August 31, 2017, was a big day for Shardul Thakur. It was the day he made his ODI debut for India after more than a year of waiting in the folds. Thakur did not disappoint. He dismissed Sri Lankan opener Niroshan Dickwella in the third over of the match and finished with a decent 7-0-26-1.
His performance may not have been exceptional enough to trend on social media, but a few kind words were surely in order. Instead, he got trolled. Why? Because, he chose the No 10 jersey. Who does he think he is? No 10 belongs to Sachin!
If you put things in context, Shardul can count himself lucky that the aftermath of his 'audacity' stopped at a few online rebuttals. In the current climate, people might have been calling for his nose. But then again, that seems like a ‘punishment’ reserved for women in this country.
He explained he chose the number because of numerology―the digits of his date of birth (16-10-1991) add up to 28 and 2+8=10. Voila! He was, however, smart enough to choose a different number the next time he was called up to the India squad. He chose 54. It is curious, because 55 would add up to 10. But maybe he was too traumatised to remember 5+5=10, or maybe, he had decided numerology was not such a great idea after all.
Now, the BCCI has ‘unofficially’ retired the No 10 jersey. As a BCCI official told PTI, “The BCCI has not taken any such call. It is a very informal thing among players. Also you don’t want young players to be abused like it happened with Shardul Thakur.” Of course; and girls should not wear ‘revealing’ clothes because it leads to rape. Personal liberty be damned.
The whole practice of numbering in cricket makes no sense because it serves no purpose in a non-contact sport. In contrast, in a sport like football, numbering helps to identify the players in case the referee needs to penalise one of them for a foul. When it was popularised by legendary Arsenal manager Herbert Chapman in 1928, numbering was based on the player’s position on the football pitch―numbers were assigned in ascending order starting with the goalkeeper.
As a result, attacking players wore No 10 and eventually it became common to give it to the most influential player on the team. That this is exactly what Sachin was for the Indian cricket team is irrefutable. But did Allan Donald, who wore No 10 for South Africa, have the same skill set as Sachin? And the time when Sachin wore No 99, was it meant to be an omen for all the times he would be dismissed on 99? Or when he wore 33 after his return from his tennis elbow troubles because an astrologer suggested it. The credit for his successful return surely didn't go to the astrologer.
Superstition has always been a part of sport. The confidence that athletes derive from their beliefs, or from anywhere else for that matter, helps them perform better. But sometimes players just use the jersey number to show off individual achievements―think Hardik Pandya, 228, Chris Gayle, 333, or Muttiah Muralitharan, 800. Some thought Virender Sehwag was leading the way to progress when he went numberless. But turns out he was also following numerology―the 44 (4+4=8) he usually wore was apparently ‘not the right number’ for him. Cheteshwar Pujara’s No 266, for Kings XI Punjab, makes more sense than most―he was the 266th Indian Test cricketer.
Sachin Tendulkar is one of the greatest batsmen of all time, if not the best. It is sad that we choose to honour him with such trivial tributes as a retired jersey number. Perhaps the greatest tribute to Sachin is the nostalgia we feel when we remember "that perfect straight drive" which has been missing from cricket since the day he retired. But his jersey number is a topic of discussion in India because ‘cricket is religion and Sachin is God’. And like all things to do with religion, this, too, lacks a logical perspective.
