Have you ever seen the rain

“I am a brain , Watson. Everything else about me is vestigial and serves only to feed my brain.” – the incomparable Sherlock Holmes

Oh to be Holmes : to dwell in the uninhibited ecstasy of the glorious intellect , to be rid forever of that mansbane passion called emotion, to bind the truant heart in bonds of cold hard, logic and unemotive , calculated reason.
On a time , not so long ago , you deemed humans of all manner miserable : intellectually retarded and emotionally wretched. Yet , you could never stave the ‘human’ yoke off yourself. For all your chest thumping claims of misanthropy , your roots remained firmly entrenched within the same emotions you so loathed. Into every hurdle life had perchance strewn across your path , you stumbled haplessly ; and emerged irrevocably scarred yet none the wiser. Thereupon , true to your kind, you took to chiding life , the people and all else around you that the warped mind could conceptualise.

Yesterday, and days before, The sun is cold and rain is hard,I know; been that way for all my time.Till forever, on it goes,
Through the circle, fast and slow,I know; it cant stop, I wonder

Yet it never occurred to you that mayhap there was nothing wrong with the paths that you trod , or those that strode alongside you. Perhaps those paths were never meant for you. Since the time you held converse with your own reason , the one thing that struck you was how your paths always seemed sundered from those around you. Be it the family, friends or the ‘so called gods’ , your lot has always been aboard the ‘lonesome train’.
It is something you were always at peace with , indeed something you were proud off.
Ever the calvin-child , enconsed comfortably in the flights of your limitless fantasy.
Why then should you seek for the fruits that await the end of the journey more often undertaken , when you have it not within you to bear the toil or the briars on the road. When the landscape seems irksome to you , why do you expect a restful bed at the eve.
Matters of the primitive limbic centres were never meant for you. Your cortex has served you well till now, and will be with you when aught else has deserted and fled. Holmes is more fitting to your kind , not even the hewer of the caves and certainly not the one-handed vagabond.
So , my boy…keep your reason to yourself , let the mind do the thinking . The other organ was never the strongest part of you in any case , horribly fickle and disastrously treacherous. Bind it hard and true and heed not its poisoned whispers and you shall do well.

The Gentlemen of the Game

So , you have it all over again. The loudmouths crying out loud, whatever happened to the gentleman’s game. Racism and sledging, gamesmanship and poor spirit – Sydney provided us with dollops of one of the more unsavoury moments of the glorious history of the sport. The mind immediately casts back to none other than the Battle of Adelaide , 1932, the third test of the infamous bodyline series , more appropriately nicknamed ‘The Ugliest Test’. The tales which came out from there have endured into cricketing folklore…notably Jardine’s “Well bowled , Harold” after Larwood struck his opposite captain Bill Woodfull over the heart….and not to forget Woodfull’s retort to the English Manager , Sir Pelham Warner , “There are 2 teams out there on the field , one is playing cricket and the other isn’t”.
Many other instances come to the mind , where ugliness overtook spirit and victory was deemed as important than honour itself. However I prefer to think of the glorious instances ( by far the more superior in terms of sheer numbers) where cricket appropriately earned itself the sobriquet of being a gentleman’s game.
What better way to start than from the bodyline series itself. For all of the animosity Jardine’s troops faced, 2 englishmen stood out for their steadfastness and commitment to the honour of the sport. Iftikar Ali Khan Pataudi , who after scoring a century in the first test, took ship back home midway through the series, so disappointed was he in his captain’s battle plan; and Gubby Allen, the English fast bowler who refused to bowl bodyline throughout the series and such was the force of his character that even the indomitable Jardine could not drop him to a drinks man.
How about Gary Sobers winning the toss against Ajit Wadekar, and conceding the same to the latter who claimed to have won it himself , without even hinting at a re-toss…that too one-nil down in the series , if you please. Gundappa Vishwanath’s recalling of a dismissed Bob Taylor at the jubilee test in Bombay is part of folklore, as is Courtney Walsh’s refusing to run out Salim Jaffer in the last over of the world cup match in 1986…..which resulted in a loss for the Windies and their being bundled out of the tournament.

The ever-ready modern day doomsday predictors just need reminding themselves of one of the most poignant scenes in recent cricketing history. Andrew Flintoff dismissing Micheal Kasprowicz to win the 2nd ashes test of the 2005 series and helping England draw level at the expense of Brett Lee’s heroic rearguard resistance. While the rest of the poms were going cock a hoop on the field , Freddie’s first reaction was to turn and put his arm around a disconsolate Lee down on his haunches. Such are the sights that still make the eyes brim over on a sports field.

Innumerable other instances come to mind of the true gentlemen of the game…Victor Trumper scoring a double century with a bat offered to him by an expectant young fan (just for the record, the shoulder of the bat broke when he was on 90 , but Victor refused a replacement).
However the story that is closest to my heart is one from the legendary English batsman Jack Hobbs. Having been clearly bowled but ruled not out as the umpire was unsighted and unsure whether the ball had rebounded of the keeper’s gloves , the dismay of the fielding team was palpable (who can blame them , when Hobbs was batting). A completely mystified Hobbs (such was his concentration that he was totally ignorant of the events around him) turned around and enquired politely of the keeper , “Pray , what’s the fuss all about?”. The keeper in all his modesty replied to the great man, “You’ve just been bowled sir, but the umpire hasn’t given you out.”
“In that case,” replied Hobbs , in a typically unplussed manner , “I guess I had better be going” and casually as ever, walked back to the pavilion.
….ah, we survived Bodyline ….Sydney is a mere blimp on the surface…but the game belongs to the Trumpers and the Hobbs’ and the Vishwanaths. Just for the record, the gentlemen never ever vacated the building.