That 100th

That elusive ton. Does it even matter if or when he gets it? The "If" is hypothetical, for get it he will. Maybe not at Eden, maybe not at Wankhede, maybe not even at Melbourne. Get it he will - in due course of time.

But for a moment - lets indulge our bits pessimism and consider the thought that he does not in fact get there and remains stranded at 99 tons. Given the form he is in, given how sweetly he has been timing the ball, given the beauty with which he has been playing his drives - there seems no doubt that he will keep scoring runs. And like at the Kotla - his runs will contribute to wins. He might get run down by the pressure of expecting the 100th, might get out in the 90s or even before as he starts chasing a landmark that weighs on his mind.

But if in all this melee - he fails to convert his form into a ton - will it really matter? 33K international runs. 200 international wickets. 22 years of batting at the top of the pile. 1 world cup. A ODI double ton. When time passes by and we remember - will we even remember if he got his 100th?

We will remember the moments. The sandstorm, the thwack over thirdman off Shoaib, The hook off Glenn McGrath at Nairobi, A pristine balanced cover drive, Being lifted on their shoulders by his young teammates, the wincing in pain but cruelly falling short 136, the massacre of Olonga, the disintegration of Warne.

His greatness - in numbers or more importantly in our minds - will not be enhanced by yet another ton. It wont diminish if he does not get there.

Lets just let him be. For sure he knows more about cricket than us fans put together. The 100th will happen, hopefully a 300 will materialise along the way - but the last thing we need to do is pile on the pressure for a landmark that will be good to have but mean nothing. In the meantime, while he takes his own sweet time in getting there - lets just enjoy the fact that we have a freak opener who can churn out runs in the blink of an eye, a number 3 who - if it were not for the chronological fact of existing in the same era of the God - would have been celebrated even more, a number 5 who is so elegant that its a dream to watch. Lets just celebrate the fact that when our no.3 and 4 bat out together in the centre - we are blessed to see 57K international runs out there in the centre.

The milestones will begotten on the journey, lets lay off the pressure to make the milestones the journey.

World Cup Champions

There was this comic on Cricinfo that talked about everlasting images from every World Cup. For me there are everlasting memories from each World Cup. Some of them great - ones i will savor for ever, some I wont savor and yet can't forget.

1996 will always be about Kambli crying and walking off after he had seen Jayasuria turn the ball square and get out the Indian team leading the rowdy Eden crowd to do their best rowdy act.

1999 will be about the Olonga induced collapse against Zimbabwe and then Sachin's return with a century dedicated to his late father

2003 will always be the first over bowled by Zaheer and that brief interlude when it rained during our chase - when for a moment hope lived that we would replay it again and get another shot.

2007 will only be that ugly crouch Sachin got out to playing Dilhara Fernando - the stumps being rattled and even the most optimistic of my hopes dying out in Dubai.

2011 was all about setting things straight. It was not only about winning it for Sachin, it was not just about winning a World Cup after 28 years - it was about proving to the world that we were the best cricketing unit there was in the world.

2011 was about exorcising the ghosts of 2007 - Several of the team members had survived that shock and for them it was about setting things right. 2007 was not a fair assessment of the team's potential and that could only be proved by winning the World Cup.

2011 above anything else was to exhibit that this team - this Indian team - was the toughest team there was in the World. Their rise to the top of rankings was not an accident but a result brought about by a set of individuals who refused to believe they could lose, who refused to see any writings on any wall and would fight to the very end.

And inevitably - this leads to a series of images and memories that I will cherish from this World Cup.

The first sign that we would win this world cup - or rather that we had it in us to face 3 knockouts and still stand tall - came not in a victory but in fact in the only loss we faced. Against South Africa - we had no business collapsing to 297 but more than that we had no business coming anywhere close to defending it against the batting of South Africa on a flat track. And yet that day the intensity was back. The bowlers were fired up, the fielders could do almost no wrong and we dragged it to a even stevens last over - which was ruined. But that happens and the fight and intensity shown by India was a sign of things to come.

