Cricket Fever

Last week I caught Cricket fever, I was definitely running a temperature, couldn't eat (now that's a lie), couldn't sleep and most definitely that week my blood was blue; just that week, I am no princess. So obviously I had to ignore my blog and concentrate on the eleven men, 22 actually, playing the game.

What is it about India-Pak matches. The energy is different, the tension is super high and no matter what, your team cannot lose. You're thinking, "They can't lose this match man!", no one ever says, "They have gotta win this one".

I was at the stadium when India played Pakistan in 1996 at Bangalore. I was 16, (ok I would turn 17 that May, but till then I was still 16), cricket crazy, in love with the Indian cricket team and when my Dad told me that he had tickets to the Quarter final I did back flips and somersaults followed by what can only be described as an ancient tribal dance to please the god of love. This is all figuratively speaking of course, I don't know how to perform somersaults or back flips.
Two days before the match Dad tells me that he has to be in Madras for a meeting; who the hell schedules meetings when India is playing Pakistan in a World Cup! I thought what a jinx, I probably overdid the tribal dance bit. But I was not going to go down easy, I told Dad (and the god of love) I am going to watch the match no matter what (even if I had to dance naked). I assured Dad that he had nothing to worry about, I was capable of taking care of myself and if anybody tried anything funny I'd pummel him to death with my Coke bottle (the cola drink that is, not the illegal substance). To remind you, that year the official drinks sponsor was Coca Cola, though I don't think anyone remembers that; Pepsi was still on top after the "Nothing official about it" campaign they ran.
So on the 9th of March 1996, a zitty teenager with a limited fashion sense sporting a beret (I needed a hat didn't I), a summer dress and a pair of shoes that looked like work boots, (the guy who sold me those said they looked chic, the ruddy illegitimate offspring of a spurious father), was all set to watch India take on Pakistan in a World Cup quarter final. That day was surely something special. We cheered the Indians and booed the Pakistanis, empty coke bottles were used as percussion instruments, I hugged strangers because that's what I do during world cup matches and was just short of performing the tribal dance again. And yes, India won the match and it looked like the whole stadium needed to be sent to the loony bin and when I walked out of the stadium it seemed like the whole of Bangalore needed a trip to the loony bin as well. This is what I'd call a crazy atmosphere; people dancing on the road, some semi nude, fire crackers being burst right in the middle of the road with ongoing slow moving traffic and swarms and swarms of fans screaming their heads off, nothing intelligent, just screaming, most people couldn't get over the shock of India winning the match. Among all this, I was floating. It was surreal, there was frenzy everywhere and I was smiling like a damn fool (I must've looked pretty darned stoned) and floating.

Nothing much has changed since that world cup to this one, except that I am not a teenager anymore and I lost the beret right after that match; the work boots were mistaken for dinner by my dog one day, and since I hate wearing shoes with my heels and toes showing they got thrown out. Other than that I am still a cricket crazy girl and was bordering on delirium when India took on Pakistan once again in the World Cup. When the Indians came on to bat we were cheering and screaming so frantically, Kicky thought that her aunt and Mom had gone quite insane; but after we showed her the hand routine that follows a 4 (yes, the char run ka ishara) she joined the madness as well.
Towards the end of the match however my nerves were a ruddy tangled mess; how do these players manage to look so calm. I just couldn't watch the last few overs of the match and nearly had my t-shirt for dinner. The things these games make you eat! But all was well in the end, India ruled once again, my t-shirt just seemed a tad chewed on and I screamed so loudly out of joy that my husband still can't hear out of his left ear.

If that's what a semi final could do to me, then the final would have to send me to a hospital. I chanted the rosary after a 15 year sabbatical and the virgin probably said a hail mary herself. After the first half I had a headache from all the tension and praying and needed a cup of tea. The praying was resumed after the break and when it seemed like it was not working I went back to chewing on my clothes. I guess the chewing worked because India won the cup. I guess I'll keep my chewed on clothes as a souvenir, it could be the lucky charm for the next world cup.