Could never think of him as a role model batsman. Yes, a young boy could copy that out-flexing of the knees, the adjusting of the box, the positioning of the bat and maybe the stance. But it stopped there. One could never, ever, dream of replicating the strokes he played. Dravid, you could aspire to be, even if the ability were to remain ever so far behind. Laxman, you could pretend you were, for a stroke or four, even if you were easily seen for the pretender you were. But this man, it was just not possible. Anyone who ever attempted to do it stepped away very quickly, stricken, never to venture there again. And so, there were few who could criticise. Or even critique.
Young children are never told they have to grow up to be a Siva, a Vishnu or even an Indra. Stories are told of them, sure, but to inspire: emulation is never a requirement. We know that is not possible and we don’t want to place such pressure on anyone.
Gods are never Role Models. We should just be thankful they will always be around.
