BENGALURU: I have been watching cricket since 1996, but have never witnessed a match as exciting as Sunday’s World Cup final. A thriller that could have been written by Alfred Hitchcock, with more twists and turns than an Abbas-Mustan potboiler, this final reminded me about all the reasons we watch cricket for. A thrilling World Cup final that in true cricket style ended with an absurd technical rule that made no sense to anybody except the victors.
The World Cup comes once in four years, and has become a dog-eared marker for my life. I watched the ’96 World Cup as a young boy trying to figure out why people were screaming at the TV. The ’99 World Cup was viewed as a teenager busy fighting off evil thoughts initiated by puberty. The 2003 World Cup was viewed by an angry teenager who had left home.
The 2007 World Cup saw me in college, every match a daze of bhang and Lord Shiva’s prasad. The 2011 World Cup featured me as an aspiring journalist, with the work ethic of a drunk sloth. The 2015 World Cup witnessed me trying to find my footing as a writer and comedian. In many ways, my journey from an overconfident 10-year-old to an under-confident 33-year-old began due to the cricket world cup. It was my first exposure to journalism, magazines and feature articles.
World Cups over the years have also influenced my career choices. I first wanted to become a cricketer, but realised I possessed the stamina of a domestic cat. I then wanted to become a commentator, but realised I did not possess the vocabulary for it. Watching cricket is the one activity (after sleeping) that I have indulged in the most in my life. But for how long?
I remember looking at elders incredulously when they said they had ‘stopped watching’ cricket. When they told me that nothing would ever match up to the 1983 World Cup victory by an unknown Indian side, I wondered if their old age had replaced logic. But I found my moment recently, when I asked a teenager if he was watching the World Cup. ‘No, bro! I only watch IPL’ he shot back. Perhaps it was time!
I might not have made it as a cricketer, but I understand the importance of retiring on a high. It is time I hang up my boots as a cricket viewer. But when they ask about me, tell them I lived in the golden age of cricket.
Tell them I lived in the age of Dhoni and Kohli – two champions who were better friends. Tell them I lived in the age of Williamson – the greatest gentleman to have played the gentleman’s sport. Tell them I lived in the age where huge money had begun to pour into cricket but nothing matched turning up in national colours. Tell them that I witnessed the game move from newspapers to radio to television to Internet to mobile phones.
Of course there will be more exciting matches in the future. There will probably be a time when television would be replaced by telepathy, and all one would need to watch a match would be to close one’s eyes. But I’ll be happily snoozing in the corner of the room, fully aware that nothing will ever match up to the epic encounter that took place on the 14th of July, 2019. And thus, my watch has ended.