Every match post that - it seemed at a stage we were out of every match we played. West Indies looked good to chase down our total - Zak brought us back in before everyone else went for the kill. The Australians snared 5 wickets - Yuvraj and Raina stared them down and refused to give up - to win it for us in an eventual canter

And Pakistan - when we looked set for 300, we started looking at 225 - when we were looking 225 - Raina took us to 260 - leaving enough for a fired up Indian attack to take us through. One of my most endearing memories will be the sight of a charged up Munaf Patel after bowling out Abdul Razzaq. You know a team is giving it everything i can when somebody as nonchalant and unenthusiastic as Munaf gets fired up like that. And yet again - it was that refusal to give up, the obstinate refusal to lose that took us through.

Man to man - with our bowling and fielding - our team does not stand up as the best in the world. Factor in attitude and the will to win, the belief to pull it off from any situation - and you have a champion team. Not champions who dominate from start to end, but champions who figure out a way to win by sheer force of will.

So even in a high pressure World Cup final at home , chasing 275 instead of the 240 that seemed more likely at 31/2 - there was every reason to back India to win. If Sehwag and Sachin fell, Virat, Gautam and Dhoni stood up. Just like in the matches gone past, somebody put their hands up, just like Ishant discovered he could be a defensive batting hero against Australia in tests - there always was someone who trusted and backed himself to bail the team out.

The enduring memory of the match - Dhoni almost boxing the wind out of Gambhir when he hi fived him. And the final 6 - complete with stone faced composure and stylish twirling of the bat.

We won - because we deserved to. We won - because we never believed any other result was possible. We won - because we refused to give in - at any stage in any match.

April 02, 2011 - Indian Cricket Team - Thank you! This is only the beginning.

Living the World Cup: Part2

The first World Cup I remember seeing live on a TV was the 1996 World Cup. I might have watched the 1983 and 1987 Cups but I have no recollection of them. The 1992 era was in a phase where I would have remembered matches if I had seen them but this was the era when cable TV had just about made its way in and we had not taken cable TV back then.

The memory I cherish the most from that World Cup - not difficult to guess at all - is the India Pakistan match at Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bangalore. Having watched the India - England close tussle to desperately lose a match - played yet again from the Chinnaswamy was easily enough to bring back those memories.

Watching a good match then equated to sitting in front of the TV right from the start, ensure that there was enough Pepsi stocked in the fridge and settle down in for a nice long haul. That day the match started slowly, Sidhu and Sachin had a partnership and we trudged along towards a barely enough kind of score. Waqar was bowling missiles that day and had some obscenely good figures of 8 overs for 19 runs. Till Ajay Jadeja made his way to the pitch and played a knock that made him a legend. He launched into Waqar like no one else had that day and bludgeoned 40 odd runs off 19 balls. My voice decibels that had been lowish through the match, had suddenly found their way up. My cousin who had come over to watch the Indian inning with me - had dozed off while the match had meandered was woken up by those loud decibels and together we watched as Jadeja charged and pummeled Waqar and took us to a really comfortable 287. The win then was guaranteed right! Who chases 287 in 1996?

But this was not one of those days that I could settle down - sip my pepsi and watch the action unfold. There was some birthday party to attend in Khar. A social function - very insensitively scheduled to collide with a INDIA - PAKISTAN match. No that doesnt do justice to the occassion. IT WAS A INDIA - PAKISTAN WORLD CUP match and one had to attend a birthday. Oh well - sometimes you have to do the things that build character.

So i set off - put on my red jacket (In hindsight it was an atrocious colour - but for a class 8 me - it seemed fashionable. Why would I wear a jacket for a birthday party you ask? When one buys a jacket at that age for a cousin's wedding - the number of occasions it can be used are really numbered and every possible opportunity to strut that stuff is essential.) But I digress.

So - red jacket on - a transistor in the left pocket of that very red jacket - I set off for the party - the commentary my constant companion on the journey. The commentators even in those days used to have "Aur yeh laga Dabur Laal Dant Manjan Chauka" Unfortunately that line repeated it self several times as Anwar and Sohail made mincemeat of Prasad and Srinath.

Luckily I was not the only one at the party who was outraged that this was on while an important match was being played. And one of the elders there expressed his protest by getting with him a portable TV - which showed the match. It might now explain why while I remember all these details, I have no recollection of whose birthday party it was - as for most part of the party I was tagging along with the TV dude - watching the action. And when Sohail prodded Prasad and taunted him, Prasad bowled the most outstanding, the most awesome, the most effective rubbish-begging-to-be-hit-for-a-six ball that Sohail managed to cut on to his stumps and letting poor placid Prasad erupt with a string of expletives and the most wonderful usage of the 4 letter word I have seen yet.

