The Clock Is Ticking

I am a huge sports fan, the kind who spends a good many waking hours inpursuit of this obsession. Much as it sounds like my life revolves just aroundsport, it doesn’t. Since the two statements sound contradictory, to strengthenmy case, here’s an unwritten rule of personal choice: friends first, thensports. Occasionally (and let me emphasise for good measure, just occasionally),I transgress, with a little bit of guilt and the wish that I could be at twoplaces at the same time.

One evening in October 2001, I ditched a dear friend, on some flimsy grounds,rushed back home, and parked myself in front of the telly to watch a delayedtelecast of -- you guessed it -- another ball game. Except this wasn’t justanother October evening and this wasn’t just another ball game.

 This was a special moment, one I had been wishing for since the timethe hint was dropped, and then waited impatiently for it to unravel. Finally,the day was here. It was the day Michael Jordan would return to the NBA for histhird innings, after a gap of three years, at a seemingly pensionable age of 38,with a struggling team in the Washington Wizards.

Around a year-and-a-half have gone by since Jordan’s return to the grandstage. During this time, I have watched every Wizards game screened (which isnot too many if you stay in India, where the norm is one NBA game a week duringthe regular season), and caught more glimpses on highlight packages.

Regardless of whether Jordan is nailing the jumpers or hitting the backboard,whether the Wizards are winning close or getting royally mauled, I want to catchevery moment of his on court. For pretty soon, this champion athlete won’t berunning the floor, wearing the number 23 Wizards jersey. There won’t be atall, handsome, smiling man hitting sublime turnaround jumpers betweenferociously working on his gum or firing verbal bursts.

Fans in basketball arenas across the US have appreciated the peerless Jordanfor years, and now they are rolling out the red carpet to bid him adieu. Nowthat it’s clear that the Jordan show is on its last leg and that there willdefinitely be no more comebacks, standing ovations, mementos and parting giftsare being generously doled out. Each time, Jordan takes a shot or steps to thefree throw line, a host of flashbulbs go off in the background, a bit like theeffect American soldiers are rustling up in Iraq, without the ‘collateraldamage’.

Soon, Jordan will slip out of his game uniform, slip into a sharp suit andinto the Wizards back office. But unlike the last time, I won’t have regrets,for I’ve seen it all. Basketball without Jordan was a possibility I had neverconsidered when he called it quits in 1998, right after leading the ChicagoBulls to their third straight championship. He was then, even at 35, the league’shottest player, the fulcrum of a team designed to fit around him.

Going too late is one thing, but here he was going away too early. Because itcame out of the blue, his absence rankled and left a void. There were memories,a lot of memories -- but also some regret that I hadn’t watched every Jordangame as if it were his last.

A somewhat similar thought for another champion athlete has been swirling inmy mind. In less than a month’s time (April 24, to be exact), Sachin Tendulkarwill turn 30. Sure, there’ll probably be plenty of ballyhoo about it in themedia, to the point of making it an obscene expression of adulation. Sure, it’llbe another occasion to revisit -- yet again -- the little man’s contributionto the game of cricket and his amazing knack to bind a diverse nation, but I’mthinking something else.

Chronologically speaking, Tendulkar will probably start playing (or has healready started?) his second innings at the highest level. And that is, at somelevel, a heartbreaking thought.

Unlike artistes and professionals in most other spheres of life, age is afactor for athletes. For modern-day cricketers, as well as for athletes in manyother sporting disciplines, the fourth decade is the best and the worst.

Nearing 30, cricketers are at their prime, having found meaningful outlets tofully express their cricketing talent and guided by an extremely usefulreservoir of maturity and experience. But as the years tick on, age starts toretard their playing abilities, which slowly trickles down to the mind as well,and raises uncomfortable questions. It becomes a time for introspection, a timeto reflect on one’s playing skills and priorities in life. Typically, whilebowlers have been seen to slip into a decline at 32-35, batters stay at thewicket longer.

Tendulkar is special, blessed as he is with extraordinary talent and, moreimportantly, driven by a disciplined work ethic and a seemingly insatiableappetite to play cricket. For those reasons alone, if he wanted to, he couldplay longer than the average player. But make no mistake, the hands of time willcatch up with Tendulkar too, and one day he will slip into the record books forgood.

