The Agony and the Ecstasy

The last one week has been replete with epiphanies.

Most of them are of a personal sort, and all of them seem to have led me round an expansive and emotionally difficult circle and eventually I find myself exactly where I started. It’s not such a bad thing, though, and I hope I’m wiser after all that’s happened.

The one epiphany that’s relevant here happened last Sunday, as I was reading the literature on the web regarding the series win in New Zealand. It struck me suddenly just how much cricket was out there, just how much the game had been consuming precious hours of my life, and how difficult it was balancing being a medical student (which, hello, is pretty damn tough) and a cricket fan, not to mention various other social and familial commitments. An inexplicable panic started crawling up the back of my throat like some sort of insect, and I decided enough was enough.

So I tried a little experiment. I locked up my laptop at home and boldly went back to college, no TV for miles around. I knew I was missing the final ODI. I knew I was missing the first Test. I knew I had been waiting and waiting to follow this Test series, but I had to be strong, right? Priorities, priorities.

The first couple of days weren’t so bad. I still had the occasional mobile phone update, and am actually kind of glad I missed the final ODI, for obvious reasons. I still remember asking a friend in class for the score update that day, and this was how the conversation went:

ME: Score, score, score please!

FRIEND: (raising an eyebrow) Um, pardon me?

ME: (waving a futile hand in the air) Today! ODI! New Zealand! Score!

F: Oooooh. Gimme a second.

(checks on mobile phone and looks up and smiles)

F: 115 for 7.

ME: Uh... New Zealand, right?

F: (checks) Uh, no, actually. It’s India.

ME: (laughing) No, no, that’s impossible. Check that little space before the score. I’m sure it says N-Z, not I-N-D.

F: (starting to get annoyed) M--, it’s India batting. Rohit Sharma. Zaheer Khan. Partnership. LOOK.

(proceeds to thrust mobile phone screen at my face, where the letters IND 115/7 gleam
mockingly in all their digital glory)

ME: Stupid freakin’ – how in the world – what’s wrong – demonic possession – alien invasion – (fades away into incoherent muttering which may – or may not – have contained a string of profanity toward the Indian team)

But I didn’t really care about the result, which didn’t really mean anything, aside from a slightly disturbing tendency for the team to get off the boiler once the series has been won. That ain’t the stuff of truly dominating World Champions.

But the Test?

Seven different kinds of agony.

I was rather looking forward to watching this particular series, to the truly unique experience of waking up at 2:30 in the morning to watch Test cricket, tiptoeing around sleeping family members, settling down in front of the TV, blinking sleep desperately out of my eyes, smelling of mosquito-repellent cream, sipping from a mug of hot coffee in my hands. This time around, though, it was only the mobile phone updates, and the digital scores against the glowing background didn’t tell me anything. How many catches did Dhoni drop? (Only one, as I found out later. Keep at it, Mahi!) How did each four of Tendulkar’s look like? Was Dravid getting back into groove? Had somebody managed brainwash Laxman into thinking he was playing against Australia? (tough one, I know). Had the bowlers gotten their act together, or were they lucky? How was the pitch playing? Easy, or was it just the brilliance of the batsmen? How was the catching?

I knew none of the answers. To my horror, it was killing me.

So I took my first opportunity to get back home, and immediately lurched toward the laptop and the TV and was generally pleased with what I saw/read.

Sachin Tendulkar was awesome, as per usual.

Dravid... um. I’ll just shut up now. Dude, retire whenever you want to.

Schizophrenic!Munaf managed to put in a good performance, and Bhajji!! Dude, 6-63? Come on! :D

Dhoni continued to chip in with his batting, and his keeping seemed tidy for the most part. (Ha ha, go ahead and laugh at my conceit, I know I am.)

There were a couple of annoying lower-order partnerships that were allowed to build in the NZ innings, and as much as I adore Dan Vettori and the Brendon of McCullum, I’ve got to say: guys, seriously?

I am not going to make the mistake of leaving behind all this again. ‘Cause, seriously? Not worth it. What’s life if not a constant balancing act anyway?

So – 1 up in the series, with 2 Tests to go. Judging by the way they played this match, one would think anything less than a 2-0, maybe even a 3-0 win would be sacrilege, but let’s see. ‘Sides, India has never handled being overwhelming favourites well, and it’s all for India to lose from here.

Speaking of New Zealand, the Women’s World Cup concluded recently, with England winning their final against New Zealand. These two were easily the two strongest teams of the tournament, and a hearty congratulations to all of the women who were part of the final. Also, India managed to beat Australia (second time this tournament, ha!) for the third place. Which, considering that last year when the Indian women toured Australia, Karen Rolston and co. wiped the floor with them? Is pretty sweet.

...

... Oof. I need to apply for some sort of rehabilitation. Suggestions, anyone?


Addendum of EPIC DOOM: It’s happened.

The IPL cannot be held in India this year.

What the hell, people. What. The. Hell.

My immediate reaction was if the IPL can’t be held in India, then leave it. Cancel it. Holding it in another country? Hello, desperation! The primary lure of the IPL for me and so many people I know was the joy of crowding up the stadiums and the TV rooms and watch international cricket stars play some exhilarating Twenty20. For us. (In a way, you know, okay??)

If it has to be relocated, then the obvious choice would be South Africa.

But --- damn. This sucks, just so damn much.