MY TENDULKAR TRYSTS

2013 Update: This was written four years ago.

And while the world didnt quite end in 2012, we finally have to reckon with the prospect of cricket without Sachin.

I dont need to overemphasize that it wont be the same anymore.

"Cricket lives in my heart and whenever I'm on a cricket field I enjoy it, and somewhere there's still a 16-year-old hidden inside who wants to go out and express himself" said Sachin Tendulkar in an interview to Cricinfo.com as he completes a phenomenal 20 years at the international level, pretty much all of them at the top of his game. Genius is such a cliche and legend such a trite adjective that they do no justice in capturing the luminosity of Sachin's radiance in the cricket world. 

Newspapers, magazines, TV channels and of course websites on the internet have been working up a frenzy as the master hit a rare milestone (quick, think of another international cricketer who's spent 20 years indisputably at the top. Can't think of any? Thought so!) and all his innings, achievements and impact on the game have been super analyzed to bits. I would spare you a re run of all that, dear reader, because I wish to offer my connection with the Tendulkar universe. Firstly, in the interest of disclosure, I have never met Sachin Tendulkar. The nearest I have come to him is about 20 feet, and there was still a boundary rope, a gutter, and a six feet high fence between us. And yes, there happened to be an India Pakistan test match going on. Further disclosure, in my three years as a (sort of) sports writer, I have never had the fortune of an interview (telephonic or e-mail. What about a personal interview, you ask? Well, hello! I told you I have never met him! And I'm sure it's illegal or something to try and hurl questions at a cricketer fielding at fine leg during an test match!) or even a press conference (lousy press pass!). Truth be told, it's perhaps a good thing that I've always admired him as a fan for the pure joy he has brought to our lives through his expression of the game and his dedication to it. 

My view and connection remains untainted by the need to criticize or compare or the urge to sully or sensationalize. To me, he remains the embodiment of Bob Dylan's classic song 'Forever Young'. And that's why that line at the beginning makes so much sense. For Sachin, I wish to remain the 10-year old cricket fan forever who doesn't have to analyze why his average drops in the fourth innings of a test match, or figure out why India lose even when he bats brilliantly, or suspect that he plays for a milestone sometimes, or question his captaincy credentials or theorize that he has a weakness against the ball that seams in. Of course, I can talk about Sachin's great innings - Sachinnings (one Sharjah paper called a hundred of his against Pakistan in 1996 'Sachinnings!' and I've stuck to that ever since!). Like that hundred in the desert storm in Sharjah against Australia and the one immediately after that in the final of that tournament. Or the outstanding pain barrier conquering yet Greek hero like tragic epic at Chennai against Paksitan. Or the masterfully manipulated and controlled 'look ma, no off side' double ton at Sydney. Or the cracking 114 on a fast Perth wicket where men twice his age were after him trying to take his head off. Or that poignant return against Kenya at the World Cup 24 hours after his dad's funeral. Or even that un-batting contribution of a nerveless over against South Africa at the Eden Gardens in the Hero Cup semi final in 1993 where he had just six runs to defend! I mean, you get the picture.

Almost 30,000 international runs and a mind boggling near about 100 international tons and the numerous other records, the innings and the achievements cannot be captured even in a fraction of their grandeur in a puny blog like this. But there is a perfect Sachin moment I'd like to share with everyone. It was the fifth and deciding ODI on India's historic tour to Pakistan in 2004 and India, having put 293 on the board were looking to pile on the pressure. But Inzamam Ul Haq unleashed a few classy strokes and was growing in confidence threatening to bring Pakistan back into the contest. He lofted the left armer Murali Karthik over mid on and the shot looked good enough for a six, before Tendulkar plucked it off right on the boundary rope pulling off a superb catch. 

"The flat hit seemed to have just enough strength to clear long-on, but Tendulkar, skirting dangerously close to the boundary, hung on to the ball even as he ensured that he didn't step on the rope" wrote Cricinfo in their match bulletin. He ran wild with enthusiasm having contributed vitally by cutting Inzamam's dangerous looking innings short and the childlike excitement on his face as he celebrated was impossibly infectious. Seeing Sachin celebrate with such boundless mirth was an uplifting experience in itself. As the umpires confirmed that he was not touching the rope when he held the catch, what Sanjay Manjrekar said on commentary was telling. He said, 'If Sachin's claiming the catch, it has to be out!' He has always been a sportsman first, a superstar much, much later. And to top it all, it was Sachin's 100th catch in ODIs. Of course, with Sachin you're never far from a milestone. That one moment captures almost everything about what Sachin Tendulkar brings to the game.

