Philosopher's XI

It’s been a while since I’ve spoken some philosophy here at AYALAC. I’ve talked plenty of rubbish, of course, but that is only a partial substitute. Today, we right that wrong.

After much deliberation in our selection committee’s ivory tower, we present the philosopher’s cricket XI, in batting order.

#1 – Bertrand Russell. Cautious and fastidious, this batsman is capable of playing long innings by sub-dividing the sessions into smaller, manageable atoms. Sometimes, he is susceptible to over-complicating his batting, a trait he caught from the King of France.

#2 - Aristotle. Opening with a classical technique, he sometimes veers into controversy. His nick ethics is based on a refusal to walk, trusting the umpire’s virtue to make the right decision. A big hitter who, unlike his partner, is ready to go nuclear and transcend the known boundary whenever possible.

#3 – David Hume. A solid, straight-forward slogger at three, who is sceptical of abstracted approaches to batting. Strangely, he eschews the traditional willowy blade for some sort of fork of his own fashioning. It’s Denis Lilley all over again.

#4 – Socrates. Excellent at sledging, but seemingly incapable of constructing an innings of real value himself.

#5 – Plato. Captain of the team, who emulates Michael Vaughan in communing with metaphysical forms of the perfect field formation. Although these structures are inherently unstable and subject to frequent change. A gifted batsman, who seems to know a priori the bowler’s delivery before it’s bowled.

#6 – Rene Descartes. An all-rounder who is able to make contributions to multiple areas of the game. Although, when the going gets tough, he tends to struggle with the reality of the situation.

#7 – Ludwig Wittgenstein. A traditional nutcase, of the English school, behind the stumps. Like Hume, bats with this own poker. Often shouts at the slips for using their own unintelligible private language.

#8 – Martin Heidegger. Here’s a right-armed unorthodox spinner with real class. Manages to get his side out of all sorts of unlikely situations. Although, occasionally, the time and being of his presence may not be appropriate.

#9 – Immanuel Kant. Combines intuition and experience well in a swing bowling package that transcends previous categorisation. If everyone bowled as well as this fellah, the world would be a terrible place for batsmen.

#10 St. Anselm. No one really knows how he got into the side. He just sat down one day and defined his way in.

#11 – John McDowell. A fast bowler straight out of hell: Scotland. His relentlessly metronomic deliveries invariably hit the spot, flattening any opponent. He also holds the advantage of being alive.

What manner of man is this Anil Kumble?

JRod at Cricket with Balls rolled out the dictionary in a lovely little tribute to the Indian captain, Anil Kumble:

“Kumble turns batting into an introspection of life itself. The batsman has many questions to face during his spell. … A normal bowler tries to beat the batsmen, Kumble makes you define the very idiom of bastmanship.”

An unexpectedly philosophical turn from a normally raucous blog added a poignancy to the homage.

Kumble is a great bowler. His figures are out-standing, his leadership inspiring and even a test centurion. But watching him bowl jar with this image; he’s not a million miles away from Shahid Afridi.

But the beauty of Kumble, much like Shane Warne, is that he is made for international cricket; he’s a bowler custom-built to get the wickets of the very best batsman.

As JRod points out, this is partly due to his solid mental approach of stripping the game to the basics of consistent line and length with some variation.

But, there are some aspects of his bowling which make him disruptively difficult to face. His fast, fizzing leg-breaks bounce and spit at batsmen. Unlike Afridi, whose deliveries kiss the surface as he pushes through the ball, in a rather complicated, rushed action, Kumble’s overs are full of dangerously rising balls which are naturally produced from his springy, elegant action.

Moreover, given his speed, it only takes a subtle variation to beat the batsman. The old adage is that you only need to move the ball half the bat’s width to take the edge. But this is an old wife’s tale, batsmen play for the movement and try to anticipate it. But the problem when facing Kumble is that you have no time to adjust your shot.

Remember when Ian Bell left a googly, all he could do was twitch as his saw the ball skid into his stumps. When you faced Warne’s googly, everyone saw it coming. But, even if you didn’t, you could adjust at the last moment. But when facing Kumble, batsmen are never completely sure where the ball is going to be.

It is in this marginal space that Kumble occupies: he’s not going to get you with a ripper, but he’s going to constantly probe at your bat’s edge. One ball after another is going to test the precision of your defence, and if you have slightly miscalculated the movement, then it’s game over.