Prasad became an instant hero. Mind you we were school kids at a stage where we were just about expanding our vocabulary and for him to stick it up to Sohail in such a way was a huge impact on our impressionable minds.

That moment turned the match around and we won an exciting match.

Fifteen years on - I had set out to my friends' place to watch the match with them. Having set out a little late - I was yet again on the road, missing out on the first 5 overs of play. This time though there was no transistor - GPRS on the phone had taken its place and I was kept updated of the score.

No longer was Pepsi an essential element in watching the match. No it was replaced by pints of beer. The match kept getting exciting - the decibel levels kept rising as Sachin bludgeoned Swann Black and blue (see how I tried a cheesy little pun there?). 338 on the board - cool this was going to be enough. Then Strauss decided to have our bowlers for supper and the intensity kept drooping, decibel levels low. Till Zak came back and restored the voice back to my throat.

Only to be denied by Piyush at the end. But Chinnaswamy had kept its date with exciting matches and given me yet another match to savor and enjoy. Clearly the more things change, the more they remain the same!

Living the World Cup

It was March of 2007 and I had landed in Dubai for my international training stint. The chauffeured car had driven me to the hotel room and it was fabulous - a bedroom, a kitchenette and a nice living room. The bedroom had a nice flat screen TV, the living room had one of those long swivel chairs that you could lie down on and watch another flat screen TV. It was indeed super comfortable. But the World Cup was soon coming - the first thought to mind was "WOW - lying on this chair and watching the matches! Man am I in for some fun or what?!"

Switching on the TV and a quick scan told me that the channel which would telecast the live cricket was not available. Another quick phonecall to the reception told me that they were not about to telecast that channel either. Needless to say the joy quickly turned to consternation. I tried to think up several options - get internet - watch streaming video - too expensive. Ask hotel to buy the channel - flat refusal. And finally there was only one way out - make my way to a bar - sit there, glug a couple of drinks and watch the matches. After all it was the World Cup and there was no way I was missing that!

It was then with great hope and excitement that I made my way to the closest bar that telecast the match - Double Decker. It was a fantastic sports bar - a large screen for live action and several small flat screens to watch the action. Of all these - there were only 2 TVs with the cricket. The rest had live Rugby. Nevertheless I made my way to one of the two cricket TVs and settled down to watch the first match India had to play. Bangladesh - this was going to be a breeze right? The menu arrived and the prices were prohibitive - I got myself a beer and decided to nurse it through the inning. The beer nursed me through the collapse. 190 odd and indeed we were in trouble.

It was time for dinner though - remember the prohibitive prices I spoke about? Yeah those prices meant that taking a cab to a cheaper restaurant and getting back to Double Decker was a cheaper option than having dinner at Double Decker. So I made my way in a cab. Cabs in Dubai are driven by South Asians almost as a rule. It was a Pakistani driver - the radio on - listening to Pakistan lose their second match in a row and bow out of the Cup. He promised me India would lose against Bangladesh and get out of the cup. In all my infinite optimism I laughed him off and went to the bar - hoping to see a stirring Indian bowling fight back. It wasnt to be.

I was still confident we would not bow down. Not this team. We would crush Bermuda and beat Sri Lanka and make it to the super 8s. Double Decker was still my partner in crime as I saw my team rack up 413 against the hapless Bermudians. When Dravid and Sachin walked off - they had a emotional mini-hug signifying just how much it meant to them to fight back and make the next round.

We were to play Sri Lanka - I was sure we would win. ANd this time I wouldnt watch it at Double Decker which had no Indians or Cricket followers to enjoy the game with. No this time I was off to Karama - the Indian section of Dubai, at an Indian run hotel where I could follow the match and cheer with fellow Indians. All i remember of that game is our weak capitulation, the image of Sachin's ugly crouch to that delivery from Dilhara Fernando cant be wiped out.

