On many occasions when things did not go my way in this sport, I used to joke with my father that it is because of him that I am suffering now. He introduced it to me and I have become unhealthily obsessed with it ever since. My earliest memory of watching cricket was in 1994 when Kapil Dev broke Sir Richard Hadlee’s record for most test wickets. But, I vividly remember the 1996 World Cup as the time when I took to the game passionately. Be it any sport, it is always the World Cups that pull you towards it and the frenzy surrounding a home World Cup in a non internet era is something that will be difficult to explain to the Gen Zs out there. So the madness which started with a home world cup has now ended with another home world cup.
It was a nice and cold Thursday morning in the suburbs of Almere, Netherlands where I woke up to my alarm and snoozed my phone for that extra few heavenly minutes of sleep. Then came the call with the usual OnePlus default ringtone which triggered a set of events that has me reeling till this moment. It was my friend on the other side who said the tickets for the World Cup finals are going live again in the evening and he wanted my help to book it for them and in extension for myself (A week or so back I joked with him that if he gets the tickets for the finals, then I will surely make the trip to India). My daughter (who was termed as “an observant lady” by her neonatal doctor when she was barely few months old) heard me speaking all this and being true to her brand told this all to her mother. By the time I brushed my teeth and came down, I had to explain everything to my wife and assured her we will surely not get the tickets as millions will try for them so she doesn’t have to worry about me making the travel.
I am big on contingency planning, so while I was going to office in the train my mind was racing to every single possibility that can happen. So, I spoke to few of my friends to also try for Semi Finals tickets in case I do come to India. The tickets opened at 15:30 CET and I was in the digital queue already, I minimized it and carried on with my work only to check it occasionally. One such moment and I was in and booked them within a minute, it was all a blur. I now possess tickets for a WC final which might feature Rohit Sharma led Indian cricket team. Stuff of dreams or so I thought. Minutes pass by and every single friend who sat to book the tickets, all got them. Suddenly we had 14 tickets but only 6 people who had planned to go for it. Now started the planning chaos, calls were flying to different corners of the world to try and fill up the remaining places. Me, on the other hand was spiraling inwards just to make the decision of whether to go or not. All the scenarios that can happen were playing in my head. The excitement that I am now holding the finals tickets died already as the anxiety of what could happen took over.
Things rolled quickly in the next 24 hours and I was booked to travel to Mumbai a day before the semi finals. My plan was to somehow secure the semi finals tickets so that I get a guaranteed India game which means my trip doesn’t depend on the result (Fools paradise, you are correct). As it would happen, I did not get the semis tickets and had to fall back on Plan B where my friend had booked tickets to Hyderabad to watch the game with him.
Sleepless for the last 48 hours, I sat watching the game with headache, utmost nervousness and tension that even when we were thrashing the Kiwis left, right and center I did not enjoy it one bit. All I wanted was for them to win, so that I get to watch them play the finals. When they finally won, my mind went ahead to the finals and hit me with what if they lose it there, what will you do. This is not the feeling I had when I started following the game, the sheer joy in just watching the game for what it is, was no longer there. Outcome became the primary focus. The play as it happened, the intricacies which drew me into it, the simplistic beauty of the leather hitting the wood was not something that calmed me anymore. This is not the game I loved or rather this is not me who loved this game as a kid.
I made a quick trip to Chennai in between to see my parents before traveling back to Mumbai and joining my friends a day before the finals. We then set to Ahmedabad in a car for a 10 hour drive, not before munching on delicious vada pav, misal pav and other lovely delicacies. We reached the city around 9pm and found the atmosphere rather quiet and mellowed. It made us wonder whether this is indeed the place where the grand finals is going to take place. After a quick dinner and nervous chats later, we hit the sack for a proper sleep before the nightmare that was about to hit us next day.
It did feel like a good morning to wake up to. Pleasant weather, little bit of sun, a lot of blue in the skies and on the roads. The vibe we thought wasn’t present the previous night was there today. We stopped for some delicious roadside breakfast and headed to the stadium in a crowded metro. The entrance was surprisingly smooth and once in, the monstrosity of the structure did startle us. I have this habit of running up the steps to see a venue I haven’t been to before and I did it here as well. I was very happy with this view when my friend quipped that we won’t be able to catch the lifting off the cup from here. That friend is no longer a friend to me.
We checked our seats, met a Twitter mutual and then hopped to the other side to catch a different view and then got seated before the toss. The airshow that followed was stunning. The game was about to begin and the nervousness reappeared.
The game had lots of layers but I have lost the hunger to discuss them, so I will stick to how I felt and move onto the closure. 9.3 was the last ball I was close to something I can call normal. Since then it was blow by blow destruction of what I can now call the final few moments of my unabashed passion for this sport. As the end came closer I wanted to leave the stadium and go far away but I convinced myself that this is it, just let it take you down fully. Like a person who is going to quit smoking, I wanted myself to let in a final puff before throwing it away. So I did not move from my seat until everything was complete in the middle including the presentation and the celebration.
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All this within 7 days. Like I mentioned earlier, this unhealthy obsession needed to come to an end this way with a crushing blow.
The title of the blog hit me when the person next to me in the flight read a newspaper and threw it down. With that…..
Weekend Cricket Club 