Give me those sea gulls
I long to wake up at 4.30 am to listen to some crisp commentary.
This is certainly not the best of times to talk about Test cricket, considering all the hype and hoopla over two cricketing jamborees back to back. First, the World Cup, and now the T-20. But, it is precisely at such times that I begin to yearn for the beauty of Test cricket. The sound of the middle of the bat making contact with the red ball, the white flannels, the unhurried gaits of the fielders, and the long strolls in the middle that the batsmen take, with a little bit of gardening, poking and prodding the wicket, to see if it will turn on Day Four.
It is at such times that a certain Steve Waugh, with a red handkerchief peeping out of his pocket, comes to mind. His dogged determination, and his twin’s fluid strokes, the other Waugh, Mark. The stylish Brian Lara, too, and a typical away-test for India at West Indies, with the Calypso rhythms, and the rastafarians in the stands, come to mind. And the knowledgeable Tony Cozier’s commentary that can lull you into sleep, especially because if you are in India, you’ll be catching the action at an unearthly hour. But, the fans, the colourful supporters, among them, an iconic one who was known to sprinkle some voodoo concoction on the ground, to act as a curse on visiting teams!
If it’s Australia, the sea gulls, all taking flight, when a caressed cover-drive goes their way and in the stands families picnicking on a hillock. And Richie Benaud, with his shsss.
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I remember tweaking the famed Australian victory poem:
Under the Southern Cross I stand/With a sprig of wattle in my hand/A native of my native land/Australia you little beauty to read: Under the Southern Stand I sit/With a sprig of lotus in my hand/A native of my native land/Azza, you wristy beauty, during the Australian tour of India (1998). It’s another matter that the moment I put up that banner, Azza got out. And Australia eventually won that Bangalore Test.
My mind also goes back to that unbelievable summer of ’96. At Lords, when three youngsters made their Test debuts. Sourav Ganguly made his century, Rahul Dravid just missed his by a paltry five runs and Venkatesh Prasad scalped a fiver.
My romance with Test cricket hasn’t ended. I long to wake up at 4.30 am to listen to some crisp commentary and watch men in whites battle it out for five days to decide who wins. Sometimes, no one does, but who gives a damn?
