Solitary confines of the 22 yards!!

You are recognized the world over,the teeming public in stadia and home chants your name,expectations tethered to your bat everytime,lacks of young boys shadow your skills,you have achieved greatest honors you are touted as a game`s great,you are respected and loved,you are .....

Sachin!

In the gloriously fertile space of a genius`s  mind,there exists little room for banality.When you delve deep into your energy reserves to make that dive,you realize you could have done more as you watch the ball racing to the boundary.Oh,how you wish you were four-five inches taller.Win! Win! It doesn't take 100 runs always,and it takes only one run in many ways.Spanking shots,elegant drives,effortless wrists,unpenetrable defense and cold steely eyes and then one dropped chance.You sigh! the world thinks you can make it all up,afterall you are superman,and you think-get back to basics.And suddenly you are the apple of their eyes with 90 to your name while the other guy nonchalantly gets the double ton.And then you are sore to them when you fail.You have to do well,you have to perform,its all your fault though,you gave them the panacea,and now they are addicted.

Normal? When you are normal? when you are celebrating the success of the team or when you from the grilled visor of your helmet wait for the red cherry to come near your wood? Do you sleep gloriously when you lead your team to  victory or you shift with a nervous energy akin to a young boy.You are also addicted.To the sweat dripping,to the bat raising,to the hand shaking and to the trophy wrapping.You are so very much tied to the game,you are all the more free.Greatly aloof from the known fact about your greatness,your mind is an island,purposeful and artistic.You think simple,while the world gloats.You think humane,while the world gasps at the divinity.Not their fault I say,there are those eyes that looks downwards-your eyes and there are those that look up-their eyes.You act,you don`t think! You mesmerize them not yourself! You do what you have to,every single time-to play.That`s enough,that is what all they ask for.Uninitiated,they will throw brickbats also,for they hate your counterpart,your worse half,the one who fails in the most elementary of tricks sometimes.
Tons of paeans are written the world over for you,millions watch the game so that they could tell their generations about your generation,and scores drool over your left handed signature skills and you?you casually listen to your music player and silently walk when you get a rough decision on the field? Didn't the energy of the world transfer to you.Why you don't change?Why it seems you are still the kid that played fifteen years ago?Your innocent voice perhaps hides more than we can imagine.To go to chasms and eke out the demons would be easier than to define a defiled page of your life and character.And it is not about deitifying you,it is more about getting the pedestal more closer to the commoners so that they can see you more,absorb your more.
Willful admission of the horror of missing you in the entirety from the game`s arena mitigates it somewhat.But the time is close. Notwithstanding some of the people have already retired you in their minds and possibly money ordering your pension to you,the majority of them would agree that none of the earthly limits one sets on a sportsman`s stature doesn`t apply to you.Age,records,wins,losses doesn't matter as long as the game is still made more beautiful-by you.The daydream spell you have casted so many times over fans and non believers alike is lifting but the real world is horrifying.The real world without your purity would not be a nice place to write or talk about.There would be no immortals,no heroes...only shards of reminiscences that would pierce through our memory.We would then remember what you stood for.You,however would be just normal,listening to music,in your home,albeit without those fluffy pads,without those beads of sweat and with no strings attached,in your own solitary confine.
The 22 yards will miss you Sachin once you are done!
Sir!

The GOAT herder Syndrome

The GOAT herder Syndrome

I am not trying to answer who is GOAT or who isn`t. (Last time I checked the four legged creature identified me and vice-versa, and to be honest beats me this moniker of GOAT, couldn`t we could have had a more cool BOA (best of all), at least the snake kills the goat and doesn`t eat  grass!)Neither I`ll be predicting the rise of the monster or the fall of the rooster from the birch top. No soothsayings,no swansongs or tale of a rising not-so-red phoenix(read Murray!!).No!No,not at all.

What these points to ponder do when they play tennis between your logic and fantasy while you’re already addled brain playing the immovable and all absorbing net in between? They play with your balls!!Well they lob your thoughts, slice your feelings and moon ball your patience. So no nothings of this sort for me. No praise for federer,no hatemails for djoker,no apparel etiquette tips for nadal(I won`t butt in, I promise!),no fairytale promises to the British tennis fans either.(they also sense they need someone else!)

So what we are talking about here? The thing is-I have just started to learn tennis. Lawn tennis to be precise in vocabulary and cement-backyard-uneven bounce- tennis to be accurate in description. Don`t be fooled though, I am not one of those who doesn`t know who lleyton hewitt was {is? was? does it matter?}or one of those who believe there are only four tournaments in a year,because thats what their cable operator tells them. Serious as I am about tennis, I happen to have a keen eye for the sport and of course women`s tennis. As I was saying about me learning to put the ball in the right place rather than hit out of the ground, I suddenly have grew wary of critics and naysayers. Even to the extent this fear of opinionated men (women included, I am not a sexist!) has grown inside me recently that I watch the matches in mute.(My apologies to sharapova,nadal,and djokovic for not heeding to their calls or yells or grunts..!)