Excellence, a lot of other players have in loads, but genial humanity and strength of character? Try searching a coaching book for those chapters. He has always been driven and happy to contribute to the game he loves so much, and that love has made millions of others feel a rush that they will never forget in their lives. Look at the picture above and seeing Sachin acknowledge the congratulations of the groundsmen after winning the Chennai test against England in 2008 tells you all you need to know. If you are looking for a soundtrack to describe his legacy in the world of cricket I have the perfect piece - Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 whose last movement contains the words from the poem 'Ode to Joy'! Yes, Sachin will retire one day (I can't imagine that day because all my proper cricket watching life I've never had to confront that possibility). 

If the world is coming to an end on Dec. 21, 2012 like the Mayans say, my only wish is that Sachin retires on Dec 20!

IN DEFENCE OF GOLIATH

EVERYBODY wants to root for the underdog. It's nothing novel, or radical. After all, some of the most fascinating sports stories are where the proverbial David and his humble slingshot are able to take down the proverbial Goliath. But spare a thought for Goliath here, the superperformer, the man to beat, the undisputed champion (till of course, David introduces the dispute!).

Since I started watching baseball and specifically Major League Baseball about a decade ago, I have hated the New York Yankees. They seemed to be on a roll, wrapping every pennant and title in sight, virtually untouchable packed with some of the most awesome talent (MLB's biggest payroll can buy you lots of the good stuff!) and their storied leagcy only reinforcing their aura. For a first time baseball fan, they are a perfect starting base to enjoy the game - the big historical heroes like Joe Di Maggio and Babe Ruth, the current generation superstars like A-Rod and Derek Jeter and of course the lure of New York, New York! But the splendour and almost too easy success somehow did not appeal to me. In the same vein, I didn't go with Manchester United when I started watching the Premier League and I sure as heck wasn't going to back Australia when watching a cricket match. It's not a coincidence that the Yankees' 27 World Series titles are the most in MLB history, Australia have 4 World Cups to their credit (three straight from 1999-2007) and Man U have the most Premier League titles (currently tied at 19 with Liverpool, but the way this season's going they should head the table soon). Or even look at Real Madrid, undoubtedly the true Goliaths of European Football. All these teams have great pasts and look brilliantly solid for a great run in the future. And that's perhaps why, apart from their fans, almost everybody else loves to hate them. It is easy to despise the 'Big Guy'. There's
always the anti established kind of sentiment that spreads like wildfire and everyone else would give an arm and a leg (well, if that sounds far fetched, ask the Afghans who fought Russia) to see the Big Guy take a tumble.

Somehow, Big equals Evil. A little digression into the world of business - when Google was a start up challenging Microsoft everyone loved them, but now suddenly, as Google grows big, it has become the 'evil' corporation! But consider for a moment a world without these Goliaths. No Roger Federer in tennis, or Tiger
Woods in Golf or Yanks in baseball, and the sports littered with small teams of almost equal abilities. Sports fans would have a boring time having no one to direct their hatred at. Big Guns are, in my opinion, those who bring in the real excitement and along the way absorb enormous amounts of hatred and crticism for everything from tactics (Aussie sledging?) to abuse of money and power (Real buying the hottest footballers every season) to even large scale cheating (Juventus accused of running a systematic doping program in Italian Serie A) .

Watching the Yankees this year at the World Series in baseball against the Philadephia Phillies (I was obviously rooting for the Phillies) made me realize that you look at an efficient and ruthless sports team and you realize that being Goliath is not so easy after all. And most of the times, Goliath's win is what lends that feeling around you that there is some order in the world. An occasional chaotic moment, an upset win, a huge collapse from the favourites is alright, but if it becomes the norm, believe me, you will begin feeling scared and disoriented.
Humans crave for order and sense, and a lack of it for even a short while may be too much too handle. Goliaths bring stability to proceedings in that sense. And watching the best do their best sometimes can grudingly lead you to concede the simple superiority of the 'Goliath' in the battle. Watching Alex Rodriguez, Andy Pettite, Mark Teixeiria and Derek Jeter for the Yankees in that World Series gave me that kind of a feeling. In the middle of the series I had resigned myself to a Yankee win and all I wanted was for the Phillies to just put up a good enough fight. The same is true whenever I watch a Man U game. These powerhouses with their clinical displays most often set the benchmarks for the rest to follow, to pump themselves and raise their games to the next level. If there weren't any Sachin Tendulkar, whose wicket would you aim for? In that sense the existence of these Goliaths is the very essence of competition in sport and thereby they are doing a great service to the game.

