Sotto Voce

Nitin's rants, ramblings, musings, tones, photos, what have you….

It’s that time of year again. I just ate the first Mango of the season, and this year, I decided to genuflect at the altar of the Himayat. A prince among Mangoes, it was rather a prosaic looking Mango at first sight, the kind of Mango one would expect a three year-old to draw with crayons, with an average Mango shape and an average Mango colour. However, and this is the important bit, it tasted as if all the Gods had decided to descend from Olympus to imbue it with their special blessing of flavour and texture. The flesh of the Himayat is the colour of ivory, and when you first cut into it, it releases an aroma that surely is the scent carried on the breezes in the Elysian Fields. The first taste, a combination of astringent sweetness and an explosion of flavour that could only be described as a rainbow over one’s palate, transported me into raptures of gustatory delight. This was a Mango that I will look back upon later, like an old friend who came back into my life for a day, changed it forever, and left;  to be evermore hearkened back to with fond memory and a wistful sigh.

Bill Simmons – “The Sports Guy” – sports columnist for ESPN & Managing Editor of Grantland, wrote a column in 2002 called The 13 Levels of Losing – the concept is essentially based on defining, describing and ranking the most painful ways for a sports team to lose.

Given that being a Indian cricket fan is essentially an exercise in extended masochism, and in keeping with the spirit of the times – the zeitgeist, if you will – I’m going to try and come up with my own version (not necessarily 13), on the Indian cricket team in my lifetime and their myriad losses – based on games that I’ve seen or followed. Here they are in ascending order of painfulness.

Level 1 – The Almost Slumdog Moment:
A team on which there are no expectations, a team that, you know deep inside, pretty much sucks but suddenly starts playing well. You, against your better judgement, start believing that they just might pull it off, until the dying stages where the favourite recovers and stomps all over what could’ve been a David vs. Goliath story.

1992 World Cup, India vs. Australia, Brisbane, March 1992. Last ball. India needs 4 to win. Srinath hoicks it to cow-corner. Waugh drops the catch. They’ve run two. Set off for the third. And Muscles Raju is beaten to the crease by a whisker.

Level 2 – The Fatal Flaw:
Realising that, for all the superstars and great ones in the side, there is one fundamental problem with the team that goes beyond the actual loss. A transcendental Achilles Heel that can be seen by everyone but fans of the team (and Indian commentators and media).

The 2011 England Tour. Realising that India cannot play swing bowling. Continuing into the 2011-2012 Australia Tour, where they still can’t play swing bowling.

Level 3 – The Silverback Story:
The loss is devastating yes, but you take solace in the fact that the team gets pounded by a 800 lb gorilla – he just wasn’t playing for India.

1996 World Cup group game against Sri Lanka at the Kotla. India does great to post 270 plus, with Sachin scoring a then personal best of 137. And then Hurricane Jayasuriya strikes. My everlasting image of that game is of a clueless Azhar asking Manoj Prabhakar (in a career-ending moment) to bowl off-spin.

Level 4 – The “Jab Kismat Hai G***u, Toh Kya Karega Pandu” Phenomenon:
Those games where a dunderheaded umpiring decision goes to the opposition and robs India of victory.

Sydney Test, January 2008. THAT decision, with Australia on 193 for 6 and Symonds on 30, and Blind Bucknor refuses to see that redwood-sized edge that Symonds gets off an Ishant delivery – for crying out loud, Dhoni takes it almost in front of first-slip. Symonds goes on to make 162 not out.

Dis-honourable mention: The Madras tied test, 1986. Not a loss yes, but as good as one. Umpire Vikramraju, in his eagerness to make history, gives Maninder Singh out leg before even before the Australians appeal. Cold comfort: He never umpires again. The BCCI’s “Vengeance is Mine” policy starts this day.

Level 5 – The Aaquib Javed Conundrum:
Indian batsmen habitually make mincemeat of some great bowlers – ref Shane Warne. And if not making them look like club bowlers, at least play them much better than most other teams – ref Waqar Younis and Murali. But then Aaquib Javed shows up. With his hair gelled with kryptonite.

Wills Trophy Final, Sharjah, Oct 1991. An all-LBW hat-trick? Seriously? Aaquib Javed ends the game with a then ODI record of 7-37. This from a guy who averaged 32 against all other teams. His average against India? 24.

