Words of wonder

The Giro d’Italia started yesterday, on May 4, the first of Europe’s three grand tours of cycling. 

The other two are the Tour de France, which is in July, and then the Vuelta a España, in Spain in August. All three races are three weeks long and this is why they are called grand tours, to distinguish them from famous one-day races, such as the Tour of Flanders (Belgium), Milan-St Remo (Italy) and Paris-Roubaix (France) or the World Championship, which is held in different countries across the world each year.

The races all require different styles and the grand tours especially favour those riders who can climb mountains, such as the Alps and the Pyrenees efficiently, for which of course, they have to be very small and light. The most famous and wealthy cyclist in the world today is the powerfully-built Slovak rider Peter Sagan, who has not won a single grand tour. This sort of disconnect is not possible in any other sport. 

The reason I am writing about this is not to discuss cycling as such but commentating. Some of the most terrific and informed commentary and analysis of any sport comes in cycling, which might seem strange because that sport is not particularly given to great drama except in the finishing stages. The average length of a stage in a grand tour is about 200 km and takes between five and seven hours to finish (depending mainly on whether there are mountains along the route). This means that there has to be a lot of commentating through the duration of a day when there is no visible change in the order of cyclists. So why am I saying it is terrific? Because a lot of cycling’s commentary is not about the race but about the history and geography of the countryside that the riders are going through.

The Tour de France, especially, has one of the greatest commentary teams in any sport, and this is the duo of Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen. These two men have for decades commented at the race in English and have a deep knowledge about France, and also Spain and Switzerland (the two nations the Tour often passes through). They talk about the traditions of the sport and its champions, they speak about the qualities of the wine of the particular place that the riders are hurtling through and they know of the medieval history of the castles that can be seen in the background.

The Tour de France and the other grand tours are covered with cameramen in helicopters and on motorcycles, and a lovely frame or a panorama is never more than a few minutes away and often what appears on the television screen is breathtaking. This is especially so in our days of high-definition broadcasts.

The Giro D’Italia (above), the first of Europe’s three grand tours of cycling, kicked off on May 4

For a few years, about a decade ago, Sony used to show the final two hours of the Tour de France every evening live. I watched it with devotion, but alas, they have stopped doing this in the last few years (if anyone of influence in Sony is reading this, please see if it can be restored). I did it less for the sport than the commentary, which was high culture.

Liggett and Sherwen are Englishmen, and cut from the same cloth as many of the commentators who can be seen on our screens these days talking about the English Premier League. What I mean is that they are not pretentious while holding on to a lot of information and wisdom and putting on display the right amount of excitement. 

Football, and particularly club football in England, is not something that was being shown live in our country until relatively recently. My guess is that it really took off about 10 years ago because of heightened interest among young urban Indians, both aspiring footballers in school and also those Indians who have become part of the global white collar elite. 

The hope is that there is recognition by channels of the existence of a similarly large group of Indians who are interested in competitive cycling and then we will get to watch it live here too. Till then, of course, we are stuck with the sport that one cannot escape in India and that is cricket. There are many good things to be said about Indian cricket these days when we are no longer a team that always loses abroad and when we are the dominant force of the sport’s economy globally. But one thing in cricket we lag in is the commentary. 

Gavaskar, Shastri, Bhogle and the lot might have their admirers but they are not enjoyable to listen to in the manner of Liggett and Sherwen. Indeed, if I were to draw up a set of cricket commentators whom I would like listening to, the set of six would not include a single Indian. My list would be: Richie Benaud, Michael Holding and Ian Chappell in one panel, and Ian Bishop, Imran Khan and Barry Richards in the second. 

I would have nothing to do with the “entertaining” type of commentator, like the Englishman Henry Blofeld, a character of Wodehousian charm but not tolerable beyond a point, or the Indian Navjot Sidhu, who again is entertaining for a few minutes but can get trying very quickly for those of us who are discerning. 

The six individuals I have listed (and I accept that both are ‘manels’ meaning excluding women and that is wrong) would be worth listening to even if there were no cricket on view, meaning if they were doing radio commentary. On the other hand, the mere thought of having to suffer Gavaskar, Shastri and Bhogle without the relief of a moving image makes me reach for a drink.

I shouldn’t need to explain why I have included Benaud, Holding, Chappell and Bishop, because they are all recent (Benaud died in 2015 and received a standing ovation in 2005 while commentating at his last test in England) and most readers will be familiar with them. Imran is arrogant and egotistical but also entertaining, experienced and outspoken. South African Barry Richards is one of the great technical minds of batting and it is always illuminating to hear him talk science. Indeed, I would not mind even if there were no cricket being played at all — just to hear these men discuss the sport and its characters would be a treat.

Strangely, Gavaskar knows something about the qualities that go into good commentating. He wrote in one of his books that when he had just begun his career in commentary, a batsman had completed a century. As Gavaskar raised his microphone and was poised to babble, he felt a gentle hand on his wrist, and it was Benaud. Gavaskar wrote that he understood that Benaud wanted him to be silent for a few seconds so that the viewers could take in the applause and put in perspective the moment. Alas, Gavaskar does not seem to have learned from this, and he, like our other commentators, seem almost to be paid by every word they blurt out, much of it cliché and stock phrase and excitable gibberish.

These days, of the Indian Premier League, in particular we have a surfeit of this. It makes me wish and hope and even pray that we get some live cycling soon on our TV sets. And with it, the best and most civilised commentary in the world.