In Reverence of Heroes....

The Beijing Olympics has reaffirmed my rapidly dwindling faith (for the moment, at least) in human endeavour. Throughout our lives, indeed in the entire motley comedy that is human civilization, if there has been one constant , its been the desire to look up to heroes. To have faith in a seemingly indestructible , immutable force that can never be expected to falter….One who shall deliver the goods against a lifetime of odds.
(Perhaps one of the reasons why the concept of GOD is such a successful meme in human society…a virus that feeds of the insatiable human need for a deity to adulate.)
So, from Achilles to Einstein….from Jesus Christ to John Lennon, we have had over the course of history people, who at their zenith have held the rapt attention of massive sections of the crowd; awing all and sundry with the enormity of their deeds.
Alas , in the modern age of cynicism , suffocating ingenuity and overbearing in your face theatricality, such heroes are all to few and sparse.
All the modern day icons (or the so-called ones)….. are but paper statuettes….raised onto an exalted pedestal in a solitary sundown…..and ripped to shreds within a tenth of that time.

Our political figures…… uninspiring and untrustworthy
Writers….. Unimaginative
Media…..well , villainous.
Musicians and Poets….. long dead.
Thinkers…… ah , kidding…. One is not meant to think for oneself these days, is One?
Amidst such stifling mediocrity….it is only the sportsmen and their deeds of surpassing physical endeavour that really ignite passion.
Agreed… the Saidar of sport has been tainted by the oily murk of match fixing and doping…..there has been in recent times a visible decline in sporting achievement……The Tour was a sham….and the hitherto invincible Federer had his heel cruelly pierced by the unerring forehands of a Spaniard in overtight shorts and sleeveless T-Shirts. (For all the Rafa fans , I can only say…that to a Roman…Hannibal will hardly appear a hero.)
I was honestly not too enthusiastic about the Games……never perhaps has my judgment about sport been so drastically wrong….and, boy…am I glad about it.
A marfanoid American with an albatross arm span jumped into the pool….and emerged the greatest Olympian of all time. Opinions will vary and the likes of Nurmi , Zatopek , Owens, Nadia , Lewis…not to mention Spitz , will all feature in the debate. Whatever may be the outcome , the exploits of Phelps provided a welcome throwback to the age of heroes and that of legends ( albeit with a little help , most notably from the admirable Jason Lezack). It was sheer poetry….reminded me of the Rohirrim at cockcrow, on the field of Pelennor….
“ and then all the host burst into song and they sang as they slew for the joy of battle was upon them.”
(There’s something about the name Michael you know…..just consider the sheer number of true sporting Gods who’ve borne it…….Jordan , Schumacher , Johnson and now Phelps.)
If Phelps created a symphony in the pool, a lanky Jamaican caused a bloodbath on the sprint track. The Bird Nest stadium in Beijing provided the a suitable setting – a throwback to the Collosseum of Rome . and in stepped the mighty gladiator Usain Bolt , and simply annihilated and outrightly humiliated all opposition in a manner that scarce will have been witnessed in the history of the Olymics. (I have not seen Jesse Owens at Berlin ’36 , but I doubt even the Ebony Express could have afforded to slow down over the last 10 m , running almost sideways, arms raised in celebration.)

It was not merely the historic treble of the 100m, 200m and 4x 100 m relay in world record times , but so dominant was Bolt , that the all the opposition admitted an utter helplessness in being able to match his times were he too keep up form and fitness.
These games more than any other in recent memory, have celebrated human endeavour. Citius , Altius , Fortus ….. was never more applicable. In the likes of Bolt and Phelps , we have heroes to compare with any age from the past.
….and what with a certain ‘striped’ American staging a quiet recovery from knee surgery, there’s hope for the world yet.

Viva la Tour....Memories of Lance

So, it begins again…the most grueling physical endeavour known to man. The 21 day sensational journey through the idyllic plains and the breathtaking yet unforgiving mountains of Europe.
The Tour de France is one of the pinnacles of human endeavour. The race where the sinews are fed by the will , blood is replaced in the veins by sweat…..the race where heroes are destroyed , lesser mortals engulfed by the treacherous slopes of the Alps and Pyrenees….the race where legends are born whose names endure when the memory of aught else has faded irrevocable even from the memory of the oldest greybeards.

For all the recent taint of drugs and cheats and fallen stars , the aura of the Tour does not diminish. It stands , tall and proud , with its head far above the murk of petty human frailties. Over the past 6-7 years that I have been enamoured of the event , innumerable instances spring to mind about its enduring charm. However , a couple of these stand out as memories of the undeniable nostalgia , the almost fantastical romance and of a champion for the ages….the legendary lance Armstrong.

