by Rex Clementine

Fame and popularity often have a way of inflating egos, turning the humble into the arrogant. Cricketers are no exception to this rule. In fact, school cricket can be a crystal ball for spotting future stars, and some of them, as they rise through the ranks, become like distant planets—hard to reach, encased in layers of agents, protocols, and red tape.

But Sri Lankan players, to their credit, have largely kept their feet on the ground. They haven’t let stardom sweep them off course. Dimuth Karunaratne is a prime example—a man so rooted that he’ll stop to ask photographers toiling under the scorching sun if they need a bottle of water. It’s rare to find a cricketer who doesn’t let the game go to his head, but Dimuth is that man—a diamond in a game full of rough edges.

He’s the kind of role model parents hope their kids look up to—never rattled, never caught up in the ugly business of sledging or bad language, never called up to the Match Referee for disciplinary action, and never involved in bitter pay disputes. Dimuth is as honest as the day is long, and with a middle name like Frank, it’s no wonder he always speaks his mind.

But even the calmest waters have their storms. Last week, during the second Test in Galle, for the first time in his career, Dimuth let the emotions get better of him.

After missing out on a hundred in the first Test, where he played a vital knock of 83 to pull Sri Lanka out of a deep hole, Dimuth looked set for a century in the second Test. The Galle heat was the only thorn in his side as he moved fluently to 46 on a flat pitch. He hadn’t raised his bat for a century all year, and you could feel it coming.

Then came the moment that lit the fuse. Pushing the ball to mid-wicket, Dimuth called for a single. His partner, Dinesh Chandimal, stood frozen to the spot. It was a misfield, yes, and the golden rule is: ‘never run on a misfield unless there’s a run and a half on offer’. In this case though, there was, a run. Dimuth nearly made it back to his crease before the bails were whipped off.

What followed was something you’d never seen from the normally composed Karunaratne. He turned to Chandimal, fire in his eyes, and let him know, in no uncertain terms, that it was his call to make. When the ball’s in front of the wicket, the striker calls the shots, and Dimuth had made the right call. But the damage was done.

As Dimuth stormed off the field, frustration etched on his face, it was clear that even the best of friends can have a spat. Watching two former captains clash mid-pitch isn’t a pretty sight, but to their credit, by evening, the storm had passed, and the hatchet was buried.

Chandimal wasn’t blameless; he’d left his partner high and dry. But to his credit, the first thing he did when he walked into the dressing room was to apologize to Dimuth.

Some were quick to crucify Chandimal, branding him a traitor, but there’s always more to a story than meets the eye. Apparently, Dimuth had told Chandimal he was cramping and didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks. What he meant was “no twos,” but Chandimal had taken it to mean “no runs on misfields.” So, when the call for the run came, Chandimal, true to his decision, stayed rooted. Like a true gentleman, Chandimal held up his hand and admitted his mistake, and like another true gentleman, Dimuth accepted it without a second thought.

Dimuth, however, is no ordinary cricketer. He’s cut from a different cloth. He doesn’t always get the praise he deserves for leading Sri Lanka to an improbable series win in South Africa—a feat no other Asian captain has achieved. Even cricketing giants like India and Pakistan, with their potent pace attacks, haven’t managed to win a series on South African soil.

Dimuth’s secret? It’s not about outthinking the opposition with tactical brilliance. He leads by bringing people together. Under his stewardship, the dressing room is a place of calm, where players are trusted as professionals, and the relaxed atmosphere allows them to flourish.

His popularity after that South African triumph was such that players clamored for him to lead Sri Lanka into the 2019 World Cup, despite him not having played an ODI in four years. Imagine that—a man who wasn’t even part of the squad being asked to lead the team at cricket’s greatest stage. That’s the kind of trust Dimuth inspires.

Most captains, when they’re riding high, are reluctant to give up the reins. But Dimuth, always a man of integrity, knew when to step aside. After Sri Lanka’s World Test Championship campaign ended last year, he expressed his desire to step down. The selectors persuaded him to stay a little longer, but once a new selection panel came in, Dimuth made his intentions clear again, and his wish was granted.

We have had the privilege of following Dimuth’s career closely from the start. His first overseas tour with Sri Lanka was to England in 2011. Ironically, he was overlooked for the Test matches and included only for the ODIs. Back then, he was seen as an ODI prospect, but he has since carved out a career as Sri Lanka’s most successful Test opener.

There’s a major milestone on the horizon—Dimuth is set to play his 100th Test in February next year at Galle. Let’s hope he takes fresh guard and goes on for a few dozen more. Cricket needs more characters like him—the steadying forces who bring calm amid the chaos.