Celebrate Sachin Tendulkar's legacy; the timing of his retirement from cricket is trivial

Should Sachin Tendulkar have retired after India's World Cup triumph in 2011, when he had the world at his feet?
Well-intentioned as this argument is, it stems purely from hindsight. At best it is a tickle for academic indulgence by chroniclers, engaging dinner-table talk by the hoi polloi and great fodder for debate in the media — but largely irrelevant in the sweep of a great sportsperson's life.
Had Don Bradman, for instance, not gone to England in 1948, he might have finished with a Test average well in excess of 100. Had Greg Chappell not quit at age 36 despite making a century in his last Test how many more could he have scored? And what if Tendulkar makes a century or two against the West Indies in November, should he still play on?
For a sportsperson, retirement is the most excruciating and vexing decision. When the heart finally agrees with the head, the right moment has been reached. The timing then becomes subservient to the legacy being left behind, which is how Tendulkar should be assessed today.
There are a few ways in which legends can be determined in sport. The most obvious is by way of numbers: who runs fastest, jumps highest, throws longest — in the case of essential Olympic disciplines — or in the case of the cricket, who makes the most runs, most centuries, takes most wickets etc.
An outstanding sportsperson must do this consistently. A flash in the pan is just that: while it can be charming, it does not leave much for posterity. Greatness in sport is in direct proportion to the body of work accomplished over a longish period of time. Without sustained excellence, the legacy is like a house of wax which can melt under the slightest heat of scrutiny.
In this respect, Tendulkar rates extraordinarily high. It is legitimately debatable if he has been the greatest batsman in cricket history for there are quite a few (past and present) like him with a career average in the 50s, a few in the 60s leave aside Bradman who sits atop Mount Zeus with 99.94.
In fact, statistics don't flatter Tendulkar unconditionally. He has never scored a triple century in any form of cricket (record holder Lara has a highest of 400 in Tests and 501 in first-class cricket), has not scored a century in both innings of a Test match and — for all his brilliance — has a rather poor record as captain.
Yet, 15,837 runs in Tests and 18,426 in ODIs over a quarter-of-a-century mark him out as a bats-man with a mind-boggling lust for runs and records. Affix a 100 international centuries and 200 Tests to this and he becomes incomparable in his own way.
There is also another way to determine a legend, somewhat esoteric admittedly, but far more pleasurable. It is that ineffable feeling that you get when a great player is in full swing, that thrill that makes your hair stand on end, gives you goose-bumps: the moments that renowned American essayist David Foster Wallace was referring to when he compared watching Roger Federer playing tennis to a "religious experience".
With Tendulkar, those moments are countless. Matthew Hayden's classic remark, "I have seen God. He bats at number 4 for India," may have been hyperbolic, but reflects Wallace's experience with Federer and found an echo in Tendulkar's millions of fans whether he played a classic straight drive or an impetuous, unorthodox upper cut.
The joy Tendulkar has given to spectators, to his country and to the world cannot be broken down into only statistics, the timing of his retirement or indeed whether he goes of his own volition or has been pushed into a corner. It had to be felt, experienced, lived.
At its core, the Tendulkar phenomenon is based on undying passion for the game and huge innate ability. However, this alone is not a recipe for greatness as several unfulfilled careers show. What he also had was undying ambition, the good sense not to take his talent for granted, dedication and a truly extraordinary capacity to absorb pressure.
When he started his career as a precocious 16-year-old with terrific ball sense and a bat that seemed just too heavy for him (was it a Freudian compulsion, a five-foot something wanting to beat big-made opponents into subjugation i wonder), Tendulkar looked like an adventurer out to have a blast.
Over the years, he evolved into a master with purity of technique as well as the ability to improvise at will. His batting was as finely nuanced as it was breathtaking in its strokeplay. This defined his genius and made him the most charismatic player of his time.
Most importantly he became the inspiration for the 'can do-hate to lose-must win' self-belief which has shaped Indian cricket (and in a wider sense, buoyed the aspirations of Indians in other areas too), particularly in the last decade-and-a-half in which several players, having shared or watched Tendulkar perform heroic deeds in their growing up years, have aimed to be match-winners foremost.
This is where he stands head and shoulders above his contemporaries and indeed over the heads of many greats across many sports. His retirement may leave Indian cricket poorer, but only in the transient sense. In a broader sweep, he leaves it infinitely richer.
The writer is a sports columnist and commentator.