In Defense Of Beamers

No, we’re not talking about the much loved German automobile.
For the uninitiated, a beamer is a kind of ball delivery in cricket, in which the ball approaches the batsman at waist level or higher, usually at great speed, without bouncing on the pitch. It is illegal according to the rules of the game, and is generally considered to be a sign of poor gamesmanship on the part of the bowler. The reason being, of course, that it can be very dangerous and cause grievous injury to the batsman.

Now, in days gone by, I was considered to be quite an exponent of this craft.
And craft it was my friends. For it is not easy to deliver a beamer. Consistently.
Yes, yes, by its very definition a beamer is supposed to be an accidental delivery, one that slips out of the bowler’s hand before the arm has completed its downward arc. But ask the wily Wasim Akram, who had perfected the delivery and the follow-up sheepish grin to an art-form. Ask Bret Lee whose 140kmph beamers can easily knock your head off, or ask the more blunt Waqar Younis, and they’ll all tell you the same thing. It is an art, a black art, but one that requires precision, timing and a penchant for histrionics.

But why take it up with the greats. Ask me. Ask the kids of my locality in Shillong who grew up with me (all young men now). If they can overcome the permanent mental (and a few physical) scars that my beamers left them in their childhood, they will testify about the fear they can still smell when they reminisce about Shubho-da thundering down the alley in his blue flip-flops, clutching the much worn dark grey cork ball (the dreaded ‘cork-deuce’), about to deliver the mother of all beamers.

To be fair, a beamer is a very effective weapon in gully cricket, which is about as far from the gentlemen’s game as you can get. Umpires and rules be damned, the objective was to win. By intimidation if necessary. A well directed beamer often resulted in the batsman deciding in favor of his body-parts, which were undoubtedly dearer to him that bragging rights over that evening’s match. He would simply take evasive action, and the stumps would be mine. The key words here, of course, are ‘well directed’, which can never be the case with genuine ‘accidental’ beamers.

I was proud of my beamers. Damn, they had a fine trajectory. And speed. And they were not well delivered full tosses. No sir.
They were raw, and aggressive, and had a ‘wanted dead or alive’ aura about them. Get the batsman or get the stumps. Honest to god I never got the batsmen. But that’s not to say I always got the stumps too. Let’s just say the wicket keeper used to be a busy man.

Of course, bowling strategy took on different meanings with the advent of formal school and college level cricket in my long and eventful cricket career. Ok, so I never played school or college cricket. I was a valuable 16th man. I had potential. Let’s not nitpick here.

Old habits die hard. During practice in college, my occassional ‘accidental’ beamers were met with disbelief and concern on the field, and a fair bit of ridicule and castigation from the coach and captain.

But they did provide enough fodder for endless needling during booze sessions and hysterical laughter during other noble herbal pursuits with the gang on the hostel terrace. They still do.

And for those cherished memories alone, I am thankful to my skill with beamers and the batsmen who gamely played along, no doubt resisting the urge to bash my head in with primed willow.

~ by Shubho on March 7, 2007.