Expert or no expert, I believe I have a flair for the game. My flair list includes an expensive pair of shoes, officious looking wristwatch & athletic wristbands and headbands. Well racquets and balls are provided for by the academy where I go to play, so yes I am in gear.

To me the trivial matter of landing the ball in the other court isn`t as big as being able to say “the ball is in my court now”. So mostly you see I am at a receiving end. And I am loving it.Federer it seems can wait for his 17th, I can`t wait for even the morning. (afternoon`s too arduous to play, no?)Of course seeing my dedication you might have guesses my bright future. I keep telling my hitting partners (no double entrendes here!!) to avoid gloating about my obvious talents but puff!! you know how these hero-worshippers are. A topic of excited gossip and a style to copy, now that`s what I am being reduced to in the tennis circles.

                   Without sounding overtly narcissistic or resisting the urge to showcase the ever so mild shenanigan, I must confess that I could no longer keep the secret forever-Roger Federer copied and continues to copy me(Sorry roger!! check your inbox, might have an apology mail there for disclosing this.).Couldn`t hide it any longer you see, the kids had started asking nasty questions, those little buggers.I mean let`s confess this once in for all, how come someone just burst on the scene with all the shots in the book ( I forgot to teach him the high backhand of a spinning ball, took him years!).I roamed in the wilderness while he bossed the game as if the righteous owner of the prairie has arrived.Well,bah! I don`t even want the adulation, I am contend enough knowing that the protégé is doing well, not perched at top exactly but hey I mean does it really matter, now look at me, I might condescend to accept my greatness, but beneath me that, beneath me! As they say" We didn`t start the fire, I did."

                         Hmmm,sorry I didn`t get the joke,oh uh djok is it? that’s the new spelling. So what would you call yourself then? Oh Djoker is it? Did you had your supper?Oh Glutton free, my my, I am impressed. Original idea perhaps? Let me see, you aren`t from Serbia? No? You are not in the business of impressionism? No? Good good!! No let me see...Nolet me see....No-le tme see...No-le...Oh...Nole!!!

A 70-6 record? 3 grand slams? 5 masters? 12 mn$ prize money? No 1? Not impressed???

Look at my record...

A perfect record of 200-0, 4 grand slams, 9 masters, 3 local tourneys...no prize money...I don`t need a number with me....

Of course broadcasters haven`t really started paying those who watch. But I am hopeful to be the forerunner. And 12  mn$ a year and glutton free?? Are you kidding me? (Sheepishly sniggering!!), give me a million and I can donate the entire glutton the world needs.

In hindsight 2011 was indeed a bad year for me. Not that I am fed-up fan of Nadal and almost cried with him at the flushing meadows, (6 in a row in a year? ouch!!)But just because my racquet caught rust and fungus too often.Ah! the perils of over exerting your talents and apparatus.Ofcourse I never lost my passion for the game. I got my bagels, my sticks, I turn on the TV set or youtube.Being on the same page as your coach surely helps. I was on page 24 and so was he. Sports section!!And talking of reading and understanding, I now seriously wish I knew more of Spanish.

Vamos!! I first thought was an expression for exaltation. But anxiety, defeat and fear now need not go elsewhere for expression. But of course it means “come on”. Let’s have a look...

Exaltation--Comme onnn...!!!! Vaamos!!!

Fear--Oh no! Come on now.. vamos?

Anxiety--come on! its over!!...vammos....

But that was last year. When nadal won some matches. This year, he chatted more,vamosed less,and won even lesser. Notwithstanding the greatest clay court player tag, he jumped too high in aus & was ferreted in, brought a depleted garrison yet won over Roland garros,ate too many berries in london,and grimaced in new york.The world tour finals in London a burden on his tired frame,Nadal better be joking, or Djoking or choking?

On a tangential note, (I just remembered it!!)Since the time I`ve started writing this Nadal would have served twice,federer 12 times,and novak would still be counting his ball bounces(Oh no! I missed it!! All the way to the lucky no again!)& Murray would have developed another niggle. Watching Federer play not only reminds me of a certain myself but also someone who has found a new set of teeth.(Where are they?Oh they are there! Now I can chew!! (honey, bring the bacon now, please,will you..)

Federer has long since transformed himself from a potent tiger(glutton free anyone?) to a burly elephant with huge tusks(16 inches and not growing!) but eats with wizened molars inside.Wins,wins,wins and then gets bored of it,(let’s play with them for sometime) oh no! I Lost!!!

Someone is too relaxed(Federer),someone is too glutton free to keep losing(djoker),someone is too lost to control passion(Nadal),and someone is too out of contention to talk about(Murray).All others(Tsonga,Berdych) are too forgotten to not to mention.Atleast the future of tennis is in safe hands.

Me!!

(it’s too late, not going today to play...)

'Whim'-Able-Don...

