Hits And Misses

Marathon Man

That Lance Armstrong is a cyclist is an understatement of what he means tothose who know his story. That  Armstrong is a four-time winner of the Tourde France -- among the toughest sporting challenges -- and the world’s bestlong-distance cyclist is an understatement of what he’s achieved in his 32years in the world.

Armstrong is a cancer survivor who’s been to hell and back. That, for him,is bigger than everything else he has done in his life. And that’s why SportsIllustrated -- the most revered sports magazine in the US -- named himthe Sportsperson of the Year for 2002. It’s a fitting tribute to a phenomenalathlete and human being, but it comes three years late.

Armstrong’s story has been told many times over, reaching a fever pitchevery July during the Tour de France. Yet, it loses none of its warmth, magicand romance, and will be told for generations to come.

In October 1996, this 25-year-old native of Austin, Texas, was diagnosed withtesticular cancer, which had spread to his lungs and brain. He lost weight, hishair, his strength and stamina. Cruel, for at that time he was the best cyclistin the US, and was just about beginning his charge on the world stage. Armstrongwas given a 20 per cent chance of surviving, for which he would require surgeryand bouts of chemotherapy.

At such moments, the instinct says and thinks survival. Armstrong wasthinking all that, and more: to get back to competitive cycling. After thesurgery removed the tumour in his brain, he was presented with two drug optionsfor chemotherapy: one that wouldn’t have side-effects but would marginallydrain his lung capacity (a vital ally for any athlete, especially cyclists), andanother that would have side effects but wouldn’t affect his lung capacity.Cyclists pride and survive on their marathon lung capacity, which helps thempeddle ceaselessly. Armstrong choose short-term discomfort for long-term gain.

The surgery and chemo worked. A year later, Armstrong was cured, and hereturned to full-time riding (even during his treatment period, he was taking30-mile rides in Austin). The cancer proved to be a blessing in disguise. It hadleft him with a leaner frame (a great asset for cyclists) and a wiser mind. InJune 1999, he won the Tour de France.

The biggest prize in world cycling, the Tour is a three-week, 20-stage,2,000-miles race across France (with a brief touch into Belgium). Riders breezepast pleasant countryside, sprint in a handful of towns and, in what is theultimate test of human strength and limits of endurance, grunt and grimacethrough mountains in the Pyrenees.

It’s usually in the mountains that the Tour is decided. And when it comesto climbing mountains, both literally on a bike and metaphorically in life, theydon’t come much better than Armstrong. He’s called the ‘King of theMountains’. Till the mountains begin, Armstrong rides as part of the peloton(the term given to the pack of riders chasing the leaders), sheltered by hiseight team-mates from the US Postal Service.

They take turns to ride ahead of him, thereby protecting him from thecrosswinds and requiring him to expend less energy. And when the mountains come,they make a charge, Armstrong in tow. It’s in the mountains that Armstrongstamps his authority on the Tour, and breaks away. Said French racer StephaneHeulot after the 2000 tour: "When I saw Armstrong overtake me, I got theimpression I was watching someone descending a hill I was trying to scale."

Armstrong won in 2000 and 2001 as well. His dominance was so overriding thatin 2002 the organisers scheduled the mountain stages towards the end of theTour, so as to keep the race competitive. No problem, said Armstrong. He bidedhis time, stayed patient and in touch with the leaders, and made his move in themountains. He’s won the Tour four times, in succession, and looks set tobetter the all-time record of five wins next year -- fittingly during itscentenary.

Armstrong takes great pride in what he’s achieved. He is a beacon of hope,an example of triumph over adversity. He never forgets where he has been. And,in his graceful and humble way, he puts sport in perspective. Aptly, he titledhis autobiography, ‘It’s Not About the Bike’. Says Armstrong: "If Inever had cancer, I never would have won the Tour de France. I'm convinced ofthat. I wouldn't want to do it all over again, but I wouldn't change athing."

"C’mon guys, let’s help him out," exhorted Mark Boucher to histeam-mates. Lance Klusener had just dropped a skier from Salim Elahi in thesecond one-day international between Pakistan and South Africa, played lastweek. Boucher wasn’t throwing a taunt at Klusener to learn to catch the ball.Rather, he was sending a missive to the other nine South African players, urgingthem to dismiss Elahi quickly, so as to ease the burden of guilt that Klusenermight be carrying.

