CARRY ON, JUMBO

What do you do when even success doesn't succeed? When even compliments for most remarkable feats sound patronising?

Ask Anil Kumble. And he might tell you how his greatest challenge — instead of thinking a nimble-footed batsman out on a bounceless, slow-turner — could have been fighting self-doubt: Do I deserve so many without spinning the ball?

So often Kumble sat out during one-dayers, chewing over the decree that he, after all, was never the undisputed first spinner in the team. In a recent welfare auction in Calcutta, his India shirt couldn’t inspire a single bidder. I am yet to meet a cricket fan who goes to the ground to see Kumble bowl.

Anil’s best times must have been those when people have been indifferent towards him. Otherwise, on a bad day, he is trashed as moron — a mythical matchwinner. Worse, even on his best days, he remains an oxymoron — a successful spinner who can’t turn the cherry.

The fact that Anil didn’t allow such odds to come between him and so many cricketing milestone speaks enough for his greatness. Every time he came in to bowl and test batsmen with pace, bounce and, well, spin, Kumble knew he was taking a test himself. He knew the day he couldn’t put the ball on the right spot, pundits and plebian alike would be relieved to put him in what they always claimed his place. Kumble just couldn’t afford any self-doubt.

But let’s admit it. Even today, most of us, still beholden to the magic of Bedi and Chandra, feel Kumble is indeed the sore thumb of the Indian spin. But in 2005, Kumble will again turn around at the top of his simple run-up with a muffled spring, his clenched jaws and narrowed eyes daring the batsmen, critics and spectators to twist that thumb.

What do you do when success doesn’t succeed?

Ivan Lendle rallied hard. Lother Matheus built games.

Kumble bowls.