Like I said, it's fairly easy to deride them, but the familiarity of Goliath gives you that feeling that there's some constancy in this world. No wonder Yankees Team President Randy Levine said after the 2009 World Series win (Yanks' first title since 2000) "The Yankees won. The world is right again." After all, if there weren't any Goliath, who would David really stick it to!

THE JUDAS STRAIN

LAST weekend while watching the Liverpool vs. Manchester United game in the English Premier League my most difficult moment as a Liverpool fan came in the 73rd minute of the game. The Reds were already leading via a fantastic Torres strike, but Sir Alex had just made a
substitution. Michael Owen had taken the field at Anfield, in a Man U. shirt. It was a strange feeling for someone who'd seen Owen from his earliest days and one of the reasons Liverpool became my favourites was Owen's style and enthusiasm. But then 'Boy Wonder' left his nursery for Newcastle, and a few frustrating seasons later committed the footballing equivalent of apostapy by signing up with Manchester United. It was a strange feeling akin to the great cricket writer Nevile Cardus's who used to pray "Please God let Trumper score a century tomorrow in an England win". Cardus loved the Australian batsman Victor Trumper, but after all he was English. So, Anfield did roundly boo Owen, but surely some (Ok, at least me anyway!) were secretly hoping for some magic from Owen.

When one of Mersyside's favourite sons moves over to their archrivals, it is hard not to get sentimental about it, say what you will about the professional sportsman and dreams of avarice being the fuel that keeps their engines running. Or take the case of Brett Favre - NFL quarterback who spent his entire career with the Green Bay Packers first retires and then comes out of it (un-retired, as some savvy newspapers put it!) and dons a Minnesota Vikings shirt. And then? Well, he returns to Green Bay to beat the Packers (thus becoming the only QB ever to earn a win against all of NFL's 32 franchises!). Green Bay fans, players and officials obviously weren't totally kicked about it - again never mind the fact that they wouldn't have given Favre a start had he stayed with the Packers. And of course, the biggest case of them all - Boston Red Sox selling Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees in 1919. The Yanks, led by Ruth, went on to become one of baseball's most successful franchises (actually, the most successful) while the Red Sox suffered from the 'Curse of the Bambino' going title less for 86 long years in baseball. Wonder how the Red Sox fans felt as Ruth rocked every department for the Yankees.

But in this modern world of globalized sport, should this 'Judas' strain be considered so seriously? Yes, players will move where the flow of capital takes them (you know, it's way more than 20 pieces of silver for which Jesus was betrayed) and often they may land up with bitter rivals. But if they are true professionals they will continue just the same - plying their trade at the highest level possible. Naturally, a Michael Owen can't let the sentiment of returning to Anfield mar his chances of making a contribution to United. For the fans, though, it will always remain a different story. And boy, was I glad that I was saved some seriously conflicting views had Owen scored a winner or an equalizer. As a student of mine put it, 'There would be a riot out there'. Sure...a riot of conflictinf emotions.