This is why I love Kumble so much. His unswerving brilliance is to examine the techniques of the best batsmen makes for great cricket and enriches the game.

(By the way, the Dead Frog is still there. It has been there for weeks now. Through the rain, storms and hail. I think it is fossilising into the pavement. Unnervingly, though, it has rotated 90 degrees.)

Cricket and constructivism

So the whole world thinks the England cricket team is rubbish. Why is this? The power of the press is never greater than when a team is losing. It can force changes, like the removal of a coach or a captain; it can call up players; it can drop them; it can even change the batting order.

These are examples of recent changes within the England camp, precipitated by an angry media. When the team is winning, however, there isn’t much to criticise, and therefore the influence of the papers is limited. But here’s a thought: the press practice mind control.

Constructivism is an epistemological theory in which knowledge comes from a discourse between agents. A conversation, as it were, between two people help to “construct” concepts. This dialogue sets the meaning of words and the provides the content to knowledge and a way of perceiving the world.

If you and I agree that this object in my hand is a “cat” it automatically becomes, in our shared understanding, a cat. There is no law of science, mathematical argument or logical proof that can dictate otherwise. Similarly, constructivists argue all knowledge stems from such intersubjective discourses. A “table” is a table because we say it is.

Those partaking in these discussions actually define the way listeners perceive the world. They are, in Hilary Putnam’s term, epistemic “experts” that give the broader community a way of understanding their environment.

In the modern world, it is the media that serves this function. They report the facts, but also frame them in a particular way, which tacitly influences our own awareness.

Take the English cricket press. It is universally acknowledged in all papers that England is endowed with a pitifully poor team. Yet, let us examine the facts:

• We are ranked seventh in the ICC rankings, and managed to come fifth in the World Cup.
• We are one of only four not to lose to a minnow.
• We have come the “closest” to beating Australia.
• We have had some tight games against other major sides.
• Four batsmen have scored over 300 runs, and one over 500.

All in all, I don’t think this tournament has been too bad for the English, especially considering their thrashing in the Ashes. We also managed to get through to the second round, which is an achievement in itself.

Yet, the all-pervasive discourse of the press is inescapable, and we all seem to think we did terribly. This seems at odds with the facts.

However, as noted above, once the team seems “weak” the relative influence of the press to affect the management of the squad is increased. A conspiracy...?

Just thought I’d share that little thought with you.

The ego and cricket

There‘s an interesting blog on Gentleman‘s Game No More on pressure. The article trots out the old Keith Miller quote, who piloted Hurricanes during the Second World War:

"Pressure? I'll tell you what pressure is. Pressure is a Messerschmitt up your arse. Playing cricket is not."

Mephistopheles concludes that "pressure" is an over-used word in modern cricket, and suggests that it is not applicable in the context of a sporting event. There are two reasons why this is wrong.

Firstly, the key word here is the pronoun "I". Our characters are partly formed by our past. Major or traumatic events are significant in affecting our current proclivities. Miller is alluding to a subjective episode that correlates tightly with particular circumstances in his life experience.

Yet, fortunately, the present cricketing generation has not fought in a war. Our point of reference for our concepts and language come from the notable instances from our rather less turbulent history. We deploy a vocabulary that seems, in our view, most relevant to the situation before us. As, thankfully, we all have not experienced such peril, we apply words that others (say, soldiers) who have may not feel suitable. However, surely language does not fit the extremes of the human emotions, but the middle ground. Or, more accurately, it matches with the usage of the current generation of the English-speaking community. Moreover, is this not simply too high a benchmark for our language? It is not the cricketers that must struggle to formulate an applicable phrase - but the fighter pilots.

Secondly, the nature of modern cricket has changed. I have noted elsewhere that "intensity" is just as much a part of the international game as bats and stumps. For better or for worse, this is a fact of life. Indeed, it also reflects the changing focus of society. We are no longer are stirred by national prestige, as sport is now the chief channel for our emotional energies and passions. This is surely an improvement. But also, it irresistibly heightens the role for sport in language as well as society. Consequently, cricket has become professional. Sponsorship deals are worth millions. Players give 110%. They give their all to the team; those who fail to fully commitment lose. Careers, the lives of men, hang in the balance. Like businessman and stockbrokers, they feel pressure because their future, and the team's future, is uncertain.

Moreover, as we are social animals, the pressure is felt because of the over-spilling anticipation of the millions of fans, the expectation of the coach and the demands of the press. This additional dimension adds to the excitement and to the enjoyment of the game.