We are fortunate people to have lived and witnessed the age of mighty sporting heroes….the age of Tiger , Schumacher , Jordan , Federer …and not the least , the age and the legend of Armstrong.
So much has been written about Lance…the miraculous recovery from metastatic testicular cancer to go on to a record 7 tour victories…on the trot , if you please. Perhaps he will never be completely free of the accusations of his detractors branding him the biggest cheat to have used drugs and yet gotten away with it. However we live in a scientific era , and till evidence is brought before us , let us shun these accusations and rejoice in some of Lance’s most memorable moments on the Tour.



2001 : The Alpe D’Huez – The Look
The ascent up the Alpe D’Huez is the most feared stage of the Tour de France….draining every ounce of energy…demanding every sinew to be stretched to the utmost. It is the stage that separates the men from the boys…the champions from the also rans. Who better to demonstrate the same than Armstrong in a single moment of unsurpassed brilliance that has gone down as probably the single greatest moment in the history of the Tour.
It was the day when Lance was to be attacked and defeated. All the big guns led by Jan Ulrich , Lance’s perennial rival were determined to use the Alpe D’huez to decimate the champion. They hit the lower slopes of the mountains with a ferocious intensity , Ulrich’s strong team doing all the pace making …..one by one, Lance’s team mates dropped off the pace….the champion itself seemed to be struggling…the rivals for once seemed to have him just where they wanted and were perhaps ready to finish him off.
Then came the legendary moment as they began the climb up the steepest slopes. Lance , at the head of the pack , looked behind and seemingly stared Ulrich right in the eyes ……it was a fleeting moment but seemed like an eternity…almost as if to say , “ I am going ….. are you coming with me?” ...
…and then he just got up from the saddle and broke away form the field in an unprecedented display of guts and stamina…and the rest of the pack…..Ulrich , Iban Mayo , Joseba Beloki simply could not follow. In that one moment , the Tour of 2001 was won and Lance cemented his name as one of the legends of the sport.

2003 : The Col de Tourmalay – The Shortcut
The other great Armstrong moment that springs to mind comes from the 2003 tour on the precipitous descent down the famous slopes of the Col de Tourmalay. The 2003 race was proving Lance’s hardest yet as he chased a record breaking 6th consecutive yellow jersey. His old rivals , especially Jan Ulrich , were out with a vengeance during the mountain stages , attacking Lance at every possible opportunity. Thus far the champion had stood up to the challenge but the first time in his incredible reign , he was starting to show frailties and vulnerability. The particular stage on the Col de Tourmalay in the Pyrenees was no different with Ulrich , Joseba Beloki , and Iban Mayo attacking him ceaselessly…..then came the moment of brilliance. The pack were haring down the downslope of the mountain at breakneck speed…..Beloki leading the way , Armstrong bang on his shoulder. All of a sudden Beloki locked his back wheel , skid and hit the ground hard. Lance , tearing down in excess of 70-80 kms per hour and barely a meter behind Beloki seemed doomed to crash into the Spaniard and end his tour. However the genius that is Armstrong veered his bike out of the road and in an incredulous display continued riding along the mountain slope with impeccable control till he met the road at a lower part…..whereupon he dismounted from the bike and rejoined the race at the same time the others of the pack reached the spot…even as he nonchalantly hit his pedal……his old teammate Tyler Hamilton gave him an enquiring and reassuring pat on the elbows.
Stuff of dreams…of legends…..of the stuff champions are made off.

Even as the 2008 tour kicks off under a cloud of the discomfiting events of last year……it is too much to hope that another Lance will appear anytime soon…or ever again….but come what may….in the enticing slopes of the Alpe D’Huez , the Hautacamb , the Col de Tourmalay…..and finally down to the breakneck sprint on the Champs Elysees….the legend of the Tour will continue.
Viva la Tour!!!

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.

England , blessed England !!!

In fond memory of English Football, which died , on this, the 21st day of November, 2007. Deeply mourned by a large circle of faithful friends and followers. The body will be cremated and the ashes taken to….???? Zagreb?

