Hits And Misses

Bill Bowerman, the co-founder of Nike and coach to Steve Prefontaine (thetalented US middle-distance runner of the seventies who died in a car crash atthe prime of his career), used to tell his wards at the University of Oregon:"If you can find meaning in the kind of running you have to do to stay onthis team, chances are you’ll find meaning in that other absurd pastime calledlife."

When athletes find meaning in the vocation of their choice, we do so in theirpursuits. And as always, in the year gone by, the world of sport held a mirrorto that bigger game called life.

Best was a fraying, doubting, balding Pete Sampras winning the US Open,breaking a two-year title drought and answering every critic that had scoffed athis long-held belief that "he still had another Slam in him". It was amighty climb, a victory for the underdog.

His earlier 13 Slam triumphs were statements of assertion, from one incommand of his game, his rivals and the conditions. This one, though, was strungtogether by a man whose athletic skills were on the wane, his mind assailed bydoubt and looking every bit capable of being felled.

Worst was watching Sampras after his second-round loss at Wimbledon -- aplace he had lorded over. As he sat hunched on his chair, lifeless, lost inthought, we feared that we had seen the last of, probably, the greatest tennisplayer ever. And like every person or thing we covet, we were afraid to let go,afraid to imagine a world without this beautiful habit.

Best was watching Michael Jordan prolong his majestic presence on thebasketball court, trying to piece together the fragmented Washington Wizards.Although His Airness didn’t dunk the opposition into submission as in hisprevious two career check-ins, he showed that he could still play some damn goodbasketball and that he still possessed an athlete’s greatest virtue: the lustto compete.

Worst was enduring Jordan’s single-digit scoring nights, when the hoopseemed like a distant keyhole and defenders made him look like a hapless victimof a daylight robbery. Time waits for no one, not even the best.

Best was watching the Australians play cricket. Test matches or one-dayers,home or away, day one or day three, the Aussies were an aggressive,authoritative, professional, confident, cocky lot. Once in a while, along comeathletes and teams that raise the bar to another level. This Australian side islike that. During the year, it furthered its claim to being one of the all-timegreat dynasties of cricket -- perhaps, all sport.

Worst was seeing the other cricket-playing countries crumble in the face ofthe Aussie onslaught. Even as the Australian brand of cricket captivated, onecouldn’t help lament the absence of comparable, consistent competition. At itsvery best, sport is a fierce tussle of skill and character, of tact and guile,between two evenly-matched opponents, each believing they are superior. Thecontests were sometimes close when Australia wasn’t one of the playing sides,but one was sometimes left wishing that the other teams raise their game andlevel the playing field.

Best was when Indian cricketers picked up their game, stuck it out, andracked up some memorable overseas Test and one-day wins. A revamped one-dayside, for once, played like a unit. A judicious mix of youth and experience,they wore their India caps with pride, showed great self-belief and commitmentto win, backed each other like rarely seen before, and played roles not in theoriginal script handed out to them with élan. They are still miles away fromthe summit, but at least they have found the road that leads to it. Now, it’sup to them to walk on it.

Worst was when the words ‘contracts’ and ‘commercials’ became themost popular words in the cricketing lexicon. Money can be a beast. At itsworst, it can alter relationships, redefine equations, cloud fairness anddeflect purpose. With the money pie growing bigger and bigger, players, sponsorsand the establishment went head on, threatening to run out the game of cricketitself.

Best was Brazil winning the soccer World Cup, deservedly, and burying theghosts of France ’98. One man, in particular, found sweet redemption: Ronaldo.Branded the villain of the piece in 1998, ‘The Phenomenon’ was named theplayer of the 2002 edition, for his eight goals and powerful presence in theBrazilian forward line. Another enduring memory from that tournament was that ofthe dummy Ronaldinho sold David Seaman on a free kick from downtown, sinkingSeaman and England.

Worst was Rivaldo’s theatrics during a league match against Turkey. AsRivaldo headed to take a corner, a Turkish player booted the ball towards him,hitting him with some force on the lower half of his leg, which is prettyrun-of-the-mill stuff for a soccer player. The Brazilian collapsed, clutchinghis head, as if a bullet had gone through it. So convincing was Rivaldo’sdisplay of pain that the Turkish player was red carded. Rivaldo later admittedhis gamesmanship, but didn’t regret it one bit. That’s sport, he shrugged.It was a grim reminder of the times we live in, when the ends justify the means.In the name of professionalism and quest for success, athletes often made aparody of human values.

Best was when Indian athletes made a mark on the Asian and world scene: thebag of medals at the Commonwealth and Asian games, especially the harvest fromthe track and field; golfer Jyoti Randhawa finishing as the highest money-earneron the Asian tour and Chiranjeev Milkha Singh narrowly missing out on the chanceto play in the US PGA Tour (the toughest golfing field in the world); theflowing hockey at the Champions Trophy that won plaudits from the pundits; thepockets of sporting progress and success in shooting, chess, weightlifting andbilliards. For a nation that mostly holds it head down on the world sportingscene, these climbs are noteworthy, hopefully stepping stones towards biggeraccomplishments and greater sporting acceptance.

Worst was when Indian medal-winning weightlifters and athletes testedpositive for drugs at the Commonwealth and Asian Games. Athletes and officialsmade the usual noises, of being framed and of improper testing procedures.Cutting through the babble, the truth was as clear as the Delhi sky on aDecember morning.

And though some like Sunita Rani were eventually given a clean chit, asneaking suspicion remained that there was more to it than met the eye. Thevictory-at-all-costs phenomenon. Really, what’s the realvictory: winning with the odds on your side, or winning despite the odds?

Best was watching Mahesh Bhupathi win the US Open men’s doubles title withMax Mirnyi of Belarus, and 16-year-old Sania Mirza wield a racket with anauthority and dexterity that promised many bigger things to come.

Worst was seeing another year go by in men’s tennis in India without anyanswer to that all-important question: after Leander and Mahesh, who?

Best was watching cyclist Lance Armstrong, tennis player Corina Morariu andrace car driver Alex Zanardi once more do what they have been doing for a goodpart of their lives: play sport. Having stared at an opponent called death inthe eye and forced it to blink first, they made us sit up and re-look the truemeaning of heroism in sport. It’s not just about running like the wind,hitting the ball a country mile, holding aloft trophies... It’s all that, andmuch, much more.