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Showing posts with label Cricket. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cricket. Show all posts
The day Rohit Sharma lost his appetite.
And the day he won it back
It was unlike most mornings for Rohit Sharma. He had no appetite. He didn’t feel like starting with his usual vada pav. Sitting at the dining table, staring at his go-to vada pav, he asked for it to be taken away. This was a matter of concern for the Sharma household. Little if anything could come between Rohit and his beloved vada pav.
Yet Rohit knew. He had lost his appetite. Not just for his vada pav but for something far more critical. For big runs. He had seen how it had panned out for the greats before him, one day, boom, and the switch goes off. It’s not always a glitch in the internal engineering of a player’s cricketing circuit. Yet with age, net-after-net, match-after-match, time after time, Rohit looked but couldn’t just find his mojo.
His mojo made him joke in the slips. It made him laugh about slips. It told him, that no matter what, he was above this. Now he was faced with this dreaded new reality: he was not above this. This, whatever it was, was glugging him; he saw the metaphorical water reach above his waistline. He heard the innumerable jokes about his waistline. Even though he rarely let on, it hurt him. He thought them crude, not that he had a problem with crude, but this was strangely below the belt.
Prior to this, Rohit had had his best time as an all-format player. Those five IPL trophies were going nowhere. After years of traversing the Test wastelands in the middle order, he was opening to five days of a hearty supper.
Rohit’s appetite in every sense was thriving. Everybody loved Rohit. The networks were in talks with him to do a sitcom along the lines of Everybody Loves Raymond with him. Yet Rohit refused, saying he didn’t see himself wearing a suit episode after episode. He then quipped that he was far from ‘The complete man’. He was more, ‘The Compete Man’.
That Rohit was. He was on top of his game. Finally, commentators were not alluding to his talent. He was the finished article.
Yet this morning, Rohit felt like a finished article.
He had seen his fellow teammates threaten to burn out. He had seen the great Virat Kohli plummet. Day after day, the same questions, the century count. Rohit did believe that Virat will be back – he backed him openly. If anything, Rohit backed his mates to a fault. Probably for this, Rohit’s mates loved him. They loved to hang with him, and go out eating with him – even if it meant breaking a Covid protocol or two – his mates knew, Rohit was one of them.
Now leave alone looking away from that vada pav, Rohit didn’t feel like going out dining with his mates. He saw his good mates languish. The players he had openly backed were going through tough times; whether it was Dinesh Karthik or Rishabh Pant or Yuzvendra Chahal. Thankfully he thought Shubman Gill was truly back in the mix.
Not unlike Kohli, his own century drought was bothering him. When that elusive century did come, he was not his usual self in the post-match – nearly snappy, using lame statistics to strengthen his case.
The 2023 IPL season was bleak. This was his fifth straight season with a strike rate in the 120s. Few knew that his IPL career strike rate was a tad under 130. For everyone, he was Captain Marvellous. The Hitman. These brandings were getting to him. Secretly he longed for the challenge when he was mocked as Nohit Sharma.
In the last two seasons, his average had been less than 20 – not just that, his strike rates had been in the 120s. When Rohit thought of this, he would mock himself, “Do the math, Hitman”. It appeared he now had the most ducks in the IPL. He secretly hated stats, now more than ever.
But then Rohit put on his thinking cap. He actually had one that he treasured. It was a gift from a loved one. Putting on that thinking cap, Rohit reassured himself, “Why am I taking it out on the vada pav and punishing myself, I’m working out more so I can eat it”. Rohit ordered a vada pav in his most demanding captain’s voice: “Ek lana woh apna item”
He then thought of Jasprit Bumrah, KL Rahul, and the injuries that had laid siege on the team. He then thought of that famous Test series Down Under; he felt good that Ajinkya Rahane was back in the mix. “If Jinks can get his appetite back then I can too!”.
Suddenly, Rohit started laughing and mocking the little girl sitting by his side. Suddenly, he was the happiest man in the world.
(However plausible this may sound, this is a work of fiction)
First published here at cricket.com
A new angle to India being knocked out.