THE LITE RUNNER

RUN CITY
Berlin. Bogota. Buenos Aires. Guadlajara. Guangzhou. London. Mexico City. Milan. Monterrey. Mt. Fuji. New York City. Oslo. Padova. Rio De Janerio. Rome. Seoul. Singapore. Taipei. Tel Aviv. And of course, Bangalore. These were the cities across which Nike was organizing its giant and unique marketing effort - the Nike + Human Race 10k. There is no question about Nike's marketing prowess but even by their lofty standards involving about three quarters of a million runners across 27 cities in the world on the same day in a celebratory run was quite something. It was the uniqueness of the experience that drew me in. A 10k road race was no longer a 'will-I-finish-it' challenge. But the prospect of bettering my competitive 10k timing was incentive enough. Nike believes that if you have a body, you are an athelete. And true enough, about a 1000 Bangaloreans of all shapes and sizes showed up on a Saturday afternoon eagerly waiting for the race to be flagged off. It was the pre race warm up ritual that was the most fun. Usually in races runners tend to stick to own personal styles of warm ups, but here we were asked to organize into files and gym instructors on stage ran us through the steps. Looking at 900 odd people going at the manouvers at the same time and half of them going right when the instructor screamed 'left' almost made me feel I was back in the middle of a school P.T. class! Chaotic warm up over, it was time for the starting gun to be fired.
START ME UP
The emcee for the evening VJ Yudi had a few words of encouragement as everyone took positions. He explained how the world was running together and once we'd all run the race everyone's timing would up on the Nike website (thanks to a timing chip everyone was wearing) and you can impress people all across the world with your timing. 'Even the ladies in France will be checking the timings', he quipped. The female runner just ahead of me shouted, 'What about the men in France?' Just then, the starting gun wen off, fired by Indian cricketer Sreesanth. Yudi was at it again quipping that it was a good thing Sreesanth did not fire the gun at somebody!
This was a race I was feeling really confident about running because for some reason I was feeling very light on my feet. From the first kilometer onwards I focussed on keeping the steps quick, nimble and light. There were live bands along the way murdering rock songs twice over, but the runners were concentrating too hard on their rhythm or were not keen enough rock fans to care or both. I ran at a fair clip, and lest you think I was idling, let me assure you I was at my productive best. Having received a call at the 3rd kilometer, I had managed to book tickets for 'Wake up Sid' that evening for my boss by the 7th kilometer, all without even breaking into a sweat. No wonder, I was feeling amazingly light. Between the 5th and 6th km, thirst took over slowing and breaking my rythm. I ran to the nearest aid station and emptied a glass of water on my head only to realize it was actually electrolytes! Heck, I thought, my brain was screaming for glucose anyway! My body has actually been built perfectly for a 7k race. At every 10k race, I virtually trick it into running the remaining 3. In this race it was no different, but the 'glucose-in-my-head' therapy seemed to be working because I felt stronger in the final stretch this time.
HOME STRETCH
In what was my strongest finish in a 10k race (alright, I have run only 3 of them, but it was my strongest finish!) I ran hard in the last kilometer and sprinted the last 100 yards or so. With about 20 yards left, I could hear someone chanting 'Nike. Nike. Nike. Adidas. Nike.' Puzzled, I followed the sound and could see a guy near the finish line chanting that into his walkie-talkie. As I ran past, and he shouted 'Reebok!', I realized what was going on. He was tracking the shoe brand for each runner! Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that we were all in the midst of a giant marketing gig from the mother of all marketers. Capitalism's queer cries were not enough to distract me though as I crossed the finish line in 56 minutes and 22 seconds! An improvement of 3 minutes and 20 seconds over my last time at the Sunfeast 10k! Shaving off 5.6% off your personal best is no joke (just ask Usain Bolt whose jaw dropping 100m world record - 9.58 from 9.69 - at the IAAF World Championships imrpoved on his earlier record by about 1.5%). Ok, I exaggarate. About the only thing I have in common with the 6'5" fastest man on earth is that we both wear Puma socks while running. But still the excitement was hard to contain, though I maintained a straight face and didn't exactly indulge in Bolt-like celebrations. A satisfying race completed, it was time for community cool down exercises and this time the crowd was much smaller - about 100 - since a whole lot were still running. I hadn't really thought I'd shatter my personal best in such spectacular fashion but there's something about the spirit of the runners in this city that eggs you on. I felt light on my feet, because hundreds of Bangaloreans were gliding past me effortlessly well.

All I can say is that when Nike chose its only city in India for staging part of the Human Race, it chose well.

CYCLE OF LIFE

I want to ride my bicycle

I want to ride my bike

I want to ride my bicycle

I want to ride it where I like

Bicycle races are coming your way

So forget all your duties oh yeah

- QUEEN, 'Bicycle Race'

Queen released this song on 13th October 1978. Freddie Mercury, the Queen's lead man is said to have come up with the ideal while on a holiday in France when the Tour De France went past his hotel room window. Almost 31 years to the day (11 October 2009), Bangalore saw its first ever cyclothon. To release the song, the band staged a bicycle race featuring 65 naked women. The BSA Hercules Cyclothon, mercifully, featured clothed contestants including the writer of this blog.

But this blog on the race is not just about me. It's about the 6,000 odd Bangaloreans who came out in wholehearted support of cycling; it's about the octogenarian who smoothly rode alongside riders 1/4th of his age without missing a beat; it's about one of India's most familiar brand experts who was childlike in his enthusiasm; it's about the children whose enthusiasm was unmatchable; it's about the entrepreneur who just wanted to 'feel young'; it's about the joy of cycling that thousands discovered and will hopefully hang on to after that mad rush of a morning. Nobody was exactly Lance Armstrong or Alberto Contador out there but with bicycles of every conceivable type and make they showed up early in the morning at the magnificent Bangalore International Exhibition Center (BEIC) and stood patiently in line for getting to the start line. A cycle race would be a misnomer to describe the event I was a part of - a 'community ride' would be more appropriate. All the riders were expected to complete the 25km course but there was no competition. As if realizing the festive spirit the weather had smartly stepped aside, leaving us cloudy skies, no sun, a light breeze and fantastic conditions to ride without getting vaporized on the smooth stretch of the Mysore-Bangalore NICE Corridor. I use the word 'smooth' mostly in a figurative sense here, since I discovered how undulating the course was when on my bike.

