by
Gaurav Sethi
From Irfan’s half brother, he’s now Irfan’s better half brother. Starred in the cricketing equivalent of Godfather where he was Don Warne’s favourite son. Loves the home turf, and if he had his way, all games would be played in his neighbourhood – is used to bashing bad bowling, be it Irfan’s, or whatever else the local goons throw at him. Once upon a time he chewed gum and played with the Rajasthan Royals, then realized it takes much more to be King Richards.
Glamorized the Ranji, Duleep, Deodhar, Irani and other desi tournaments by winning matches solo. Legend has it, when India was 108/4 chasing New Zealand’s 314, Yusuf next in to bat, skipper Gambhir whispered in his ear, “that is not New Zealand, that is North Zone”.
Throughout his savage innings of 123 (96 balls, 7 4s, 7 6s), Yusuf repeated the secret mantra, ““that is not New Zealand, that is North Zone”.
It was only after he came off the field that Gambhir removed the spell, whispering in his ear, ““that is not North Zone, that is New Zealand”. To which Yusuf grinned, “I knew it…they are fair in the North, but not too fair like in New Zealand”.
Yusuf went on to play in the World Cup, where he continued to make bad bowling look worse.
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by
Gaurav Sethi
You don’t talk or write or listen to Gambhir. Though once when he called an ordinary team just that, everyone took notice. Then he took off for his sister’s wedding, when he himself was married to the form of his life. Gambhir is like that, he comes and goes, unnoticed. But while he’s there, you watch. You watch for a cricketing exhibition at a scientific art gallery – laser beam square cuts, fish dance on water foot-movements down the track, he always got the spinners by the balls, not a cuddle, a tight squeeze.
Then he shows his human side, and glides one to the slips. Then he returns, bats days, saves games, takes on the counter, partners Viru, and recently even led the team. He prefers to keep his mid off wide. He brings continuity to form, strings scores like a pearl necklace.
He is no better at the catwalk than Kumble, but like Anil, Gautam too, is more a cricketer than anything. He is the real fucking deal.
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by
Gaurav Sethi
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| comic punter |
Ponting struck a deal with the devil who made him the world’s best batsman, but in exchange sucked him of every ounce of happiness. Before he knew it, instead of captaining a team, he was running a kennel. This he liked at first, particularly the barking. It worked with umpires, as against most teams. But when the top dogs stopped playing ball, he was left with himself and some choices. He then ran into India. Somehow he was no longer the best batsman, so he called on the devil again, reminding him of their deal. The devil laughed at him. He then ran into England. He then ran into India again. He then ran into England again. On the eve of the 2010-11 Ashes, Ponting returned to the devil: he begged him for an ounce of happiness. Which is when the devil asked him to go watch his post match interviews. To which Ponting said, “what about on the cricket field?” To which the devil said, “play cricket on the cricket field, and the joy will return…” To which Ponting said, “who the devil are you, Anil Kumble?”
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| real ricky |
(Ponting is two-faced, so there are two Ponting Profile Pictures - one comic, the other more realistic. The irony being, Comic Ponting doesn't have a grip on reality, whereas Realistic Ponting can't get a handle on the comic. )
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by
Gaurav Sethi
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| crumpled paper, he likes |
Peter Mathew Siddle or PMS, as he was taunted as a teenager, got along just fine with the girls. Before cricket, he was a wood chopper, and an unusual one at that – he chopped wood with his teeth. He took his first hat-trick at 13, second at 26, on the first day of the Ashes in Brisbane on his birthday. He even cut the celebratory cake with his teeth. And laughed, showing off his math skills, “ah mah next hat-trick be when am 39…so I plan to play for a long time”. It was later learnt from his victims, that more than the bowling, it was the fearful prospect of looking Siddle in the eye that lost them their wickets. To which Siddle laughed, “my eye not in mah mouth haha”. Clearly Siddle’s fitness was debatable again.
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by
Gaurav Sethi
There was a saying in the Broad household when a boy child was born, “Spare the Broad, and spoil the child”. And instead of the spank on the bottom, doctors were instructed to pat the little Broad’s butt. The Broad family tree reveals the name Petticoat used by one branch, whereas another twig that journeyed India in the late 1800s, went by the title of Memsahib. However, Broad was, and has been, the most acceptable name.
Spoiling reached a new low when Chris Broad turned match-referee to indulge his son, Stuart, who turned super brat to indulge himself. Momentarily, Stuart brat was sixed to his senses by Yuvi Brat.
The comedown was short lived, as Flintoff vanished, and Stuart Broad attained superbrat-superstar status in the English camp. His Ashes’ analysis had something to do with it. Clearly Stuart little was becoming much too big again.
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by
Gaurav Sethi
Andrew Strauss was one of the British airmen hiding in Rene Artois’ Inn, in ‘Allo ‘Allo! After his brief acting career, he started to play act as the English captain. He was responsible for Nasser Hussain’s retirement and is a much hated bloke in the Sky commentary box. The Sky boys accused in chorus, “it was bad enough seeing Nas’ back on the field, now we gotta see his front in the box”. To which Strauss smiled his half smile and uttered something under his breath.
Little is known of Strauss’ Machiavellian ways except that he is responsible for cleansing the team of Flintoffism, and its founding father, Andrew. Under Strauss’ reign the team was de-glamourised, and even wore uniforms on late night jaunts. Individualistic, Freddie like roars, and post-wicket romps on the field were frowned upon. It was best to smile, clap your hands, though a handshake and pats were acceptable.
Under Strauss, KP’s streaks suffered, as did his form. Whereas forgettable players, who put team before self, prospered. Trott, Collingwood, Cook, amongst his able lieutenants, were known to carry midnight purges on twitter and porn.
In spite of himself, Strauss is a perfectly likable gentleman, and the best man to lead England. It’s a shame he’s being underutilized in sport. 10 Downing Street beckons.
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