On Diwali, sparks flew - did shortsightedness regarding India's match-timings contribute to the team's early exit - with dew making so many matches a no contest, was there a case for slotting one of India's big games as a day game? Watch here
Pakistan's winning strategy against India.
On 24th October, 2021, some team in green, playing under the guise of Pakistan, defeated India for the first time in a World Cup match.
The trick was, this team unlearnt everything they knew about World Cup encounters with India. Or at least it seemed so.
Somewhere, someone, not for the first time said, we will treat this as just another match.
Then someone from the team said, but you always say that, or someone always says that. It doesn’t work like that.
Once we are on the field, it always feels like a World Cup match.
Then that voice said: We are in Dubai on a Sunday.
So, it’s not the same as Sharjah on a Friday, pat came the reply.
It isn’t, but you know how close Dubai is from Sharjah, how close Sunday is to Friday?
Pretty close, no?
Pretty close, yes. It’s less than 30 kms away, it takes less than 30 minutes to get there.
That close, Matt?
Yeah, mate, that close. And Friday was less than two days back. What I’m basically trying to say is that, you guys have to transport yourself to Sharjah on a Friday. Got it?
Mathew Hayden, batting coach, man of many passions, was doing his best IPL commentary routine of platitudes with the Pakistani team. If it meant saying strange stuff, so be it. Logic wasn’t about to work with this bunch. He needed to apply some of his meditative principles.
But Pakistan captain Babar Azam was far from convinced.
Pardon my Urdu, Matt, but I’m not convinced.
Hayden was all cracked up – Mate, there’s nothing to pardon, not right now, it’s just that if we lose to India again, they will continue to make those horrendous Mauka Mauka ads. And we as a nation of proud Pathans cannot allow that to happen.
So without a further ado, Hayden packed the team in the team bus, and off they went to Sharjah.
Once there at the Sharjah Stadium, the team couldn’t believe it. Quite a few of them were already believing it was Sharjah on a Friday. For the others, Hayden instructed them to change the day on their phone. There was an initial reluctance, “The match is today, today it’s 24th October and you want us to make it to 22nd – what kind of fools do you take us for?”.
Hayden with his trademark smirk, set off in his patronizing tone, “Exactly that, mate, exactly that…sometime you have to become a fool…to be in love…to be in love with victory…y’kno what I’m saying here, mate. It’s like putting the meat in the fire, and it’s never quite the same – it’s cooked, it’s edible…we need to cook ourselves…Sharjah on a Friday is our grill, and once we’re grilled, we grill those Indians…it doesn’t matter what day of the week it is, we do it, 8 days a week…”
At this Shoaib Malik guffawed, “Matt, easy with the Beatles’ analogies, they don’t know who they are…”
Hayden was pleased that Malik knew. With dates and time machine work accomplished, the Pakistan team stomped back into their team bus. They looked like a changed bunch. With a new found belief, that they could do what never had been done.
But there was a problem. The bus had a flat tyre. A few players thought it was the handiwork of the Indians who didn’t want them to turn up for the all-important-tie, “It will be like all our World Cup teams who did not turn up for the match against India…we too will not turn up, only we will not actually turn up, we will not turn up”
This is when bowling coach Vernon Philander offered his assistance, “Let me swing by…” and with that he was gone. His words were pitched up, moving to the right extent. And within no time, Philander had them all dismissed from Sharjah, back to Dubai, with a new bus, hugging the curves of the road, just as Vernon’s venomous new ball deliveries had, once upon a time.
The players sang a Punjabi English remix of ‘He’s a jolly good fellow’, something that Hayden had taught them as he impressed them with his BBQ skills.
Back at the Dubai stadium, the players were a rejuvenated bunch.
Hayden had one last class for them though, “I want you to start visualizing what you will do after you win this all-important tie against India, this may be getting ahead of ourselves, but sometimes visualisation is the only way to do it, start thinking NOW”
Babar Azam, “I want to shake hands with Kohli after the win. I want to pat him on his…”
Too much information, Babar…but good, you are already there, and shaking hands with the opponent is a sign of your greatness, you are already traversing the great outer space hallowed glory of one gent going by the name of Kane Williamson”
None of them seemed interested in this unnecessary Hayden detail, but were far keener on giving their own two paisas on visualisation.