Well, surely even Fred ‘The Demon’ Spofforths’ bowling out of England for 70 odd at the Oval, 1882 , to secure the first ever test win for Australia on English soil could not have been more dramatic for the purist and the neutral observer , or more heartbreaking for the endlessly ceaselessly suffering English sports fan.
Just when you thought, post world cup , that English Football , with all the alleged talent, and undoubted wealth at their disposal couldn’t stoop lower , Steve McLaren and his motley crew came up with the most unbelievable, comical and downright ridiculous qualifying campaign culminating in the bewilderingly disastrous final match in a soaked drenched Wembley.
Wherefore did all the gladiators of the so called ‘best football league in the world’ vanish….your Lampards, Gerrards, ….and …who else ????
With Owen , Rooney , and Terry out injured and Rio Ferdinand out suspended…all of a sudden the real star names in the English starting lineup had dwindled to a mere 2 individuals, and that too, ones who had repeatedly been found wanting on the international stage in a real pot-boiler crunch scenario. Add to that the venerable McLaren’s repeated refusal to start with David Beckham…..
…agreed, the man can’t run fast…can’t kick with his left foot , can’t dribble , can’t head, can’t defend, has a tendency to get sent off….but he still is a better player than the likes of the Shaun Wright Philipses, Gareth Barrys , and Michael Carricks of this world.
One just has to consider statistics and look into history to consider Beckham’s importance to the national squad , in which over the past 10 yrs only the redoubtable and all too sadly, forever injured , Michael Owen merits a name ahead of him in the teams more memorable moments…be it the legendary 5-1 victory at Munich , the 1-0 over Argentina in the 02’ WC, or the 90th minute free kick against Greece at Old Trafford.
With Crouch as your lead striker, surely it made sense to have your best crosser of the ball on the field for the full 90 minutes….just ask Rudd van Nistelrooy , the number of goals he was handed on a platter by Beckham’s deliveries in Man U and Real Madrid colours.
The defense without Terry and Ferdinand was a shamble. I might have expected England to lose but concede 3 goals at Wembley -- utter blasphemy. As for the goalkeepers throughout the campaign – the only thing I need say is Scot Carson kept up the glorious tradition of English goalkeepers of the best part of the past 20 yrs in producing howlers in a really tight place….just think back to David Seaman watching a Ronaldinho floater sail over his head…or ‘Calamity’ James caught wrong footed on Zidane’s free kick….or Robinson kicking out at thin air in the qualifying encounter in Croatia. It is astonishing to think that in all these years since Peter Shilton, England haven’t been able to produce a single decent and reliable goalkeeper…..how often would you see the like of Buffon, Casillas or Van der Sar produce howlers like these?
So where does English football go from here…..upwards is the only way…cause this really is rock bottom, having failed to qualify from one of the easier groups. One just hopes that the talismanic Owen retains and maintains fitness at least for 2 -3 seasons at a stretch , for his influence on the team is beyond compare. Rooney , thus far hasn’t produced the best in the 3 Lions shirt , but he is , on form and talent , by far the best striker in all the country….
…and the million dollar question after McLaren who’ll sip out of the poisoned chalice….for all of the Jose chants, I scarce think Mr Mourinho will go for it. At the moment Fabio Capello seems the best bet , and it might not be a bad idea. The Italian work ethos might just be what’s needed to knock sense into the underachieving so-called English superstars.
…and for the English sports fans….at least Johnny Wilkinson gave you something to smile at over the summer….now sit back and wait till Ricky Ponting’s men tour next.

Better late than never: post WC sentiments

This post has been in the pipeline for a very long time.....however procrastintion abd heartache ...and also some genuinely busy times had intervened . Hope to write more frequently.
As an ardent sports lover and die hard fan of Dutch football and Arsenal , I have too often been at the short end of the straw as far as results go. There have been times when you wonder the sense of so much anticipation and yearning simply too see it end in heartache and misery. Happy are those who attain their sustenance from the silver screen and Saas bahu serials- I would remark. But then along come giants like Lance Armstrong , Roger Federer and Tiger Woods to restore your faith and conjure up such magic that in reel life would be dismissed as too fantastical and far fetched. The latest in this line was the mega football event we just witnessed.

The curtains are finally down on the world cup. Perhaps not the most exciting in terms of sheer attacking play but for sheer romanticism and poetic fulfillment , this tournament has to be unrivalled in the entire World Cup history. If any still had doubts that fact is stranger than fiction then just take a look at the number of unbelievable stories the past month has thrown up. Call it coincidence if you are a sceptic or destiny if you are a believer, the fact remains that from the first day to the hair raising last , we were on a roller coaster ride of breakthroughs and redemptions liberally interspersed with abject failure and disgrace. None bear this out better than the extraordinary tales of champions Italy , hosts Germany and a shell shocked France.

