Cricket careers can be cruel. Imagine giving 18 years of your life to the same job and not knowing when your last day of work is. It suddenly happens, without a farewell on a rainy day. People have left for their homes, the stadium is empty, and you sit there behind a glass window and quietly share it with a colleague that your time has come with a tear in the eye.
This isn’t just the story of Ravichandran Ashwin, but many such great cricketers who faded away, sometimes quite unceremoniously, eventually rehabilitated by their local IPL team. Ashwin had a great run, but every great run comes to an end.
As they say, an athlete dies twice. Once when they retire and again at their death. Roger Federer was quite open about his difficulties in letting go of the court. Olympians who have won multiple gold medals have confessed no one prepared them for life after being an Olympian. It’s uncertain, and the transition is tough.
Team sports are even harder. Even if you are in perfect shape and form, you can still be defeated by the conditions. An off-spinner comes pre-rejected to green-top pitches. Instead of bringing your 20 years of experience to the cricket field, you end up bringing water bottles while missing your daughter’s first stage performance back home.
One can counter by saying, these guys are already super rich and financially independent. They would never be able to spend all the money they have earned. Then there is always the IPL, a YouTube channel, and, if push comes to shove, they can always do a paan masala ad. Hence, if one gets to spend the rest of their life with their family and a nine-figure bank balance, isn’t this the best-case scenario?
Not really. If that were the case, some of the Indian cricketer dads would never be salty, claiming conspiracies in the way their son was treated, hitting back at the leadership, quoting bowling averages and strike rates and a lot of whataboutery. The player then has to make the excuse of their dad’s senility while, deep down, agreeing with him. An Indian cricketer’s dad is often the subconscious voice of the cricketer. It’s tough for the entire family.
Most sports careers end in the 30s; before your kid recognises what their parent does for a living, you are already a has-been. You have already peaked. Now, you are on a depreciating curve of popularity. From a run-making business, you get into the opinion-making business. And, one fine day, a player who you deemed a bits-n-pieces cricketer hits back publicly, questioning the utility of your entire career. In the age of social media, it can happen often, and you don’t have another Border-Gavaskar Trophy to score runs in and shut those trolls up.
Another great post-retirement option is to get back in the dugout and become a coach so that you can again pump fist in the air once your number 11 saves a follow-on. While this is a coveted job, always be ready for the second unceremonious exit of your career. Ask a certain Australian who coached India.
American author Steve Magness mentions it eloquently: “Imagine being the best in the world at something. Spending all of your time perfecting your craft. Then, in your 30s, you have to walk away. Start fresh and be a ‘beginner’ at something completely different. Welcome to being an elite athlete. It’s why retirement is often a struggle.”
Corporate careers are different. It is like a step ladder, you climb a rung every few years, do a high-five, have a celebratory drink, update your LinkedIn, look at the world around you from the newfound height, and then look up at the rungs above yet to be climbed. And with renewed enthusiasm, you send more official e-mails asking people to send you stuff ASAP.
It’s a slow burn, your purpose may be small-scale, like selling more shampoo in a particular geography or writing code to make a button glow, but it keeps you occupied till the age when you don’t want to be occupied. There is a linear graph of ascent, and no falling off the cliff of an exponential curve of relevance. This isn’t just true for cricketers, but also any celebrity, even your favourite Instagram influencer.
There is a price to be paid for celeb-hood; very few have gone to their deathbed without any regrets or alternative scenarios. What if they didn’t go for that second run in a World Cup semi-final which led to a run-out? There is no course correcting, there is no going back. Imagine making the biggest mistake of your life in your 30s, and having the next 50 years to think about it, replaying it in your head. And calculating what could have been. Then you recount those moments in books, and podcasts, with your audience sympathising with you. It is not easy.
As I said, cricket careers can be cruel, either you die a hero, or you live long enough to do a paan masala ad.
Abhishek Asthana is a tech and media entrepreneur, and tweets as @gabbbarsingh.The views expressed are personal