Mohammad Rizwan opened with, “I want a hug from Kohli. I want to bat through the innings and hug Kohli first”
Hayden shrugged, “One things for sure, you guys are not Australian”
At this, Mohammad Hafeez asked, “Don’t tell me, you want us to imagine that we are Australians now”
And that is exactly what happened. 11 Pakistanis who believed they were Australians took the field on a Friday in Sharjah.
Hayden had also made the boys fall in love with the Coldplay song, Yellow.
Once on the field, the Pakistanis sledged the Indian batting with Sharjah! Sharjah! Remember Sharjah? This is Sharjah! Also doing the rounds was Thank God it’s Friday! Friday! Friday! And oh look, Chetan Sharma! They didn’t stop there. They even started sledging them like Aussies – Remember Ponting from Wanderers, 2003?
Whether it was these sledges, or those two deliveries from Shaheen Shah Afridi, that broke the back of the Indian batting, we will never know for sure.
But both Pak openers visualised well. And they had their moment with Kohli. Sometimes, all you need to do is believe.
Befittingly, Hayden made the boys sing, “I’m a believer” after their triumph. The singing skills were severely tested.
First published here
Lowdown on the #WTC Final
The lure of that one ball in cricket.
Watching The Disciple, I was taken in by the protagonist, Sharad Nerulkar’s sudden impulse to gatecrash a game in a Mumbai maidan. Till then, he was a largely immovable object. The only form of exercise had been splashing a glass of nimbu pani on an objectionable man’s face across the table.
Sharad did get that one ball to play.
What happens when I walk within playing distance of a game? I crave to play. Yet I do not want to intrude. The need to play far outweighs not wanting to intrude. But there is a balance, often that goes with who’s playing. If it’s kids down the road, I measure their intensity and openness to hand me the bat or ball. Often it’s a casual measure, and I enter into a quick Hi, followed by a “Can I bat one ball?”. Usually the bat is handed to me.
What happens when you give into the game? When you play again? From watchers, that so many of us have lapsed into, we damn right come alive again. It’s fleeting as life these days, but it’s that gasp of overpowering life one feels when you hit the surface again – you breathe again. What it does to your SPO2 levels is another thing.
You connect to a happy space of childhood. When bat and ball held sway, when every evening brought playtime.
I haven’t gone looking for that one ball in cricket, it’s often happened to me. Four houses down, the kids obstructing the road were a common come hither. The urchins at the bend with a plastic bat, how could the bully in me spare them.
The left turn, onwards to the temple park where I played so much tennis ball cricket with my mates. But that somehow seemed more adrift, unwelcoming, and I don’t recall gatecrashing too many games there.
If I took a right at the crossroads instead, our childhood park had become a rich old man’s botanical garden. The erstwhile pitch is a walking track.
If I walk straight on, towards Vasu’s, my cricket accomplice through his growing years, there is a game down the steps too.
But it was usually when cricket appeared out of nowhere on holiday that I could not resist.
Walking down Juhu beach, a game waved at me. I asked for a bowl. Got it. Often my fellow traveler, Vandu would be asked to capture the moment. This moment, with the slaty Arabian sea alongside, mid-on hunched forward, it’s been frozen as my twitter cover photo forever.
That was my one ball in Bombay.
Before that on the same trip, walking through Koregoan park’s sleepy tree covered roads, a game woke the devil out of me. It was a proper game, one that you’d be advised to not gatecrash. With the brashness of someone on vacation, I took my chance in between overs. Perhaps they couldn’t refuse an older, eccentric man.
That was my one ball in Pune.
Walking through a large yawn of a square, I stumbled on to these Pakistani teenagers in Barcelona. I just had to. How could I not. I talked up our India-Pak match. I bowled a few, was blasted on the second. Batted too. (Me in flight before being clobbered has been my whatsapp DP for ages now)
That was more than my one ball in Barcelona.
After a birthday bash, at Rajat’s office in Okhla Industrial Area, the road outside presented a game under streetlights. The prospect of cricket after many beers, why not. The intensity of both request and duel are upped. So I bowled, batted, till my friends lost patience with my indulgence.
That was my one ball in Okhla.
