Stripped of the captaincy on the eve of a World Cup, Charith Asalanka finds himself skating on thin ice. Suddenly, runs are not just runs; they are legal tender. In a game that is brutally transactional, weight of runs is the only currency that guarantees a seat on the flight. The soft will curse their luck and sulk in the corner. The tough roll up their sleeves, take guard, and play the long innings.

History, as ever, offers a handy cue card. Take Arjuna Ranatunga. Axed as captain after the controversial 1991 tour of New Zealand, he was reduced to a mere batter for the 1992 World Cup. What followed was one of the great redemption arcs. A backs-to-the-wall knock at the Basin Reserve against South Africa, with Allan Donald huffing and puffing fire and then that audacious chase against Zimbabwe that rewrote the laws of possibility with the game’s first successful 300-plus pursuit. By the time the confetti settled, Ranatunga was back at the helm, having dragged Sri Lanka to glory almost single-handedly. Asalanka, a fellow left-hander, could do worse than study that script.

When Asalanka took charge of the white-ball sides last year, the sense was that destiny had tapped him on the shoulder. This was a leader in the making, groomed patiently by Sri Lanka Cricket for over a decade. An Under-19 captain, exposed through development squads and domestic leadership roles, he appeared primed to become an all-format captain in due course.

With the bat, particularly in ODIs, he often played the role of the fireman, dousing flames after collapses or steering run chases with a cool head. As a leader, he spoke well, kept the dressing room together and was generous with praise. But just as the talk turned to a long reign, the wheels began to wobble and then, slowly but surely, came off.

Asalanka began treating First-Class cricket like a contagious disease, scarcely turning out for SSC. That absence hurt. The country’s premier club slipped into Division Two, losing First-Class status for the first time in its storied history and his name was firmly in the dock.

Then came murmurs of a clique, largely made up of his Richmond College schoolmates, a charge that rarely ends well in any dressing room. The Asia Cup only deepened the scrutiny. His bowling changes were pedestrian, with holding Dunith Wellalage back for the final over against Afghanistan’s Mohammad Nabi standing out as a tactical misread. The feeling grew that he wasn’t squeezing the most out of his resources.

Pakistan was worse. He looked out of shape, which is never a good look for a captain and the runs dried up in T20 internationals.

When Dasun Shanaka, the man he had replaced, was installed as his deputy, the writing was on the wall in bold capitals. Asalanka, though, failed to read the signs. His brinkmanship in Pakistan, including threats to pull out of the tour, proved to be the final straw.

At 28, Asalanka is still young and this episode may yet prove a necessary dressing down. He is no villain. By all accounts, he is a humble bloke who has momentarily lost his bearings. It happens, particularly to young athletes thrust into leadership before they fully understand the traps that come with it. Right now, he needs support, a steady arm around the shoulder and the chance to rediscover his game.

There is little doubt about his value. Asalanka remains the country’s best finisher, not the sort who clears the ropes four times an over, but the kind who finds gaps, runs hard, rotates strike and before the opposition realises it, has them gasping for air. These are not the fireworks merchants who hog the highlights, but they are the players who win you matches quietly and consistently.

If he is to reclaim his place and perhaps the T20 armband again, the path is simple and unforgiving. Bat first, talk later. In cricket, as in life, nothing silences critics quite like runs on the board.

by Rex Clementine