Italy, well what can I say of the Azzuri. At the start of the tournament my personal prediction was that if Italy could emerge unscathed out of the first round, they would play the finals against Brazil. Too much has been written about the match fixing scandal in Italy’s serie A which could see 4 maj clubs being relegated and Juventus (which in the final had 11 players who had represented it at some point or the other) likely to be relegated to serie C. Surely lightening could not strike twice . After all in 1982, Italy came off a similar controversy back home to win the event….incidentally that year too Brazil had been made overwhelming favourites. There is something about these Europeans (with the exception of course of the venerable England) that makes them rise like a phoenix from the ashes every single time…the like of which I haven’t seen in any other community or class. What do you know…they produced a master class of team-spirit , single minded devotion and doggedness to overshadow the controversy back home and return with the trophy. The innumerable moments of romance in Italy’s fairy tale journey can best be summarized by looking at the 5 wonderful men who exorcised the ghosts of Roberto Baggio (incidentally another former Juventus man) on a sveltering day in the Rosebowl 12 yrs earlier.
Andrea Pirlo: scored the first spot kick ….after having tragically missed in the 2005 Champions league final for Milan against Liverpool.
Marco Materazzi: Simply put he was in every way the man of the final, from conceding the penalty, to providing the equalizer, to getting Zidane sent off and finally converting his own penalty.
Daniel de Rossi :Sent off in the groups stages for a petulant elbow and subsequently banned for 4 games , the youngster returned in the final as a replacement for Totti and sought redemption at the greatest stage.
Fabio Grosso: From diving in the 95th minute to secure the penalty against Aus to scoring that sublime first goal against Germany in the 119th minute, he was at the heart of all that was good , bad and ugly in the Italian campaign.
Alessandro del Piero : I kept him for the last as a lot of personal sentiments ride with him. He has been my sentimental favourite ever since school days.The golden boy of Juventus widely criticized for not reproducing his club form for his country finally arrived with the goal in the semi final and the penalty in the final. For one who has followed his career every inch of the way, you could sense his relief by the sheer outpouring of emotion at the end of it all.

To round off Italy, in a sheer footballing sense I have to mention Captain Cannavaro. Too often have previous world cups been known by the name of the dazzling player or striker who terrorized defences off all and sundry but never before for a defender. Thus you have Puskas-54, Pele-58 & 70, Cryuff-74, Rossi-82 and of course Maradona-86.However Cannavaro’s performance in the world cup earns him the right to be mentioned in this breath. From the very first match , his amazing anticipation , organization , starting of attacks from the defense, carrying of an at times suspect Materazzi on his shoulders and all this with that characteristically mischievous grin. His play was a joy to behold and for the first time I derived as much pleasure from watching defensive skills as that of the attacking flair of Brazil and Argentina.

As this wonderful tournament progressed , you wondered whether it was Germany’s destiny to triumph. Our bards of yore could not have set up a more picture perfect or romantic and evanescent setting. A country …which for decades has been ridden by the overwhelming burden and shame of the most gruesome genocide in history . A once proud fatherland where for years greybeards and striplings alike grappled in vain with the demons of their own conscience . A land which for half a century was breached by the most notorious wall in history….which even nigh 2 decades has left unsightly scars on the hearts and souls of the German people.
However it seemed that the most unlikely bunch of 23 modern day gladiators, led by a somewhat deposed erstwhile icon , had taken upon themselves the task of providing salvation to the people of a great nation….to once and for all root out the scars of the holocaust and the wall and finally, gain redemption for their countrymen. Anyone who witnessed the amazing quarter final match against Argentina could not help but feel a sense of awe and history. Not least ,in the setting , the magnificent Olympiastadion of Berlin, which had been chosen specifically with the purpose of showcasing the Nazi might in the 1936 Olympic games. They say the arena still retains a few pillars and architectural remains of the original stadium where Deutschland first imposed itself on the world. The Germans might then have stolen the games but the plaudits and hearts went ironically to 2 dark skinned men…ebony express Jesse Owens and the Indian wizard , Maj Dhyan Chand. In those days , proud soldiers of the Reich would stand impeccable with faces carved as if of granite silently conveying the devastation they were about to wreak on the world. Every thing was in perfect decorum and not a hair was out of place.
You get the feeling that the spirits of those men lingered in the till the 30th of June 2006….exactly 70 yrs till an event of similar magnificence and aura but portraying totally contrasting values ;that the passion and euphoria of that wonderful night finally released those guilt ridden souls. There you saw Chancellor Angela Merkel hugging Franz Beckenbauer at that final penalty save by Jens Lehmann of Esteban Cambiasso. The captain Michael Ballack, deemed earlier as the last great of a decaying football powerhouse, hobbling through the entire extra time in excruciating pain but staying on the pitch as the team had used up all their substitutions. What is more , stepping up to take a vital penalty kick. As the commentator most aptly summed it up “ you’d have put your mortgage on him scoring then.” The coach , a former great and world cup winning hero himself , oft critisised for his unorthodox tactics , knew that there were more important things than winning the cup…winning the minds and uniting the hearts of the German people.
Sport defies all prediction . The Germans have not won the cup but Klinsmannn's dream has been achieved , of uniting the people under one banner , something not even the great sporting heroes the likes of Michael Schumacher , Steffi Graf and Beckenbauer himself could achieve. For those who witnessed the tumultuous scenes at the Brandenburg Gate after the third place match, it was a sight to take home ……a sight of redemption for a nation flapping vainly in the dark for more than half a century.