Walking out of Koti Resort, little pink cheeked Himachali kids hurling themselves between the rhododendrons. Even their small bat couldn’t deter me.
That was my one ball in Koti.
On the Delhi metro, a solemn kid with his oversized sunmica bat. There was no ball but I did have my camera phone. So I lured him into a straight drive.
That was my one ball on the Metro.
The last thing I expected to see on the Banaras ghats were people alive with cricket. But I did. I stayed on the periphery of the game, viewing it from the Ganga alongside; closed in from leg slip and started clicking it like a trigger happy Playboy photographer. Captured the heave, the miss and the clean bowled. And that was innings closed. Surely it was my time. It was. Bat was handed to me. I heaved. Edged. It ricocheted into the cracks of some huge step of stone. I pretended to look, but before long, I waved my goodbyes and was off.
That was my one ball in Banaras.
And much like Sharad’s gatecrash at the Mumbai maidan, I was never the same after that one ball. It didn’t matter what I did with that one ball. My plea had been answered. These stray cricket gods had given me my one ball.
The ball was my ladoo. I gleefully accepted. It was holding that ladoo in my hand is when it clicked. Whether the ladoo delivered did not matter.
What mattered is, I asked. And they answered. There was no lapse between ask and answer. It was prompt.
When the playgrounds open again, when the kids down the road resurface, when Vasu returns from his internship, when I walk down that road again, it will be with the knowledge not to take that one ball for granted.
Did I ask Arnab Goswami to shut down Republic TV?
He thinks so. But did I? Watch after 51 minutes. (I also speak after 47 minutes and a bit in the beginning). From March 12, 2020.
How Anushka sledged Kohli after smashing him into the stratosphere.
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| click on cartoon to enlarge |
After months of no cricket, competitive or otherwise, Virat Kohli was bound to be rusty. At best of times, Kohli doesn’t take to bowling, whether in the nets or in the middle. But here he was, pitted against his wife, and there was no way he couldn’t bowl. He was up to it. After doing a few routine stretches and warm ups, he grabbed the ball. While Anushka’s batting stance was far from conventional, Kohli decided to do a throw down.
You could say, he asked for it. Keeping wickets was an unidentified man in their full-time employment. Kohli’s thrown down was above waist-height, Anushka gave it a mighty heave failing to make contact. Kohli grinned, muttering some unsolicited advice.
Next ball, another free-hit. Another mighty heave, this time, Anushka watched the ball, hit the ball – and smashed it out of sight.
Grinning some more, Kohli decided to switch from throw-downs to his round arm action. Another freebee.
This time, Anushka put on her best act, smashing it so hard, she lost control of the bat – and hurled it towards Kohli, almost hitting him with it. Kohli had a laughing fit, rolling over on the ground.
He started to sledge Anushka, asking her if she’d like to do a zoom call with Rohit or Ishant on hitting the ball – after all they were both Sharmas and would understand what she was going through.
What seemed like an innocuous sledge, had Anushka fuming. She snapped at Kohli in his favourite Hindi swear words.
Next ball, Anushka focused so hard, she watched it right out of Kohli’s hand, seeing the slower one early, waiting for it, going back, hitting it on the half volley, right over Kohli’s head, somewhere far, far away.
Totally pumped up, she went up to Kohli, pulled him by the collar and asked him to get on to a zoom call with Ishant Sharma for some bowling tips – as there were hardly any Kohlis who knew how to play cricket.
(However plausible this may sound, this is largely a work of fiction)
What games does Warner play in his free time?
A one year
break from cricket doesn’t have to be a one year break really. Surely, Warner
will find a way around it. He usually does. Not that he’ll make it for the
Sunrisers Hyderabad or Australia, but he could make it for himself.
He could
play without taking the field. How about Expedia’s Stop the run chase! He just has to stop 120 cricket balls from
heading to Hyderabad or Mohali or Mumbai or whichever IPL ground they’re headed
to. With his dexterity and free-time, he could be at it all day. Without
getting into trouble.
Imagine,
playing when you’re not allowed to. I’m not much of a gamer, but even I got
stuck into it. Managed 207 and 4th place. Bet Warner will do
way better than me. Scruffing the ball with the mouse bigtime.
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