Today was part.1 of the payback process. I lay down in front of my TV - the sound routed through the surround sound music system. No compulsion to buy drinks I couldnt afford. No need to go hunting for cheap food. I was home and India was thumping Bangladesh. Vengeance was to be had and was.

The Indian team paid back today for one bad day in Double Decker in Dubai. Nothing short of winning this edition will pay for the second bad day against Sri Lanka in Dubai. The start is promising. Its the World Cup after all

Second Chances ?

He was at the crossroads with the decision looming large. He could possibly not put it off any more. The choice had to be made. Would he follow his dream and go for the glory - to play cricket at the highest possible level - or would he take the other route and fade away into the sunset?

To be fair to him - he had taken his shot at international cricket. He even got a look-in, made an earnest effort but had failed to impress the selectors, who having taken a look at him had done what seemed like the right decision for them - dropped him. He had made half-hearted attempts to get back into the team but the selectors were too wise to let that happen.

And yet - he dreamed. Playing international cricket with this particular Indian team was the dream for him. It seemed unattainable, it seemed glorious, it seemed fulfilling, it seemed unreachable. Just like dreams should be. And yet while he had never yet realised that dream, he had seen others do it. Some were prodigiously more talented than him but some were simply more confident and had waltzed ahead to play.

He could basis his past failures and the lack of interest evinced by the selectors - give it up and take the lesser road. But some dreams were too precious to let go that easily, to let go without a full heart felt attempt at making it through. Failure might still be the most likely result and perhaps the selectors would still not be impressed and yet he might rest easier knowing his best was not enough. And that he had done all he could but the dream was just that - a dream!

To take a shot at his dream - it would mean that he would have to take risks. The risk of making a fool of himself, the risk of failing and the risk of feeling bummed. But sometimes in the long term - those risks might just be worth it.

He sat on, staring at the vacant space in front of him - his mind not yet made, pondering the crossroads, watching the time slip away. He needed to decide. What would you do if you were him?

Old Fashioned ?

Cell phone companies probably have a different profit booking code for festivals and new year what with the mass smsing that happens. And on those days sms inboxes are full to the brim with the warm wishes of many well wishers

But somehow I have found this mass forwarding to be extremely impersonal and insincere. Festivals and the like were meant to meet up with friends and relatives and wish each other. The wishing is only an excuse for catching up and chatting up. And when meetings in person were not possible - the phone stood in to facilitate the 'catching-up'

The phone with the advent of mobile phone has been replaced by the sms. And the art of mass forwarding.

The whole process - the whole premise - was based on personal touch. And technology has probably thrown us away from that into a space that is largely impersonal.

I hate receiving messages on festivals which are mass-forwards and typically I do not reply to them. I reply only to messages which are clearly meant only for me and are not part of a blind forward all. And while even I have been lost to speaking to people on festivals - I do follow a strict policy while smsing greetings to people. I detest simply forwarding mass smses and hence if i do sms - i only allow it if each message has been personalised with the recepient's name. Long process but frankly worth the satisfaction.

Similarly on birthdays - I refrain from wishing people on FB. If a friend is/was close enough at some point of time - FB just doesnt cut it. There has to be a phone call. If there isn't - you aren't close enough. And ofcourse I dont put up Birthday reminders on Facebook. Friends are supposed to remember.

Yeah - i guess I am old fashioned. Whats your story?

Conclusive Proof

The reporters of news of the world had smug grins on their faces. They had after all established beyond all doubt that the Indians had been fixing matches for some time now.

More so it was the English and Australian boards that were more pleased with the revelations. Life was much simpler when you could blame the indian board for everything. The Pakistan board blame game was too lame - too easy plus it did not have the added advantage of pointing fingers at the money bag bullies.

What then was this conclusive proof? Was it video? Was it a sting? Was it substantiated? Was it hearsay?

No - it did not need a sting - it just needed the greedy indian players and the indian board to come out to make money at the CL T20 to reach this irrefutable conclusion.

Anil Kumble and MS Dhoni - the last two test captains of India were on air promoting the champions league. And both of them were saying just one thing "ab hoga asli muqabla"

The smart journalists had jumped on to the usage of "ab" and "asli muqabla" - it was now that a real competition would happen. Clearly betraying the fact that all matches before this were 'nakli' or fake meaning FIXED!