Its raining!!!
Bare grass on each side of the player`s court gets barer as the spikes dig and bite hard as the feet move hither thither gorging out the last straw of the green grass under.The incoming rain gives a fresh waft of air as the symphony on court grows in tempo.The waltz from the court length apart draws gasps of various odours,lengths and connotations from the sitting gentry.Applause start to rain as the victory finally chooses his new paramour.Glittering gold,white dress on greens,tears in eyes and a silvery smile….
All is Wimbledon!Wimbledon is all this!!
“Shhh,Quiet please!Thank you!!”The famous umpire uttering from the SW19 was the inspiration behind the now famous saying that fed fans sport on their placards -”Shh! Quiet! Genius at work!”.Legendary grass lawns once again have opened their gates to the teeming concourse who after the strawberries and the tram and the brief tribute to the henmen hill(& now the Murray mound!),once again queue up to grab those elusive tickets.In the eyes of the purists,the grand slam marks the greatest bookmark of the tennis calendar.A dream that a small kid wakes to every-night since he/she picks up a racquet for the very first time-A dream of holding the “The All England Lawn Tennis Club Single Handed Champion of the World.” or the “Venus Rosewater Dish.” aloft on the centre court.
Lots of articles before this have already heaped praise on this so called ‘Mecca of tennis’ and this effort by my keypad will be one of those million.But anyone who feels the genuine serenity,the sanguine surface of grass and the almost ‘noble’ surroundings would confide that it is hard to suppress such beautiful and happy admiration for an arena such as the “All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club”.
The elements of green grass(can`t emphasize on it enough!),inky blue sky(mostly laden with dark white clouds!),white attire of players(How are they are able to tinker with the purest colour and create fashion each year out of it I wonder!!),the white hats and the ocular green umbrellas in the crowd all of-course when get reflected in the drops from the heavens create an atmosphere that inspires purity and greatness in equal measure.Throw in a couple of great matchups and there you have it-A perfect recipe for a tennis aficionado.
The seasons prior to 2011 have had their share of great matches(08-Roger Rafa,09-Roger Andy).But the grass now no longer a bastion of the serve volleyers,have produced some of the finest and varied catchup’s in recent times.Pete or Roger,over the last 17 years have whitewashed the lawns & have banished other names from the carvings on the”".Bound to happen,new forces have surged and we are lucky to happen to stand at a crossroad where the mystery of outcome engulfs the sherlock holmes within.In a perfect world of P.G. Wodehouse,Bertie Wooster would be asking the infallible Jeeves of his highly spoken of ‘opinion’ on the matters of the Don of the Grand Slams.

 

‘Jeeves!’
‘Yes Sir!’
‘They are knocking tennis balls at Wimbledon!Eh!’
‘Very good sir!’
‘But Jeeves..’
‘Sir?’
‘There is a thing.’
‘Ofcourse sir!’
‘Bothering me a trifle,if you can understand.’
‘I`ll try as might to do sir.’
‘Who wins this year old egg?’
‘Wins what sir?’
‘The championships! Dash it!!’
‘Oh!that very cup that has so very well fitted the able hands of “blood bereft-ice veined-long locked” Borg and then very fittingly passed to the ‘brat-o-ville’ hero John and then flirted with pistol laden cowboy pete after a brief affair with the blonde german in Becker and almost settled with a “not to be touched-swanlike genius in disguise” Federer and now currently warming the mantelpiece of a “Vamos uttering-short picking-bottle setting-biceps flexing” efficient clay potter?The very same sir?’
‘Yes Jeeves! you blighted soul,the very same.’
‘I wonder sir’
‘Tell me Jeeves!’
‘It can be the Joker of the pack sir.Too often his head has popped in the wanted dead or alive ,tired or fired column of the newspapers in spain.’
‘Hmm,Carry on Jeeves!’
‘The candidature of piston forced serve of a certain Andy Roddick cannot be overlooked.That may very well make the pretty weather a Damp squib for others!!’
‘Very correct Jeeves!That boy missed the glory not many years back,but have missed the tram many years,surely he is another in the pack of the good fellas! very good Jeeves!’
‘Then sir you must excuse me for declaring a “high handed-iron hardened-moth eaten” in short a biased opinion about a certain Roger Federer.”
‘You are Jeeves! You are.’
‘He sir is what you would call as a friend who would give you a tenner even if you have only dreamt about it.Generosity in Excellence is what he lives by and if I may insinuate,you can very well call the house if you like his name’
‘You mean I put my money on his racquet?’
‘Most certainly sir! Most endearingly certainly!However I must caution you coming to your bestest of interest.’
‘And what will that be Jeeves!’
‘About your money sir!’
‘What about it Jeeves?’
‘About you putting it on Federer’
‘But dash it! 4 seconds ago the very same thing I saw and heard escape from your in-between-lips space.’
‘I now include a clause,which I forgot to mention sir!’
‘Clause?’
‘A clause’
‘Which clause?’
‘This clause’
‘I don`t see it Jeeves! You are loosing me’
‘Perils of not being on the circuit sir! believe me,a completely normal condition if you still believe it to be 2007 instead of 2011 sir!’
‘Why I would be in 2007 Jeeves?’
‘Improvisation Sir! An ingenuous explaination of you not noticing the only plausible clause in the house`s favourite federer`s contract to lift the cup as many times as he wants.’
‘You mean.’
‘I mean sir.’
‘Ahhh!’
‘Would there be anything else sir?’
‘No that would be all Jeeves.’
Still raining!!