The Maximiser

My first meeting with John Wright, in February 2002, was very nearly the last. Wisden Asia Cricket was only a few months old then and we were desperate to establish the Talking Cricket feature, which is now the showpiece interview in the magazine. Wright had agreed to meet, but hadn't said an absolute yes to a formal interview. But it was a chance not to be lost and I flew to Vadodara, where Wright was watching the Ranji Trophy semi-final at the sylvan Gujarat State Fertiliser Corporation Ground. To my great relief, Wright agreed to be interviewed on the record.

But half-an-hour into the interview, things went horribly wrong. India had just finished a home series against England, prevailing 1-0 in the Tests but drawing the one-dayers after taking a 3-1 lead. There had been suggestions that the Indian approach on the last day of the second Test at Ahmedabad, where they batted 90 overs for 181, chasing 374 for victory, had been timid. And since England had taken a healthy first-innings lead in the rain-shortened final Test at Bangalore, my line of questioning veered towards suggesting that England, who had been no-hopers when the series started, might have been the moral victors.

I could sense Wright's agitation for a while before he snapped. "Tell me what fields England set at Ahmedabad?" he asked. "How many men on the boundary? How many sweepers on the off side? What line did they bowl?" I struggled to keep up. But Bangalore, I countered, surely England were the better side there? "How many overs were left in that Test?" he shot back, full of rage now, his usually calm, blue eyes, blazing. "How negative can you be? I don't like talking to people like you."

I found myself squirming because we were sitting out in the open in what could be vaguely described as the pavilion, with a hundred people around us. In a flash, Wright was up on his feet, still shaking in anger. He handed me back the magazine I had given him, and stomped off, leaving me to the curious gaze of the onlookers. In minutes, he was back, to demand the tape, which I handed over to him.

An hour later, I summoned the courage to approach him again. He said yes, but on the condition that the interview be done afresh. "Don't worry, I will give you better answers," he said, smiling. And so he sat, patiently, putting up with the same questions barring the one I chose not to ask, and some more. We then spoke some more on the phone, exchanged e-mails and met again in Mumbai before the interview could be said to have been completed. I have met him a few times since, and done another major interview with him. He still has that tape of mine. He smiles about it when I ask him, he won't give it back.

After that encounter, whenever I heard former Indian players, some perhaps bitter at not having a job till then considered a retirement benefit for them, talk on television about Wright's lack of fire, I have had a quiet chuckle. It's easy to be fooled by his soft-spokenness on television, by his desire to stay firmly in the background, but the gentle appearance hides a tough warrior and a rage and a passion that has burned for Indian cricket for the last three years.

You could argue that as a paid professional, Wright had merely done a job well, but India's cricket history is so replete with instances of people enjoying rewards without toil or a tangible contribution that Wright is a seminal departure. By a mile, he has contributed more to Indian cricket than all the previous coaches put together. Working side by side, Wright and Sourav Ganguly have banished intrigue from the Indian dressing-room, instilled passion and commitment, and have created an environment for optimal performance.

It is natural that Wright is immediately associated with the inculcation of a performance-oriented work culture in the team. The Indians run more singles now, save more runs in the field, and take more catches. They out-caught the Australians in Australia and, until the anxiety of the impending win jangled their nerves on the last day of the Rawalpindi Test, pouched everything on offer in Pakistan. In discipline and adherence to the basics, Wright's stamp is easy to see. What is not quantifiable but is equally, or even more, profound has been his role as the maximiser.

Wright rarely makes a pretension about his own abilities as a cricketer. He didn't score his first Test hundred till his 17th match, and his average didn't creep above 30 until his 28th. He was fortunate, he concedes, to play for New Zealand, where he was allowed to settle into the Test team despite a modest beginning. But he is content, even proud, in the knowledge that his was not a talent unfulfilled. He was required to summon his entire reserve of concentration and focus for each of his 13 Test hundreds, but throughout his 14-year career, he never sold himself short.

During the initial months of his coaching assignment here, it was a culture shock for him to experience the profligacy of India's extravagant strokemakers. He still gets mad about Virender Sehwag throwing his wicket away, but player after player talk about how they have imbibed the value of persistence from their coach. Throughout history, India has not been bereft of talent, but it finally took an outsider to drive it towards realisation.

Navjot Sidhu has the unique gift of making sense sound like a melodramatic rant. He was merely being his overstated self when, after India's series win against Pakistan, he shouted himself hoarse to any television channel which would lend him a microphone about why Wright should be granted Indian citizenship and not be allowed to leave India's shores. Wright's current contract comes to end in September. Renewing it shouldn't be an issue. But he has spoken about the fatigue, the strain, and the loneliness of hotel rooms. The challenge for the Indian cricket establishment is to make him feel at home for a few more years.

Sambit Bal is editor of Wisden Asia Cricket and Wisden Cricinfo in India.
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