Coaches have always had habits that outlived tactics.
In football, Sir Alex Ferguson’s constant chewing of gum has become one of the most iconic images of the modern game. What by many accounts began as a simple solution to managing a nervous cough early in his career eventually evolved into something more permanent — a touchline ritual that came to signify control, authority and an unwavering presence in the midst of chaos. Pep Guardiola’s compulsive touchline sleeve tugging is no less well-known, to the point where fans joke about measuring tension levels by how aggressively he adjusts his jumper.
In cricket, these jokes have traditionally been more subtle. Rahul Dravid, during his tenure as coach, was rarely seen without his laptop and endlessly scribbling observations. Ashish Nehra, on the other hand, is one of the most restless, often seen striding to the boundary line shouting instructions.
Across sports, such idiosyncrasies are usually footnotes, background details that add texture but have little meaning.
And then there are jokes that encourage a second look.
Spend enough time watching Gautam Gambhir in the dugout and you begin to notice something else – not the animated instructions or intense stares, but the cricket ball. In his hand. On the table. Close to his face. Always within reach. Across formats, matches and venues, the ball appears with a consistency that is hard to ignore once you see it. Gautam Gambhir with ball in hand during Ranchi ODI vs South Africa (Screengrab from JioStar)
Have you seen it yet?
Below are a few more photos to drive home the point. Gambhir leans forward, ball close. Gambhir sits back, the ball rests on the ledge. Gambhir listening, thinking, waiting – ball part of the frame every time. It’s not powerful. It’s not an exaggeration. Just there. This reaction went viral during the Asian Cup final. Did you notice the ball on the table? (Screengrab from ACC YouTube) We saw Gautam Gambhir pocketing the ball after India won the ODI match against South Africa in Vizag (Screengrab from JIoStar)
Somehow it’s always there. Are they Gambhir’s stress balls? (Screengrab from JioHostar)
The ball was also his companion during post-match sessions during the Australian tour earlier this year (Getty Image) … during a tense moment from the Asia Cup final (Screengrab from Asian Cricket Council YouTube) Team sheets and the mandatory ball (Screengrab from JIoHostar) Can you spot the red ball next to Gambhir? It was after Shubman Gill’s neck injury in the Kolkata Test (Screengrab from JIoHostar) Did the broadcast team notice this before we did? (Screengrab by X)
And so the question begins.
Is this too much reading between the lines? Are we not making too much of a harmless habit – a coach who holds an object his team struggles with for hours?
Maybe. But then again, when has Gautam Gambhir been left alone to exist without interpretation?
This is a coach whose every move seems to invite decoding. It is constantly being read. Especially on social media, silence is analyzed as intensely as speech. The view becomes the verdict. Omission becomes intention.
PROBLEM WITH RO-KO?
Absence was even analyzed. When Gautam Gambhir has not publicly singled out Virat Kohli or Rohit Sharma after India won the ODI series against South Africa last week, the omission itself became a story. In a cricketing culture used to seeing its senior players front and center, the silence was seen as charged.
Former India batsman Robin Uthappa called it “strange” that the contributions of two of India’s most experienced players were not explicitly acknowledged – a remark that only fueled speculation.
The Gambhir–Kohli equation has also been scrutinized relentlessly. Their playing careers intersected with lead and confrontation, allowing for an easy comeback. Gambhir has repeatedly insisted that the past no longer applies – “We play for the same team,” he said – but the rumor refused to let go.
When Kohli hit his ODI double hundred against South Africa, a short post-match clip of him walking past Gambhir without an apparent salute went viral. The moment was frozen, looped and theorized, though earlier pictures from the same match showed Gambhir applauding the hundred and later sharing a light exchange with Rohit Sharma.
Again, the context struggled to keep up with the narrative.
Likewise, moments that might once have gone unnoticed now carry disproportionate weight.
ARSHDEEP’S NO-BALLS
Gambhir’s frustration during Arshdeep Singh’s seven-run match it was animated and unfiltered, directly captured by the cameras. This in itself was not unusual. But during the post-match handshakes, a brief glimpse of Arshdeep was isolated and read as a sign of public disapproval.
Comparisons quickly followed — clips of Rahul Dravid consoling Virat Kohli after the 2024 T20 World Cup semi-final resurfaced as a contrast. Whether Gambhir’s look signaled disappointment, tough love or nothing at all was ultimately unknown. In an age of perpetual decoding, clip mattered more than context.
This is the climate in which Gambhir operates – a climate where neutrality is rarely accepted and context is often optional. After India lost the home Test series 0–2 to South Africa, the criticism was withering. When India responded by winning the ODI series that followed, Gambhir used the moment to push back, pointing to the absence of Shubman Gill – the Indian batsman who missed both Tests due to injury. To some it sounded like an excuse delivered at the wrong time. But the substance of the argument was harder to dismiss.
There were also times when Gambhir seemed to cross that line himself. His heated exchanges with reporters and public stomping on team owners who raised the idea of compartmentalized coaching reinforced the image of the coach as always on the alert. At one point he reminded the room that he was “the same coach who won the Champions Trophy and the Asia Cup” — a line that sounded less like reassurance and more like resistance. At times he leaned into the familiar us-versus-them position that an Indian cricketer had seen before.
IS THE BALL SAYING SOMETHING?
Against this backdrop, the cricket ball in Gambhir’s vicinity begins to feel symbolic, albeit unintentional. Grounding object. Known weight. Something tangible amidst the abstraction of opinions and indignation. Coaches often reach for anchors—habits that will sustain them through long hours of waiting and watching. For Gambhir, it might just be the ball.
Yet symbolism has a way of attaching itself, invited or not.
A cricket ball is solid. Unforgiving. It doesn’t bend as expected. It rewards accuracy and punishes indecisiveness. It is not built for comfort. These qualities fit neatly – perhaps too neatly – with how Gambhir is seen as a coach: uncompromising, direct, resistant to soft edges.
Ironically, much of what surrounds Gambhir is more deduction than instruction. He showed little interest in managing his image — no softening of tone, no coach-speak to blur the meaning. Every phrase is treated as evidence of philosophy or fallout, every silence is taken to be intentional.
That doesn’t mean Gambhir is beyond criticism. Results, especially in Test cricket, have demanded scrutiny and decisions will always be questioned at this level. But what separates his era is the intensity of interpretation—how quickly moments become news.
At a time when coaches are expected to be managers, communicators, diplomats and brand stewards, Gambhir stubbornly remained himself. He looks the way he looks. He reacts the way he reacts. And when the noise gets louder, he won’t put the ball down.
– The end
Issued by:
Akshay Ramesh
Published on:
December 14, 2025