Level 6 – The “Yeh Kaise Ho Gaya” Game:
You’re expected to win. The opposition is Bangladesh, or Zimbabwe, or pre-1996 Sri Lanka. And you contrive a way to lose. Often hilariously, always embarrassingly.

You could also call this the Marillier effect. India vs. Zimbabwe, Faridabad, March 2002. Marillier strides out with Zimbabwe at 209-8, needing 66 to win off 34 balls. And the number 10 batman goes on to flay the Indian attack to all parts, including long stop behind the keeper, scores 56 (an ODI record for a number 10 batsman – see a trend developing here?) and steals victory like Dubya stole the 2000 election. And never plays another innings of note again – much like Dubya.

Level 7 – The Wheels All Came Off At Once Saga:
It’s a big game, the team’s played (unexpectedly) well to reach a final… you know where this is going, don’t you?

The 2003 World Cup Final. You really didn’t think they’d beat Australia, did you?

Level 8 – The “Haath Aaya Par Munh Na Laga” Epic:
It’s a tight game. A lone warrior (usually Sachin) stands in the way of defeat. It’s down to the wire. And the fates conspire to let you down. Again.

India vs. Pakistan, Chennai Test, January 1999. India needs 270. Sachin walks in at 6 for 2. Scores 136 to take it 254 for 6. And gets out. India collapse to 258 all out. And you can hear the Pakistan players cheer in Hyderabad.

Level 9 – India. Pakistan. Sharjah. 1986. Chetan Sharma. Javed Miandad. Last Ball. Six.

What else is left to say?

Been meaning to post this for sometime, finally mustered the time to do so. Enjoy!

29-Aug-2010

Its Sunday, 8.30 AM, and I’ve been up for an hour and a half. Made my morning coffee, read the newspaper (starting with the sports pages, as is my wont – read about Pakistan’s batting collapse at the Lord’s test), and then went online. First stop, as always, is login to Facebook and open Cricinfo in another tab. Finished with a quick check on Facebook in 5 minutes, and then turned to Cricinfo. First story there is “Lord’s test in spot-fixing allegations“. “Uh-oh!” go I and then spend possibly the most disillusioning 20 minutes I can recall having spent in the last few years, reading through the News Of The World’s exposé.

“Spot-fixing” to some people might sound like a welder doing a quick job of spot-welding on some cracked piping. In cricket, spot-fixing is essentially a method of cheating by pre-arranging passages of play, rather than the overall outcome of the game. Say, that a bookie offers odds of 1 in 3 against the opening batsmen scoring 80 runs in the first 10 overs. After the first three overs, the score is 40. Looks like a fairly safe bet, given that half the target’s been achieved in less than one-third of the deliveries given. Look again – unbeknownst to you, you poor mug, the bookie, through a fixer, has pre-ordained that the players go all out in the first three overs to up the run rate, lengthen the odds, then slow to a crawl. Or it could be as mundane as “player X will bowl 2 no-balls in his 3rd over” and give really long odds – punters will bet on anything – and then when it actually happens, the bookie’s made a packet, the foolish sap who’s made the bet beats himself up over his stupidity (and looks for ways to make-up his loss), and the player is apparently £10,000 richer.

To those of us who live and breathe cricket, it means much more. It means that the fix is in. It means the end of something beautiful and pure. It means that the soul of the game we love and cherish is sullied by sordid back-alley deals between shifty-eyed bookies and players with flexible bodies and even more flexible morals.

Call me old-fashioned; heck, call me naive. But I still believe in the old-school virtues of honour and duty. I believe that sports should make you a better man. I believe that there is no greater honour than playing for your country. God knows, these guys are demi-gods for us lesser mortals precisely because they are so privileged and so good at what they do. I’ve been watching Mohammad Amir, the 18 year old fast bowling sensation and been amazed by his skill and awed by the fact that he’s 18 and already so good. Now, however, to me at least, he’ll forever remain the 18 year old who sold-out his country and even cynically kissed the hallowed turf on getting a five-wicket haul. Look at it this way – in 58 years and 352 test matches, 202 people have represented Pakistan. If that is not an exclusive club, then I don’t know what is. Now it makes you wonder, how many of them….

There’s a small-boy part of me who doesn’t want to believe all this. A part of me that still hopes and says, “say it ain’t so”….

 

Hilarious scenes from a forgotten gem of Indian cinema – Bollywood Calling by Nagesh Kukunoor! I saw this movie earlier this evening and decided to edit some scenes out and put it up on YouTube… Enjoy! (especially you Guru!)!!