It may be a statistical fact that Murali is the most prolific player to hold a cricket ball, but chat to the umpires whose reputations he tainted, the ex-players offended by his supple action, or the punters who post on the walls of Facebook pages questioning his legitimacy, and they'll describe a charlatan whose ill-gotten wickets should be expunged from the records.īut for the Sri Lankan fan - even for the sceptic - he was beyond spectacular. The offbeat rhythms, the never-ending spells, the untouchable records and the parade of whispering naysayers. The eyes that glare like an All Black mid-haka, the wrist that flaps at improbable angles and, unseen by most, the shoulder that all but dislocates at the point of delivery.Īnd then there was the glorious loop, the exquisite drift, the subtle drop and the not-so-subtle turn. My view of chucking mirrored conventional views on pornography: hard to define, but I would know it when I saw it.įor those, however, who saw Murali, who truly saw the man's wizardry, there is far more to him than a curious elbow. I wasn't the only one.Īt the time I hadn't read the rules on what constituted a chuck, but it seemed to be all about elbows: whether they straightened or whether they bent. Who can possibly deny the man's genius, his artistry, and his quiet dignity? But when first I saw him in 1995, bamboozling the Kiwis in Sri Lanka's first Test series win abroad, my reaction was that there was dodginess at work - dodginess concentrated around the elbow region. This is not something that should be admitted, in public or otherwise, if you are Sri Lankan and fear being lynched. A dangerous confession: I have been a Murali-sceptic for some time.
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