Michael Clarke was wrong. Bonding over beer doesn't kill the killer instinct

So much of cricket is not about cricket. What happens on the field is so often linked with what happens off it. Every cricketing culture is also part of the wider culture from which the players are drawn. Take the recently concluded Ashes series, where the question of shared cold beers led to frostiness between the two sides.

The story goes something like this. England captain Alastair Cook walked up to his Australian counterpart Michael Clarke aka "Pup" after the first Test, which England had lost, and offered the suggestion that the teams should sit down and have some beer together. Clarke turned down the offer. The English were most puzzled. Come to think of it, it's not a bad idea. A friendly drink helps keep things in perspective. After all, cricket is just a game and not war. Obviously, the Aussies think differently.

Before the Ashes, England had played a closely fought series with New Zealand. Both sides played attractive cricket. After every match, regardless of who had won or lost, and how bitterly fought the game had been, the sides would get together for a couple of glasses of beer. Working professionals have a right to get together and have a few laughs after a hard day's work. After a small break, the teams would recoup and go hammer and tongs at each other in the next match. It didn't dim their competitive edge.

Apparently, the Aussies and the English did have a tradition of sharing beer after matches but the unsmiling George Bush lookalike, and former Australian skipper Ricky Ponting, put an end to that. Enemies cannot be buddies. Punter felt it would kill the killer instinct. We are players, not commentators. Look what happened. Australia went on to lose the next three Tests and the series. Pup retired in ignominy. In retrospect, they might as well as have had a few cold lagers (or warm bitters) at their host's expense.

One wonders what would have happened had the Aussies made the same offer to, say, the Indian or the Pakistani team. Half of the Pakistan players would have politely declined the offer, citing religious prohibition. The other half would have said "no" because grown-up Punjabis don't drink lager. Can't you serve us some Johnny Walker Blue Label please? As for the Indians, I fear we would have jumped at the offer with too much enthusiasm and ended up with debilitating hangovers. Free booze? Let's do it! Think of the melee that ensues at the bar during an average Delhi book launch. Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe cricket players behave differently from "book lovers".

Another off-the-pitch controversy had to do with families and kids. Some commentators criticised the Australian team because after the cricketing day ended, they chose to spend time with their wives and kids. They should probably have spent the rest of the evening, in stag meetings, analysing the day's mistakes. This seems unfair. Test match cricket, of all the sports, is the closest to a regular job. You play five days of a week, 9am to 5pm. After that, you go home to your family. That's what's meant by "bringing home the bacon". You share the bacon with your wife, not your wicketkeeper. What's wrong with that?

The Aussie nine-to-five approach also fetched Pup some brickbats. Now Pup, according to some newspaper reports, drove to the venue of the Test match not in the team bus but in a separate car. Seems okay to me. The boss makes his way to office in his personal vehicle, while the rest of the employees make their way separately. What's important is that everyone is in office/the cricketing oval at the same time. Does travelling together or travelling individually have any real impact on productivity/the end result? It's an open question. Mahendra Singh Dhoni has solved this problem in his own typical "Dhoni-style". It has been reported that in the upcoming India-Sri Lanka one day international (ODI) series, Lieutenant Colonel Dhoni plans to parachute down directly on to the pitch for the toss in an Indian Air Force (IAF) aircraft, thus avoiding the car-bus debate altogether.

While the Ashes saw the end of an era, with Clarke retiring, the India-Sri Lanka series saw the dawn of a new one under a new captain Virat Kohli. Kohli wanted his team to flaunt a new-found aggression. This had to happen overnight. The instant-aggro formula led to some dramatic changes in character. Ishant Sharma, previously known as the team's gentle giant, mistook an altercation on the cricket pitch for a road rage incident.

We Indians are terribly aggressive in our day-to-day lives. We drive aggressively, we abuse too much, we shout too much, we don't believe in saying sorry or thank you, we are plainly rude and nasty to each other. But on the cricket field, we have kept it relatively calm. Ganguly was aggressive but passively so. He'd keep Steve Waugh waiting for the toss. Dravid wouldn't even return a fast bowler's stare. He'd stroll away from his crease, then come back and hit the next ball for another boundary.

In contrast, Ishant looked like he was in a street fight. The game stopped. Ishant stared down at the much shorter Dhammika Prasad for the longest time possible. He slapped his head repeatedly. There was some elbowing. The result? We won the match but now Ishant has to sit out a one-match suspension, besides forfeiting the bulk of his match fee.

If we want to be aggressive like the Australians or the English, we need to master words. Sledging is not about coming to blows. It's about muttering under your breath, so that the batsman loses his concentration. It's about the subtleties of the English language, how to use irony and sarcasm to get under the skin of your opponent. It's about barbs and jibes. Players rarely get suspended for doing this. Most of our players can speak English but they simply aren't fluent enough to manipulate language into a weapon. So we take recourse to "body talk" and try and pass it off as aggression. It just looks unseemly.

Finally, to wrap up this comparison of cricketing cultures, a word about T20 cricket. T20 was also an English invention, the idea being to rejuvenate audience interest in domestic cricket. We turned it into a garish unscrupulous tamasha. Our cricketing calendar is full of pointless leagues, and more are on the anvil. The Karnataka Premier League (KPL) is in full swing, and will be followed by the Nelson Mandela-Mahatma Gandhi League, where every free hit will be charged with historical meaning.

Not to be left behind, Uttarakhand is launching the Uttarakhand Premier League (UPL), which begins on September 27. The participating teams include Dehradun Smashers, Chamoli Panthers, Pauri Ryders, Almora Thrashers and the redoubtable Nainital Tigers.

This is too tempting. Let me suggest a battery of names for new teams, which I'm sure will be added to the UPL as the league expands over the next few years: Tehri Dammers, Rajaji Rogues, Mussoorie Monkeys, Landour Lions, Kumaon Killers, Ranikhet Royals and the Garwhal Grinders.

I can already see the headlines in the local papers.

"Pauri Ryders in landslide win over Chamoli Panthers."

"Almora Thrashers conquer yet another Peak."

"Nainital Tigers maul Dehradun Smashers."

Which brings us to the question: is this really cricket?