Waltzing with the Willow
How many times have you been witness to history being made, and felt pleased about it?
In my 20-odd years of watching the game of cricket, nothing compares, or even comes close to the feast on offer yesterday. In a trail-blazing performance, definitely the best in the history of the game, South Africa romped home to a phenomenal win, with a wicket and a ball to spare, beating Australia’s world-record score of 434. It is an event like this which makes a lifetime of watching the game worthwhile. Those who missed it- you have no idea what you’ve missed. That’s the way- I like it!!!
I saw the Australian innings for a bit, then again revisited to see the Aussies close off in style with 434. At that point of time, I was in no doubt of the outcome of the match. I concluded either SA will vanish under 100 or make in the region of 350 and fail with dignity. Not the type who watches every telecast game of cricket, I flipped channels, sneaked in a short movie, and other regular Sunday chores. I also watched a bit of the SA innings at the start to conclude that the latter was likely. Finally, at the fall of Smith’s wicket I went out for the regulation Sunday walk on Carter Road. When I came back and switched on the TV, Gibbs was belting away mercilessly. Lewis was hapless. And it was match-on in the Bullring. What followed is history.
The day was dotted with records- most number of runs scored in a match, most number of extras in one innings, most number of 4s and 6s … and so on. Surprisingly, the only individual record was the inglorious maximum number of runs off a single bowler. It really shows the true team character of the game. The grounds men were as unforgiving as their countrymen on the pitch. The glow-board flashed Lewis’ achievement and the crowd erupted in glee.
I think the most notable performances were by Ponting, Smith, Gibbs and Boucher. Boucher was amazing- made it look like a piece of cake. His calm I guess saved the day for SA. Ntini’s all-important single off what was otherwise a very good delivery. I had thought that Lee was going to york the fuck out of him- which he did, but our man played late, and chose just the one spot on the field where a single was possible. Spare a thought for Lee- at the end of the Australian innings he left the field unbeaten, definitely feeling the pleasure a job well-done. And found himself in the death again, this time entrusted with the unenviable task of preventing a team on a roll from scoring 7 runs in 6 balls. And then again coming this close to taking the wicket of Ntini and doing the impossible… and giving it all up. And I wonder what would have gone on in the team meeting during the break in the SA dressing room. Probably, something like the speech at the bottom of this post (which incidentally I consider one of the best inspirational rhetorics).
In the end it was the story of a team which decided not to choke, and go the whole hog. A team which put in 200% with their backs against the wall. I can go on, but I think the look on Ponting’s face as he gave away the joint man of the match to Gibbs said it all- no excuses, none of the usual cribs about missed chances and unfortunate umpiring decisions- just the look of a finished man.
I can’t end this post without a mention of the most disgusting piece of news I’ve heard in months. A 52-year old woman is raped in Mumbai. I mean what’s the world coming to? There’s always room for perverts everywhere in the world, but somehow I always hoped that our city was out of all that. Of course, there’s no telling when, if at all justice will be served again. This really, really upset me.
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Any Given Sunday
screenplay by John Logan and Oliver Stone
Tony D'Amato: I don't know what to say really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives, all comes down to today. Now either we heal as a team, or we're gonna crumble. Inch by inch, play by play -- till we're finished. We're in hell right now gentleman. Believe me. And we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back, into the light. We can climb out of hell, one inch at a time.Now I can't do it for you, I'm too old. I look around I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I made every wrong choice a middle aged man can make. I, uh, I pissed away all my money, believe it or not, I chased off anyone who's ever loved me, and lately I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror.
I saw the Australian innings for a bit, then again revisited to see the Aussies close off in style with 434. At that point of time, I was in no doubt of the outcome of the match. I concluded either SA will vanish under 100 or make in the region of 350 and fail with dignity. Not the type who watches every telecast game of cricket, I flipped channels, sneaked in a short movie, and other regular Sunday chores. I also watched a bit of the SA innings at the start to conclude that the latter was likely. Finally, at the fall of Smith’s wicket I went out for the regulation Sunday walk on Carter Road. When I came back and switched on the TV, Gibbs was belting away mercilessly. Lewis was hapless. And it was match-on in the Bullring. What followed is history.
The day was dotted with records- most number of runs scored in a match, most number of extras in one innings, most number of 4s and 6s … and so on. Surprisingly, the only individual record was the inglorious maximum number of runs off a single bowler. It really shows the true team character of the game. The grounds men were as unforgiving as their countrymen on the pitch. The glow-board flashed Lewis’ achievement and the crowd erupted in glee.
I think the most notable performances were by Ponting, Smith, Gibbs and Boucher. Boucher was amazing- made it look like a piece of cake. His calm I guess saved the day for SA. Ntini’s all-important single off what was otherwise a very good delivery. I had thought that Lee was going to york the fuck out of him- which he did, but our man played late, and chose just the one spot on the field where a single was possible. Spare a thought for Lee- at the end of the Australian innings he left the field unbeaten, definitely feeling the pleasure a job well-done. And found himself in the death again, this time entrusted with the unenviable task of preventing a team on a roll from scoring 7 runs in 6 balls. And then again coming this close to taking the wicket of Ntini and doing the impossible… and giving it all up. And I wonder what would have gone on in the team meeting during the break in the SA dressing room. Probably, something like the speech at the bottom of this post (which incidentally I consider one of the best inspirational rhetorics).
In the end it was the story of a team which decided not to choke, and go the whole hog. A team which put in 200% with their backs against the wall. I can go on, but I think the look on Ponting’s face as he gave away the joint man of the match to Gibbs said it all- no excuses, none of the usual cribs about missed chances and unfortunate umpiring decisions- just the look of a finished man.
I can’t end this post without a mention of the most disgusting piece of news I’ve heard in months. A 52-year old woman is raped in Mumbai. I mean what’s the world coming to? There’s always room for perverts everywhere in the world, but somehow I always hoped that our city was out of all that. Of course, there’s no telling when, if at all justice will be served again. This really, really upset me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Any Given Sunday
screenplay by John Logan and Oliver Stone
Tony D'Amato: I don't know what to say really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives, all comes down to today. Now either we heal as a team, or we're gonna crumble. Inch by inch, play by play -- till we're finished. We're in hell right now gentleman. Believe me. And we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back, into the light. We can climb out of hell, one inch at a time.Now I can't do it for you, I'm too old. I look around I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I made every wrong choice a middle aged man can make. I, uh, I pissed away all my money, believe it or not, I chased off anyone who's ever loved me, and lately I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror.
Y'know when you get old in life things get taken from you, I mean that's that's that's part of life. But you only learn that when you start losin' stuff. You find out life's this game of inches, and so is football. Because in either game, life or football, the margin for error is so small, I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don't quite make it, one half second to slow or to fast, you don't quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They're in every break in the game, every minute, every second. On this team we fight for that inch. On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches that's going to make the fucking difference between winning and losing. Between livin' and dying. I'll tell you this in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die who's gonna win that inch , and I know that if I'm going to have any life anymore it's because I'm still willin to fight and die for that inch. Because that's what livin is. The six inches in front of your face. Now I can't make you do it. You gotta look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now, I think you're gonna see a guy who will go that inch with you. You're gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team because he knows when it comes down to it, you're going to do the same for him.That's a team gentlemen and either we heal now as a team or we will die as individuals. That's football guys. That's all it is. Now, What are you going to do?
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posted by The One @ 10:34 AM
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