Someday, today will be nostalgia

The value of some revered spirits (the alcoholic variety) grow exponentially with time. But sometimes, patience is more than just a virtue, it is self-inflicted torture. Just as all eyes, tongues and analysis are centred on Sachin Tendulkar’s magnum opus, one’s mind must think back to all times that this wait could have ended. For when a triple figure is a run or two away, a lot of things seemingly change. The audience doesn’t leave their seats. People who didn’t know a match was on suddenly put life on hold for the century to materialise. The commentary gets focussed. Suddenly, a landmark, a career revival or a stamp of authority is waiting to be written. When it doesn’t occur, all hell breaks loose.  At the drop of a hat, the match is junked and everyone returns to find succour in their humdrum existence, where heartbreak can be kept at a safe distance. Crowds are stunned into abject disbelief. Television sets go from being the harbingers of hope to being what th...

--> One of cricket’s finest ODI innings ever played was one every Indian fan wishes was never played in the first place. For on March 23, 2003, a certain Ricky Ponting took it upon himself to single-handedly annihilate a billion Indian dreams. For solace, we keep returning to Sachin’s masterclass from the same tournament where he greeted Shoaib with a six and treated the rest with disdain. To me, the 2003 world cup ended there. I want to blank out that final. All thanks, again, to a certain Ricky Ponting. To an Indian supporter, praising Ricky Ponting is akin to siding with Pakistan in an Indo- Pak encounter. But Ricky Ponting could have all too easily been a fallen hero, someone who burned out far ahead of his time. Cricket is littered with such tales of supreme talents that placed mammon and the bottle before the game, when all they while it should have been the other way round. The fearsome Andrew Symonds comes to mind,  his career having derailed over the ...