Googly over goals

I am not sure what first drew me to cricket. It was over eight decades ago, when I was 10 or 12. Perhaps it was a natural leap from gilli-dandu to gully cricket. Perhaps it was the excitement of gathering newspaper clippings featuring Bradman, Hammond, Compton, and Lindwall for our scrapbooks. Or the thrill of live radio commentaries crackling through A F S Talyarkhan’s and A S D’Mello’s voices.

I began playing cricket after joining the Students Gymkhana—a B-league team in the old Mysore State. By my late teens, I was a supporting spinner for my college team, armed with a modest googly. I took a few wickets but did not score many runs, never reaching a fifty. 

In college, I had three close friends: Fazlullah, Benjamin, and Nagaraj Setty. The first two swore by football. Nagaraj and I stood firmly with cricket. We shared everything—except sporting allegiance.

In our final year, we visited Sahyadri College in Shimoga for friendly matches—cricket, football, and table tennis. Unfortunately, we had only ten players each for cricket and football. Fazlullah was persuaded to play cricket; I was convinced to play football.

Fazlullah listened earnestly as I explained how not to hold the bat like an axe. First ball—he swung, missed, overbalanced, and was stumped. He came back looking betrayed.

The next day was my football debut. “Which leg do you kick with?” asked the captain. “Left?” I guessed. “Then you play left out,” he said. I had no clue—he was just being accurate.

As we mingled before kickoff, a Shimoga player asked, “What’s your position?” I replied, “Usually left out of the team.” He smiled and nodded.

From the first whistle to the final one, the match was a flurry of motion. However, two people never touched the ball: the referee and me. 

That settled it. Fazlullah swore off cricket. I never returned to football.

Fast forward 35 years— I was deeply involved in establishing The Valley School in Bengaluru. We had to choose between cricket and football coaching. The children leaned toward cricket; the male teachers preferred football. We invited a football coach named Kichcha to speak. He bounced the ball off his head, chest, knees, and feet—pure showmanship.

“Why do you prefer cricket?” he asked the children.

“Football is too rough,” said one. “Too fast,” said another. “You don’t have to use your brains much,” added a third.

Smiling, Kichcha replied, “Football is the only game where you’re officially allowed to use your head.” The room erupted in laughter.

In the early 2000s, even my three-year-old granddaughter joined the craze. She mimicked cricket umpires and later cheered for her father’s football team with equal passion.

And me? I still have not made up
my mind. But between being stumped and left out, I think cricket just bowled me over.