Suresh Kalmadi was glad that there was something now to divert attention from him especially since the cabinet minister for cricketing affairs - Sharad Pawar was laughing at him.

Sharad Pawar and the cricketers were not available for comment while Ijaz Butt could not reply since he was in the middle of a crazy celebratory dance!


An attempt at faking news.

The fear of failure

The one reason at the forefront for the yawning gap that exists between potential and performance has to be the fear of failure. The "What if this doesnt come off" probably ensures a lot of things that die out even before they are born. Because fear leads to doubt leads to tentativeness leads to failure.

How often - even in cricket (what else did you think this blog would draw parallels with?) - have we seen a fast bowler come charging down in a scenario with nothing to lose and give it his very best. A team batting first bowled out for 130 odd leaving very little chance for a victory - comes out knowing that while fielding there is nothing to be lost. And that liberation leads to the best coming out. The pacemen going all out - no one to block the boundaries - the fielders all in menacing attacking positions eager to snap up any chance that comes their way. Because there is no use in moping about the poor first inning now (the media will do it anyway) and hence seek whatever little joy they can bring their way with a spirited performance.

Sehwag has to be the best proponent of having no fear of failure (esp in test matches). He lives the moment - that particular ball. It never matters whether hitting this particular ball for what he believes it deserves causes a slide for the team. Or that foregoing the boundary here might set up the bowler to concede six later. He wants to cross those bridges when he comes to them and hence doesnt hesitate ever to make the most. The fear never exists because he has made his peace with the effort being worth it anyway

But it is perhaps this very fear of failure and the lack thereof that causes champions to fall to underdogs and for a bunch of no hopers to put one past the champions.

Logic and strength on paper would always mandate a champion victory. But then logic never accounted for the power that liberation from the fear of failure brings in. And ofcourse no body can ever account for spirit. Couple the two and you potentially have a bunch of impossible to explain results right on your hands. Why spot fix when the ROI on any betting would be infinite if only liberation and spirit were to be mixed.

As for me - i seek that liberation.

The Conspiracy

It was a grim time and shock was writ large on everyone's faces. How well they had acted all this while. Who would have ever thought? That it wasnt the usual suspect but them all along. But soon the shock and outrage would turn into gratitude. Not towards the criminals or the innocent usual suspect but to News of the World who brought out yet another dirty conspiracy.

Saturday and Sunday - the most loved of all days - the days every one welcomed with such joy and anticipation. The fun days! The best days! Oh why do they ever end! Such love everyone had for both of them. They had been exposed - for so long they had stooped so low and built up this image of greatness for themselves.

They werent nice - they were infact the S-Gang - much feared in Daykistan - all the other days save perhaps Friday were completely scared of them. They used all the leverage possible to make the others toe their line. What the S-Gang said was law. The S-word was obeyed by the others without protest. Except for that pesky Friday.

Investigations revealed that Monday was not a bad guy at all - he never meant anyone any harm. But the leverage the S-gang had over him and his poor family meant he had to go their bidding. They set him up as the worst guy - the one day that would be the worst right after S-gang had come in and done their 'we are the nice guys' routine. They made sure Monday had character - that Murphy would star only on a Monday and never else. That Monday would inevitably bring with him loads of work at office. That Monday would have broken chappals and traffic jams in unexpected places. That Monday would be the day you would sigh wistfully and long for those rascals Saturday and Sunday.

They ensured Mondays were so bad that in contrast even an ordinary performance from them during their showtime would be lapped up by the adoring masses gratefully and willingly.

The others just had to carry on what Monday started - they lacked the flair Monday had - he might be good at heart but a born actor he was too - but the damage he did at the top of the order was enough to sustain the supporting acts of the rest.

Except Friday. The one guy who really did his job truthfully. The one who signified the end of the dreary work week (keep in mind the S-gang had their role to play in making it dreary). He had principles. He had a backbone. He always made attempts to ensure that things wrapped up early with him around. He never liked those formal clothes and ensured on his day you could be yourself. Comfortable.

And he was popular - why wouldnt he be with all that he did! The S-gang was jealous. He was their immediate past and they did not hold much leverage on him. All they could do was stop him from ratting on them but never could they get him to do a Monday and make them look good. He was a star in his own right.