Truth is, Klusener does need help, though not in the catching department. Heneeds help from the South African think-tank to sort out his batting. Morespecifically, on what his role in the batting line-up is and how best it cancontribute in his side’s efforts to become the first host nation to win thebiggest prize in cricket -- the World Cup.

Man of the tournament in the 1999 World Cup, when he showed an amazing knackof winning games by pounding bowling attacks to submission with unbelievableconsistency, Klusener is not quite the force he used to be. But neither is he aspent force, past his expiry date.

Klusener is still a good bat. Not ‘amazing’, just ‘good’. Althoughhis career average has dropped from 46 after the 1999 Cup to 43, it is prettyimpressive for one who generally comes in between 6 and 8 in the batting order.What’s changed, though, is that Klusener isn’t murdering bowling attackswith the same kind of demonic consistency. The late-innings flourishes and runchases where he suddenly moved up many a gear in a snatch have become a sightfor sore eyes. Klusener is not winning South Africa the matches he was three tofour years ago.

Klusener’s ability to close out matches, or stretch his team’s advantage,has taken a beating. He doesn’t stride in anymore, feel a couple ofdeliveries, opens his shoulders and sends balls soaring into the on-sidebleachers. He generally takes more time to settle down and his timing is atrifle askew. The gay abandon and the nothing-is-impossible feel has given wayto quiet circumspection. That’s the sign of a batsman who isn’t completelyat ease with the situation and his ability to deliver.

As a batsman, Klusener has changed, from a bludgeon artist to an accumulatorwho opens up in time. It’s a fact that seems to have escaped the South Africanmanagement. They still put him in the batting order at number 8, implicitlyassigning him the finishing role. Sometimes, when Nicky Boje is sent in as apinch hitter, Klusener has to come in at 9, which effectively means he has thelikes of Donald and Ntini to follow. Not inspiring, given that he is now equallydependant on singles as he is on boundaries and sixes.

Even batting at number 8, his statistics look good. Since the 1999 Cup,Klusener has played 86 one-day internationals. In 23 of these, he was pencilledin at number 8, and had 18 innings. He has scored 639 runs at a stupendousaverage of 64. Yet, he has ended up on the losing side 11 times (11 victoriesand one tie), while staying undefeated in 8 of these 18 innings, many of whichhave been lost causes.

These figures, when seen along with Klusener’s current state of batsmanship,are a pointer to one inescapable fact: Klusener needs more time in the middle.By extension, the South African think-tank needs to promote him in the battingorder, possibly at number 6, ahead of Boucher, Pollock and Boje (if he isn’tpinch-hitting). By doing so, they let Klusener settle down, accumulate for awhile, find his feet, before opening up. The South Africans can afford to do sobecause Boucher and Pollock are excellent at picking up the pace and providinglate-innings histrionics.

Klusener is a vital cog in the South African one-day wheel. As one-daycricketers go, he’s special, gifted with the rare ability to murder bowlingattacks and deliver 10 overs of wicket-to-wicket medium pace. And like mostgifted cricketers, he performs best when he is given the part he can play toperfection. Players like Klusener need to be nurtured, made to feel special andwanted. That’s when you get the best out of them.

As the days count down to the 2003 World Cup, sides are experimenting withtheir batting line-ups and bowling combinations. South Africa have just twoofficial one-day internationals left, against Pakistan, before they head intothe World Cup, and they don’t seem to be too inclined to give Klusener abigger role in the scheme of things.

One of the South African cricketers vying for a middle-order slot in thecountry’s World Cup team is Neil McKenzie. On the ground, McKenzie is apicture of calm and poise. Nonchalant, laid-back and seemingly unruffled by what’sgoing on, he’s the last person in the world you would expect to be carryingaround a huge bag of superstitions. Well, he does, and quite a repertoire it is.

There are some predictable ones like tapping the pitch after every ball andindulging in some ‘farming’, and avoiding stepping on the popping crease.Then, there are some bizarre ones. Like McKenzie’s insistence that all thetoilet seats in the dressing room must be down when he goes out to bat. And hekeeps picking up them along the way.

One night, some of his team-mates played a practical joke on him by tapinghis bat to the dressing room ceiling. The next day, after having finally foundhis bat, he hammered a century with it. He promptly insisted that the same bat,wherever possible, be taped to the dressing room ceiling the night before hewent to bat! McKenzie will need all that providence -- and lots of runs -- tomake it to the South African World Cup side.