Of Captains and Spirit

In cricket, they say, if you're batting first, then however bad your innings may have gone, if you end it on a good note, then the momentum tends to carry over into the next innings, and you tend to bowl with the same reinvigorated spirit with which you concluded your first innings. And the reverse tends to happen with the opposition.. the downward slope in spirit tends to spill over into their batting. I remember a match between India and Zimbabwe, when India, batting first, had made 252 runs in 49 overs. The last four balls of the last over, Zaheer Khan clubbed Henry Olonga for four sixes. India ended up with 276 in fifty overs. They won the match.

Last night,Punjab Kings XI were 157 at the end of nineteen overs. The potential target seemed gettable to me for the Kolkata Knight Riders. Piyush Chawla hit 21 off the last over of Ishant Sharma of Kolkata Knight Riders. They won the match by nine runs.

Somehow, I don't like the Captain Sourav Ganguly that I see now. He's changed a bit, and for the worse. He is refusing to walk off the pitch after the umpire has given him out, he is picking up quarrels unnecessarily with his counterpart on the field, he's very publicly reprimanding a bowler for getting hit for a six, and then missing the next ball hit to him conceding a boundary, and he hasn't learned anything from his past mistakes... he keeps coming out to the field, gives the fielders at the slips some catching practice, and very irresponsibly departs. The ages old habit of nicking the ball still persists. True, this time he perished trying to hit, but it was still an unnecessary shot to play.

The eleventh hour hitting of David Hussey and Wridhdhiman Saha did bring some hope to heart, but somehow, deep inside, there was a tiny voice telling me that perhaps Dada does not deserve to win this match after all. There was talk of the various teams consisting of motley groups of players having to gel together to perform well... Yuvraj's team, after a few hiccups, appear to have managed that, whereas you don't see that team spirit pervading the KRRs on the field.Their fielding is sloppy, they're not keen to take the quick second run, and their captain is not helping matters. He is not leading by example. The first match, Brendon Mccullum "went bazooka", the second match, they scraped through on a second grade Eden Gardens pitch, and thereafter the matches have been disasters.

But you've got to give the devil his due. Even in defeat, Dada is dignified as ever. He is a straight talker, and the post-match presentation ceremony proved as much. He pointed out in precise and clear terms exactly what has been going wrong and what can be done to set the wrong right. You get the feeling that there is the tiger roaring within him, waiting to bounce back. That he's a fighter through and through. That the moment he gets up the next morning, he'll put his nose down and go about the task of lifting his team.Here's wishing Dada and his team the very best of luck, and hoping they the next game and the ones following.

Looking Out the Window

I got up in a public bus the other day, and found it packed. Packed in the sense, no one was standing, but there was no sitting space either: there was a passenger to every seat. But then I noticed that towards the front of the bus, there was this one seat by the aisle that was vacant. It was one of a two-seater; the seat by the window was occupied by a man. Down the length of the bus, the aisle divided the two seaters into two categories, the left side was reserved for ladies, and the right side was for gents. I sat down, noticing a large woman sitting opposite to me, across the aisle. I say "large", because that was indeed what she was: five feet nine inches tall, and with a girth of nearly two and a half feet at the waist (by my estimates, which often turn out to be wrong in the negative side), and quite young too. I looked out of the window, thinking: "size does matter!!" and feeling the emotional equivalent of this smiley: [;)]. The lady in question was talking on her cell, and I faintly remember her saying something like: "Oh I'm so sorry! It seems you'll get up from the stoppage after the one I get down at…"

I was looking out of the window, thinking about the ill effects of obesity, and how I would never become fat, when I heard someone say: "Please, have my seat!" Someone must be offering a seat to an old person, I thought. And then the oddity struck: it was a woman's voice. I turned my attention to the inside of the bus, and gaped. Miss Large was offering her seat to an old man who had just boarded the bus. The next stoppage was half a kilometer away and there was no way she would be able to sit until someone got down.

I looked out of the window again, ashamed and embarrassed. This was the first time in my life I saw a woman offer her seat to some old person. And an old man at that! I had seen from experience and observation that, women were so pampered with courtesy that they themselves seldom showed any semblance of it themselves. Case in point is this incident: I had never, I repeat, never, seen a young lady offer her seat to any old man or woman before. Cases of men getting up to offer their seats to some old or incapacitated person are frequent; but this was a first of its kind. And here I was making fun of the lady, I reproached myself.

I stole an admiring glance at Miss Courteous, and found her talking on the cell phone again, probably to the same person that she'd been talking to earlier, for she concluded with: "Yeah, I'll be just getting down at the next stoppage…. I'll tell him, yes…Good bye!" I heaved a sigh of thankfulness. At least, she would not have to stand for too long! The bus gradually slowed down. Miss Broadminded made to go, and even as she was gathering the straps of her vanity bag on to her shoulders and adjusting her hair, she told the old man: "A lady will get up in the next stoppage (which was a minute away). I've told her you're sitting here. Please leave the seat to her when she boards the bus. This is a ladies' seat." And she got down. The man stared blankly at her when she spoke; then got up immediately. I rose to offer him my seat, but he waved his hand and said in a tone that pre-empted any persuasion: "I'd prefer to stand."

I sat down and looked out of the window.