They started smear campaigns against him. Who do you think came up with the concept of 'Friday the 13th'? 'Black Friday' 'Freaky Friday' - Oh they did all they could to bring him down - to make him unpopular. But they couldnt succeed.

Today as their true colours were exposed - they stood there jealous of the one guy who stood up to them and would take the witness stand today in the expose by News of the World.

*Working on a Saturday can do strange things to the mind. Pakistan Cricketers can be inspiring in their own way too

If and Sachin

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

The World Cup 2007 was perhaps the biggest disaster India had been to. Starting as some sort of favourites - it ended a dream. Sachin himself got out to a ugly posture crouching as his stumps lay dismantled. The blame game had begun with doubts on Tendulkar's future, a noise created on his 'waning reflexes and skills'. It was the time for 'Endulkar' and Manjrekarian opinions to rear up their head. Guru Greg chose to absolve himself of all blame for the debacle and lay it firmly on the team's shoulders - even pointing fingers at Sachin. Sach meanwhile quietly made his protest known and got back to doing what he does best - play cricket

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

There was a phase when Sachin would play not like the old himself - not the ravaging genius - but more a seasoned statesman. Not going for those lofted shots but for those nudges that would get the singles. Scoring effectively and doing what the team needed. And then hear people whisper - He isnt himself these days. He must Retire. Yet to win the Man of the Match award and announce to the world that he alone knew his game and what he was doing, it was fine to compare this to his old self but he would play as he chose not the way his 'fans' demanded.

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

And that phase when he traded his big shots and domination for percentage cricket and maybe to an extent chose to let the sheen dim off a little, letting himself be deemed mortal - when he took hits on the body on that England tour to keep playing for a country needed him to be there. Or when he chose to play a full inning of 241* without once falling to the temptation of the off side drive. When he believed that he could look ugly, could let his shine dim because in the end it was all for a larger cause - a team getting a gritty middle order batsman who was up for a scrap even if not beautiful.

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

As a kid - taken by his brother for coaching with Ramakant Achrekar. To sacrifice his education to follow a dream to play cricket. To play and practice till he was tired. To proclaim to the world that all he wanted to do was play cricket for India. And to do that more successfully than anyone else and then when that dream was achieved, to change the dream to play for India as long as possible and keep achieving that with the mischeivious enthusiasm of a 16 year old.

If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

The equanimity with which he accepts both accolades and criticism - to have the grace to smile and say that in a long journey, you get stones thrown at you - you simply convert them to milestones. To accept the pain of seeing a masterful 136 in Chennai go waste only to come back there years later and hit another masterful 103* to seal a win. To see 175 of his best get wasted by a bat not grounded but to come back and non-chalantly score 200* and then have the humility to simply raise his arms and dedicate it to a nation of adoring fans.


If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;

To play like no one ever has in a WC, to hit the fastest bowler out of the attack - to take the team to the finals and then fail in the finals chasing a mountain. But to have gumption enough to fail in another edition and still be determined to come back and claim what should have been rightfully his. And then start playing again better than ever before - with a consistency that mortals will only dream off. To have the critics who wrote him off , lineup yet again to praise him AND for Sachin to be unaffected by either reaction

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

To be 37 in a game of youngsters, to have played for 20 long years and show no sign of tiring. To carry on for what can be nothing but sheer love of the game. To outdo oneself for others were left gasping for breath way behind. To have a host of youngsters wishing that they could be a third of his brilliance and yet outlive the careers of those who idolised him.

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

Humility is an hallmark that has been true through his career - whether in form or out of it. Whether it was the time when he signed multi million deals or when he was booed at the Wankhede. When he accepted the Rajiv Gandhi Khel Ratna or when he was out for 4 in the WC finals. When he hit his 200 or when he had to read the prophets of doom attempting to push him out of the team.

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

For 20 years of outstanding sportsmanship, unparalleled batting, unquenchable thirst for the game. For being the game's greatest idol and its greatest worshipper. For taking us to places we never imagined. For fulfilling our repressed dreams - for making India dream. For being the impeccable role-model we all looked upto - in the days of Tigers. For being the man for whom the earth awaits! Thank you Sir!


The poem is 'If' by Rudyard Kipling. If only he knew how that he was predicting Sachin Tendulkar's career when he wrote it.