1983 was technically my first one. We won. Kapil's devils. Beginner's luck they scoffed. Not an iota of comprehension in my teeny weeny 18 month-old skull. Something was born for real that fateful day in India. Through the country-side she spread, through the slums she weaved, finding her place in the prayers of a nation. A state religion was established. Cricket was her name. Never before had so many been united by something as trivial as a game. Game??!! Sacrilege! Blasphemy!
1987 and the World Cup came to the sub-continent. That region of land where any strip is considered adequate to start a game of cricket. Bring it on they cried. Unison. I started knowing. Sat on my daddy's lap. Pretended to enjoy myself. Watched big mean fast bowlers deliver jaffas that threatened much more than a batsman's wicket. Saw batsmen hit balls into windshields of parked cars outside stadiums. I applauded when everyone else did. I jumped around like a scalded cat when people showed joy. Cheering toy.
1992 down-under she went. Oz and Kiwi. Pajama World Cup. Colored clothing with white balls. Played under gigantic floodlights. I was ready. I knew all their names. All their averages. What they liked to eat, where they liked to holiday, what their children were called. It was like I was there. Up at never-before-woken times. Feigned a new illness everyday. Missed tons of school. Watched my team do poorly. Grieved. The neighbors took the cup. Pain. Scar.
1996 and it was back in my yard. I was a veteran now. Offered unsolicited opinion. Advice. There was an official bubble gum. The commerce had walked in. Stayed. Cricket was money. Cash. The end of the rainbow had been located. Pillaged. All went well. Remember Bangalore and Venky Prasad. Till Eden Gardens. We cried the collective tear as a nation. Never again said we. What's the point we rationalized.
1999 and home went the cup. We were back. Cloudy, damp England. Most boring of all time IMHO. Zim did us. We fought back. Partially. Australia took it. Easy. Candy from a baby. Sorry bodies returned. Never again said we. Again.
2003 and the Cape of Good Hope. Surely this time. First cup as a college bum. The final. Bees saal baad screamed the dailies. The demographic went crazy. The housewives were convinced.
A walloping of the greatest magnitude. A clobbering of our self-esteem. We didn't say never again. But we felt it.
2007 and the cup went maan. Rum, calypso, beaches. We will win. Our time has surely come. Logic. Our young neighbors taught us a few. Love thy. The league phase was enough to dash a billion hopes. Never again said we. This time in writing.
We will be back in 2011. You, me and the neighbors. Befuddling. The cup though is dry.
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