final, no less.
With his retirement the game loses probably its last old fashioned purist. Never could you recall him playing an unsightly stroke, no paddle sweeps, no “Dilscoops”, and rarely even a reverse sweep. And he wasn’t a lesser player for it. Watch Dilshan get down on one knee and, without looking at the ball, play a heinous (yet brilliant) shot that flies right over the keeper’s head for six, and then look at Ponting transferring his weight to the back leg, take a huge back-lift, wonderfully in balance, and, with a perfectly timed hook, dismiss the short ball from his diminutive presence. Which would you rather pay to watch?
Graceful while he batted, his general demeanour on the cricket pitch was anything but. He got into many a batsman’s ear as he fielded in the slips, and his in-your-face attitude assured he didn’t endear himself to many of his opponents. This spilled over into downright loathing on occasions, never more memorably than after the Sydney Test against India in ‘08, after which his effigies were burnt in India, and he was even lambasted and lampooned by the Australian press for “disgraceful behaviour”. Ponting was only playing to his natural instincts though; he wanted to win – that is, after all, what Australian sides used to do those days. There is, however, no disputing his fiery behaviour often overstepped the mark of what was acceptable in the gentleman’s game.
Once, in 1999, Srinath struck a 24-year-old Ponting on the helmet when Ponting mistimed a rare pull. One of the nicest fast bowlers cricket will ever produce, he immediately asked Ricky if he was okay. In response, the Australian lashed out, telling him to “go back and f****** bowl”. He made a seamless transition to becoming the face of the arrogant Australian side after Steve Waugh vacated that role, and I suspect that as the world hated him for his guts and simply for how good he was, he relished every minute of it. As was said about him, “To admire Ponting, you just need to know what cricket is, but to absolutely adore him, you probably need an Australian passport.”
So as Australia’s stalwart walked onto the WACA for the last time, a rousing cheer filled the stadium. This was a significant moment in the history of Australian cricket, and brought to mind images of Bradman walking to take strike for his final fateful innings. The South Africans formed a guard of honour for their long-time adversary, and often tormentor. Commentators lauded Graeme Smith for his affable gesture. Note that Ponting would never form a guard of honour for anyone in his life, but then again, he would never be called “affable”. He could probably think of few tags more unwelcome.
When Ponting was dismissed for 8, (by a left arm spinner at the WACA, for crying out loud), a stunned silence was followed by the crowd breaking into a ripple of applause once more. The South Africans went to shake the hand of a man they would never face again; Ponting seemed mechanical. He had just been dismissed, and he was walking off dejectedly, head bowed. But as he neared the boundary line and the applause began to get thunderously loud, the occasion lifted him, and perhaps even touched him. He stopped and raised his bat and helmet to the adoring crowd, and held the pose for a moment. He was thanking a public who, for all his flaws, had never stopped worshipping him, who would have been chanting “Ricky! Ricky!” if he’d played till his hair was grey. For the first time in his 17-year career, here was a man who looked like he was humbled, and it was all Australia’s little fighter could do to keep himself from breaking down as he hurried to the pavilion.
But on the day, Ponting was disappointed. Australia needed an almost insurmountable 632 to win, and they needed a big contribution from batsmen such as himself to even get close. But then, this was an Australian icon’s last match, and in his final innings, he came up short. The similarity to 1948 was impossible to miss.
