For Kris Srikkanth, cricket has always been a game — a law of sport. Trying the impossible, or the incredible, was always his birth-right too. When his batting mechanics clicked, as they often did, the result was pure magic — of uninhibited excitement, thrill, challenge, and aggressive romanticism.
Srikkanth, with such a masterful mix at his disposal, would often emerge with the gladiator-laden mysticism of a mediaeval swordsman, as and when he wanted. A superstitious individual, Srikkanth was one-day cricket’s first experimenter. He’s, doubtless, Sanath Jayasuriya-I, much before the ‘Mauler from Matara’ became a nightmare to bowlers.
To take a quick dekko at his famous mannerisms: the walk within the batting crease to short square-leg; the inevitable nosey twirls and sniffs; the last-minute spins with the handle of his bat; a final tug to his pads; and, a peep into his gold chain enveloping his neck, what with that eternal and thanksgiving prayer to his personal deity, the Sun God. What next? A sniff, snort, grunt, and blazing action — or, a lazy, miscued stroke and/or dismissal by way of a stupendous catch, taken instinctively, off a scorching shot.
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