Martin Crowe walks off Eden Park after being inducted into the ICC Cricket Hall of Fame. Photo / Getty Images
Herald reader and Pakistani cricket fan Danyal Rasool with an open letter to New Zealand cricket great Martin Crowe.
Dear Martin,
I never watched you play. I wasn't watching, so I couldn't possibly appreciate the agony you went through on missing out on a triple hundred that fateful day in Wellington.
I wasn't tuned in to Eden Park in 1992, and thus wasn't in a position to empathise with the torment you experienced because of your hamstring. I have what is hopefully an acceptable excuse, though. I wasn't born.
I came to admire you not through the elegance and effectiveness of your strokeplay so much as the cricketing wisdom you so generously splatter Cricinfo's pages with. As someone who deeply loves the game, it is inordinately easy, and not a little moving, to see how much you care about this wonderful sport. If this sort of passion for the game could be as effectively replicated in the plush offices of the ICC, and perhaps even more importantly, the BCCI, I would never spend a moment worrying about the direction in which our wonderful game is headed.
I am a 22-year old Pakistani who fell in love with the game at the age of five, and if I had a smidge of the talent you had at your disposal, I would have sought no other career. Often the most erudite and reasonable voices in cricket (as in any walk of life) are those capable of looking past the interests of their group or team. Serving cricket's greater good is so much more fulfilling than merely looking out for the interests of a particular team. It is championing cricketing causes forcefully, rather than harmlessly tossing in hackneyed, conformist opinions that set you apart from so many unwilling to rock the boat.
It was with dismay that I heard about your cancer relapse; couldn't an illness leave one of cricket's sanest voices alone? It is touchingly dignified to see how you almost appear to ignore your illness as it keeps making increasingly punishing demands on your attention. The quality of your writing is better than ever, the charm and grace with which you conduct yourself in interviews is inspiring, and the gentle gratitude you show the game that you made better is simply beautiful.
As I write, I don't know if you will ever get to read this letter. I do not, at this point, even know how exactly I'm going to try and send this to you. It doesn't matter, though. I owe it to you to say, 'thank you' for speaking up for the game I love, and it is men like you who make me feel so proud to be a small part of a large cricketing fraternity. Besides, I have always admired New Zealand in general and New Zealand cricket in particular. It might be a tiny country, but it houses people with massive hearts; who could come to any other conclusion after the country's stirring response to the devastation of Christchurch's earthquake four years ago? Your humility would tell me you're a Kiwi long before your accent would. You looked almost embarrassed to be inducted into the Hall of Fame at the ceremony, while the only reason I wasn't loudly cheering in front of the TV was that I had welled up. (The game that unfolded after can't have been very good for your stress levels, though!)
I was once told by a very dear relative (who was terminally ill with cancer), 'If you're ever in doubt about whether to write to someone, do. You can't know how much of a difference it makes.' I know I'm not the only one to be writing to you, but it would be an honour to throw my letter on top of what must surely be a burgeoning pile.
You wrote a heart-rending article last year about how Brendon McCullum scoring a triple-hundred finally set you free. I thought it would be poignant if this inspired Black Caps side could lift the Cup that you perhaps should have held aloft 23 years ago, and put to bed that other bogey that haunted you for over two decades. It would be impossible not to think of you if New Zealand were to win the Cup that you had one hand on all those years ago, but for an inspired Inzamam and a niggling hamstring.
Good luck with your health, Martin; cancer couldn't have picked a tougher opponent in a war of attrition. Don't put out your bat or set down your pen just yet. We could all do a lot worse than learn from you.
Sincerely,
A cricket fan.
Danyal Rasool