They say that “those who can, do, and those who can’t, write”. These two currents – one of world-beaters, the other of wordsmiths – sometimes crash into each other, though the wave seldom occurs on a platform quite as public, or oddly enough, as deeply personal as social media.
One of these “head-butts” played out last week when Proteas fast bowler Dale Steyn had a T20 length spat on Twitter with a prominent cricket scribe. Not long after the end of the final T20 international against Australia, Steyn and said scribe had an overnight session of handbags, sparked by a cheeky fan who pointed out that writing off Steyn’s future in the game was perhaps premature.
Steyn reminded the cheeky chap (the fan, not the scribe) that his choice of reading material shouldn’t be confused with one-ply or two-ply, to which said scribe retaliated by suggesting that if the speedster cared little for what those who hadn’t played the game thought, he must not pay much mind to his national coach, whose own experience is limited.
It was all rather petty and looked set to fizzle out until Steyn re-ignited the furnace with language usually reserved for the likes of Michael Clarke out in the middle. And all the while, the international cricket fraternity watched on with equal parts disbelief and another helping of lightly salted popcorn.
Steyn quickly removed his fiercest vent within an hour, but that which is erased on the digital blackboard is noted forever in the little black book. Of course, Steyn is not the first sportsman to tell a sports writer that he doesn’t care much for his craft – though his was in slightly stronger terms, mind – and he certainly will not be the last.
Forever and a day, the lot of the press has been to dismantle yesterday and ponder about tomorrow, while those who play today are expected to take it on the chin. It is only logical that doers will occasionally react to what the writers offer up, but there are better platforms than online to do so.
Corridors of uncertainty and the back of dressing-rooms, perhaps. Or, as Steyn has cheekily offered in the past, with a simple contest of bat and ball. On the recent tour of India, Steyn suggested to a veteran member of the press to pad up and meet him in the nets, if he seriously thought that he had lost a yard of pace.
The back-pedalling was every bit as subtle as that of the man who stocks up Maria Sharapova’s medicine vault. Yes, Father Time and Mother Nature simultaneously eat away at all of us, which does lead to vulnerability. It is inevitable. The scribe’s suggestion for Steyn to retire was certainly premature, given that the man from Phalaborwa is still 32, and still thirsty for plenty more wickets and wins in green and gold.
Steyn can only do that out in the middle, and perhaps his reaction hinted that what occurs out in the middle of grounds around India over the next few weeks really matters. Father Time is also chipping away at this collection of South African cricketers.
That missing piece in the puzzle, that precious bit of metal that says they did it when it truly mattered, is up for grabs again.
Sure, the World Twenty20 is a chicken nugget compared to the cordon bleu affair that is the real, 50-over World Cup, but the pressure-cooker is just as fierce when it gets to the business end of this helter-skelter affair, if not even more so.
Steyn and company would love nothing more than to finally secure an ICC trophy, because they know that the next one may be too far for them to do it altogether.
Perhaps that is what is consuming his thoughts, rather than the whims of those who can’t, won’t or never have. But, right now, he simply has to do what few others can. And let those who can’t reconsider, perhaps…
– THE SUNDAY INDEPENDENT