A guy can change anything. His face, his home, his family, his girlfriend, his religion,his God. But there's one thing he can't change. He can't change his passion...
- "The Secret in their eyes(2009)"
We humans are a fickle lot. Our fickle minds can be as predictable as the waves in the ocean. Amidst this sea of predictability, if one were to look for a phase in our lives, where we just followed our hearts, then one of those phases is definitely as a passionate fan of sport. In this period of time we lose reason, we stop being angry, we follow our hearts. We rally behind our teams, even if they were the midgets of the sport. Our teams are personified as Davids fighting biblical battles with Goliath and even when there is a loss, we brush it off and look forward to the next battle. We live hoping for that rare miracle that would bring joy to our hearts. A joy that is unparalleled in comparison with the other joys of our life. For this is the only time we come close to being happy for somebody else, for this is the joy that we all celebrate in unity, for this is something that fills our mundane lives with hope and with a sense of pride.
Today as I pick up some remnants of my writing(on a very pedantic note, I would say typing), I realize it's the same fan in me who urges me to pen(er...key?) down some thoughts. Thoughts that I wish every other fan will echo. As an individual in his mid-twenties I realize that growing up in India was very eventful. Our generation can be looked at as the missing link between the India of the old and the India today. We were born before the liberalization era started. Some of us spent most of our teenage lives without the World Wide Web. We were close to finishing our undergrads when the mobile phone and Internet boom shook us.
Amidst all these changes, if there was a change that was talked about more often than anything, then it would be the rise in fortunes of the Indian Cricket team. We grew up watching a young 16 year old, taking on the world with his fearless batting. Touted as the "special one", he started winning matches for the country single handedly. He took the burden of expectations with a head that was as calm as a sage who had drunk deep the ocean of knowledge. For almost seven years he was alone, he carried the hopes of a nation. We all cried when he failed, were ecstatic when he succeeded. His joys were ours. He represented a resurgent country. A change in fortunes, an icon and more importantly a genius who was human. Cricket like all other games is a team game. A single player cannot win you any game. It is a combination of 11 players who sweat and toil to achieve victory. Just as we thought that this little champion would play the rest of his career as a lone warrior, emerged a bunch of players, who under his shadow started blossoming. We knew that something special was happening. We pined our hopes suddenly not on just one individual, but a bunch of steadfast players who had the gumption to fight. Our fathers would have witnessed meek cats, but we were part of a resurgent Indian team that had tigers. Suddenly when we thought all was going well, a scandal hit us before the new millennium could begin. Few of our countrymen were involved. The captain of the team was the main culprit. The team suddenly lost it's leader. A radical change meant that one of the players from that performing bunch had to become the captain. His exploits as a batsman were always going to be spoken about, but it is his term as a leader that changed the way we Indians played cricket. He was called the "Royal Bengal Tiger" and it is under him that our team started winning. We suddenly realized that the strong leader could rip his shirt off in the hallowed balconies of Lord's, which is the mecca of cricket. We joined him for we knew that the golden era had begun. The era of the "Famous Five" in Indian Cricket had begun. The Genius, The Bengal Tiger, The Wall, The Very Very Special One and Jumbo, were they called. Many a victory was forged at their hands. It was the time for us to hold our heads high and stand behind our teams. We came close to winning the world cup in 2003. We started conquering peaks that were never supposed to be conquered. We fought against the invincible Aussies and gave them a fight.
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day.
The air broke into a mist with bells,
The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries.
Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels---
But give me your sun from yonder skies!"
They had answered, "And afterward, what else?"
But life is not a bed of roses. These great men were growing older. Their reflexes were becoming less quicker. They were not immortals but humans who would grow old. The Royal Bengal tiger soon grew old. He had to be sent out ignominiously. A great general he was. The treatment given was lesser than that what a peasant could recieve. He roared back like the tiger he always was.He fought till the very end, but the end was always going to be bad. A sacrifice had already been made. The great bunch was broken, but their wills weren't. They came back even strongly. A comeback that put kids 20 years their juniors to shame. Young at heart they were told. But not even these great men can stand the ravages of time. Time is all conquering and as they reach the fag end of the twilights of their careers, they suddenly realize that passing on the mantle is not easy, for these great men have walked a great distance. As they turned back to see, they realize that there aren't any young people behind their backs and they are stranded alone. But they have to go. With no young blood to support them, they realize that victories aren't going to happen. Their careers are not going to be the swan song that we all thought it would be.
But, as these great men lie stranded in shores afar, some of my fellow fans have started baying for their blood. It seems the whole world has forgotten their contributions. How can one forget the 2001 Kolkata Test, where greatness was achieved. How can one forget memories like Adelaide 2003, World Cup 2003 and many more till the crowning glory World Cup 2011. Have we forgotten that there is not a supply of young blood that could take the reins of these great men. Do we realize that the young blood that we all are supporting now did not have the same bravado as these men had a decade ago? In a utopian world I'd know that these great men would again show semblance of their greatness before passing on, but then this is the harsh real world. They would not end their careers on a high, but would rather be pushed into oblivion. Among all this chaos, when they take guard probably for the final time, their question to the fan would be, What have I done to deserve this fate? Have we all stopped being true fans? Or as is oft said, you are only as good as your last match. As Robert Browing, ever so sadly in his poem The Patriot wrote:
I go in the rain, and, more than needs,
A rope cuts both my wrists behind;
And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds,
For they fling, whoever has a mind,
Stones at me for my year's misdeeds.
Thus I entered, and thus I go!
In triumphs, people have dropped down dead.
"Paid by the world, what dost thou owe
"Me?''---God might question; now instead,
'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so.
PS : Thanks to Jayanth for reminding me that quote from The Secret in their eyes.