UP THE STARTING BLOCK, WITHOUT A PEDAL

A bike race is fun alright, but the devil was in the logistical details for me as I ran against the clock to make sure I deposited my bike to the organizers on time for it to be transported to the race venue. In the haste, one of the pedals of the bike came off compounding my woes and as I deposited the cycle in, I realized I would be at the starting line the next morning with one pedal missing, and the bike in a condition that it cannot be ridden! In a sense, I was up the starting block, without a pedal!

ON A BOLT AND A PRAYER

I am fond of all things 80s (perhaps a rub-off of being born in that crazy decade, and living through most of it!) and one of my all time favourite TV series was MacGyver which starred Richard Dean Anderson as MacGyver, a secret agent armed with infinite scientific resourcefulness. He could wriggle out of any situation using stuff he found in and around him. I took inspiration from MacGyver as I searched for something to become my replacement pedal for the race, failing which my race was over before I even got to the starting line. After trying pieces of wood, a piece of plastic pipe, and other stuff I stumbled upon an unclaimed bolt with a nut lying on a table. It was the perfect size to fit through the pedal groove. The idea struck me immediately (confession: I flicked the bolt immediately. Warning: Children, stealing is bad...well, except when a cycle race you've been looking forward to for two months is in jeopardy. 'Better to live with dodgy morals than dodgy pedals!' I say) and I put the bolt in the groove and tightened the nut around it. It fit like a dream, bolstering my belief that the bolt had been delivered by angels at God's behest who'd answered my prayers. Or I was incredibly lucky. Serendipity or Spirituality? Whatever! Seeing the contraption, a fellow rider asked me if I could ride the cycle this way. I confidently said yes, though I seriously doubted if the makeshift pedal would survive 25km. But at least I had a pedal to start with. Thank you, MacGyver!

HERE WE GO

I pushed the cycle into the holding area and after some light warming up began chatting around with fellow riders. There was Harish Gulati, a 47 year old entrepreneur who had decided to become a part of the race to feel a little younger. Looking at the tattoo on his left arm, I suspected running cyclothons were not the only adventurous thing he was upto to feel younger. And the Bianchi cycle he was prodding around led me to believe that his business wasn't doing too badly either. (Bianchi road bikes, the last time I asked, begin retailing at about Rs. 30,000) I also bumped into Harish Bijoor, the brand expert, now clad in cycling gear. His face was lit with excitement, and all you could sense was childlike enthusiasm as the starting time drew near - quite a contrast to his suave demeanor when he is delivering his talks and workshops! But, by far the most inspirational character was Mr. Mahalingeshwar (pic above), an octogenarian (the first words of his on the introduction - 'I am a 1928 model!') who says he's been cycling for over six decades (disclosure: he's even had a heart bypass surgery!). He pointed to the Sport 18 (the organizer) logo on his bib and said that my age is the opposite of that number but I feel exactly this old. He punched me and Mr. Gulati lightly on the arm, pleased with the joke he'd just made. We could only watch wide jawed and I was thinking that at 81, I'd probably be fortunate to participate in a wheelchair race of some sort!

TOUR DE CHANCE

The race began and ended without event for me and despite all the apprehension about the pedal, it held good. I didn't have to get down from the bike even once (I was carrying my own water so didn't have to stop at the aid stations either) as the distance was conquered in an hour and 20 minutes (5 minutes more than I'd targeted). From the start to the halfway turn there were climbs galore. Granted, they weren't exactly the alpine climbs riders contend with at the Tour De France but they were quite taxing no less. Happily, on the return leg they turned into pleasant downhill stretches. A combination of luck and dexterity had seen me end the race in eventless fashion with all bones intact and the cycle still in good shape. I was pleased with how the chances I took paid off. As we crossed the finish line, the teen's ride was flagged off and the plucky teens were immediately off to strutting their stuff. One young boy, about 13-14 I guess, demonstrated a neat wheelie, much to the chargin of the race marshals. I later spotted him boasting 'Uncle! Uncle! Maine stunt maara!' to the ice cream walla!

Cycling is a brilliant amalgamation of both the body and the mind (keeps both invigorated), not to mention the eco friendliness of the endeavor (there were lots of riders with messages on their t-shirts about commuting to work on cycles) and that's what makes it such a joy - whether you are 13, 30 or 81. All I can say is, pedal on! Oh, shoot! That reminds me - gotta take that bolt out and put in a proper pedal there!