Cricket in general and Indian cricket in particular without Tendulkar -- it’sa dreadful thought, something I had never considered till now. Perhaps becausehe has been a permanent fixture in the Indian side since he was 16, he seems tohave been around forever. Perhaps because he still carries traces of his cute,cherubic looks and squeaky voice, it seems he will be around forever. Perhapsbecause he’s mostly played with the attitude of a 16-year-old having funplaying a game in the park, the thought never occurred that even he has a shelflife.

And though, the dreaded day might still be years away, it’s nearing all thetime. Since I don’t want this to go the Jordan way, I have decided to watchTendulkar more closely than ever.

The last time I made a note like this to myself was on February 27, 2001 --the only time I saw Tendulkar in flesh and blood. For a different reason. It wasthe morning of the first Test match of that thrilling home series againstAustralia, and there was an enormous piece of symbolism attached to theoccasion: Sir Donald Bradman had died the previous day.

As the two teams lined up at Mumbai’s Wankhede Stadium for a minute’ssilence, black armbands tagged on their shirtsleeves, I narrowed my gaze to theman who was, and still is, widely regarded as the batsman closest to matchingthe great Don.

Something in my head told me that, during that homage, the baton was beingpassed, and that Tendulkar was game for the honour and the challenge. There werethe indomitable Aussies, lined up in their baggy greens, looking to stretchtheir 15-match winning streak in Tests.

Wankhede was Tendulkar’s den, where he could do no wrong. The little manhad long lived under the shadow of being a great player in a losing team, and hewanted to set the record straight.

During the course of the Test, watching Tendulkar bat at the nets and in themiddle, the conviction grew that Tendulkar had upped his game. Tendulkar scoredtwo half-centuries. More than the runs, though, it was the fierce desire anddetermined manner in which he scored those runs that left an indelibleimpression on the mind. He looked the only Indian capable of taking it toMcGrath and Co.

Just when he and Dravid were taking the game away from the Aussies in thesecond innings, a freakish dismissal accounted for Tendulkar. A raspingshort-arm pull of his ricocheted off Justin Langer, and was scooped upbrilliantly by a diving Ponting at mid-wicket. The other Indian batters cavedin. Instead of giving Australia around 250 to chase, which could have been atricky target on a dusty, turning track, the Indians gave them just 47. How manytimes has that been the story?

The harsh truth is this: for a batsman of Tendulkar’s stature, his cupboardis incredibly devoid of worthy team accomplishments, despite doing more than hisbit for the cause. Jordan has been a member of six championship-winning teams.Bradman captained the 1948 Invincibles and was part of some extremely successfulAustralian sides. In Tendulkar’s case, a World Cup runners-up salver isstacked alongside some silverware from Sharjah and numerous otherman-of-the-match awards.

The most prolific run-getter in the history of the game needs some teamachievements against his name, like some overseas series wins against credibleopposition and notable one-day championships. Just as well that, as he turns 30,Tendulkar is part of the best and most spirited one-day unit this country hasever produced, most of whom are automatic selections in the Test team.

It’s a young team, fuelled by a sense of urgency and a deep desire to makea mark. The recent run of one-day successes have raised them a couple of notchesin the pecking order and given them momentum, which they would do well to carryinto the longer version of the game as well. One of the implicit gains for Indiafrom the World Cup has been the unshackling of Tendulkar the batsman.

These are exciting times for Indian cricket. The next real test for this teamwill come when they travel Down Under at the end of the year. It’s the kind ofchallenge the little genius lives for. I’ll be watching, with rapt attention,occasionally (just occasionally) while saying pass to other pursuits ofpleasure.

I must place on record my complete and utter denial of those expertsemioticist readings of my article on Ian Thorpe (That Sinking Feeling),which took the first few lines to be a cunningly underplayed method ofdisseminating a revolutionary scientific theory. The fact of the matter is thatI just goofed up. The shark is indeed not a mammal. The shark is nota mammal. [We regret that the error escaped our attention too, and to atonefor our sins, we have deleted the extra 98 times Avinash typed the lastsentence. Knowing him to be conscientious and sincere, we know that he did notsimply cut and paste. – Ed]