The first (class) Semi Final

Sport is one part beauty and one part cruelty. One part joy and one part despair. One part pleasure and one part pain. On the night of March 24th, 2015, two teams colluded in a far away stadium to show us mere mortals that sporting highs cannot be enjoyed without experiencing the accompanying tragic lows.

After witnessing what is easily one of the best matches in World Cup knockout history, I was left emotionally drained and confused that I wasn't quite sure how to react. There was the first wave of unalloyed elation at a team that deserved to be in the final achieving it in the most emphatic way possible. Then the joy of watching the emotions of a nation that has been in waiting for years channeled through a pulsating crowd. 40,000 of them that cheered as one and then enjoyed as one. Then there was a surge of pure grief. A team denied one more time. Weather. Fate. Destiny. Or the plain old choke. Call it whatever, it was nothing but heart break for this South African team and their nation. Yet another generation of players and fans subjected to yet another loss to grieve about for four more years. That now familiar emotion of having come so tantalizingly close. And as the curtains come down, one team gets to take a shot at more glory; the other left to come to terms with reality.

Did what transpire on the Eden Park turf was actually a choke? In the past, there had always been a single moment in the key games that they had lost around which the game swung away from them. When they chose to snatch defeat when victory was likely theirs. That single point where one could put a finger and proclaim (with the luxury of hindsight) "aha, here is where they lost it". But I would say this was simply a closely fought game between two equals that brought out the best from the 22 men involved. A game where the difference between victory and loss was merely statistical. There was neither a victor nor vanquished. Instead there was raw emotion. Plenty of it. And all kinds of it. Pride. Triumph. Elation. Grief. Anguish. Agony. In the end, some hearts were warmed; some broken.
  

What makes this especially draining is that these are the two teams that are the most likable. Easily two of teams with more "second favorite team" status among cricket fans than the others. How do you pick between two groups of true sportsmen. True ambassadors of the game that chose not to tarnish the sanctity of the occasion with anything cheap. No dirty tactics of mind games, pre-match banter or juvenile on-field behavior that could take away from the beauty of the contest. Aggression was gilded with dignity. And the fight was fought with honor. The celebrations were loud but gracious and the sorrow was raw yet dignified. And the speeches afterwards bore testimony to the true nature of the men involved. Class is what separates the men from the boys. It will be difficult to surpass the bar that they have jointly set so high. 

It seems almost silly to poke through the still warm embers and analyze the what ifs. There was the rain that changed the tempo. There were off-key performances. Then there were the errors on the field. And there were enough of them committed by both sides. But as Sambit Bal has so beautifully put it, "sport and history are generous to the follies of the winner". 

What lies ahead for South Africa may be familiar but not pleasant. Coming to terms with this (I so hate to use this word) loss will not be easy. This team had the opportunity to heal the wounds of the past. But they have fresh ones to heal instead. They will also have to deal with the fact that this group of super talented individuals will be walking away from the game without that one coveted piece of silver. Not to mention the task of rebuilding a team that will have this cloud hanging over them for some time to come. 

Thank you New Zealand. Thank you South Africa. Thank you for giving us a contest that we can cherish nor matter our sporting affiliations. An operatic performance truly worthy of a semi final. A game played with such rare class that I wished I was either a Kiwi or a Protea that night. 

The World Cup thus far

As we approach the sharp end of the tournament, the usual suspects have been identified. Well more or less as the result of the ongoing NZ vs. WI QF game is near certain with the kiwis all but set to join the last four. Not much surprises. Australia in the Semis is a given. The contest is always for the other three spots. South Africa have overcome themselves to take a well deserved spot. No one can grudge the kiwis in the final four. Not even when they were considered to be fighting above their weight. But this time around with their collective form, they take the spot by right. I'm still pleasantly surprised by the great Indian turn around trick though. I was expecting either Sri Lanka or England to be the fourth team but lo behold! It is the men in blue that have made it yet again.

Some teams bring their A game for all matches. Australia and South Africa. Some simply melt down under the weight of the occasion - England, Sri Lanka. There are the perennial under achievers - West Indies. And then there are the unpredictable dark horses: Pakistan. India, much like a typical student cramming on the last night before the finals, always scrapes through. We reserve our A game for the special games. But New Zealand have, in the recent past have slowly managed to shake away the underdog tag and have become genuine contenders. The

Looking at their performances, there is a quiet resolve about this bunch. Something that sets them apart from their predecessors. They are friendly, as they have always been. They play the game in the right spirit, again, as they have always done. Much like the Caribbean teams of the 80s, there is a certain joy in watching the Kiwis compete: clean, spirited and sporting. And this team retains that in full and have managed to reach the semi finals once more. But there is something indefinable about this team and this year could well be the one where they are most likely to go the full distance.

England deserved to go home. West Indies simply lack the quality to compete fiercely at the top level and aren't quite a cohesive unit. Sri Lanka tried one change too many and denied their stars one more shot at the title. And Pakistan? This is not the same sport as in the 80s and 90s to be able to pull off their magic with sporadic spurts.

This World Cup, as a tournament, has been too long. Allowing the fan to switch off between key games. I'm all for an inclusive approach about spreading the game and involving the associate nations. But the World Cup should be a tight fight for the top honor and it should be for the top 10 teams only. There are certainly ways to widen the reach of the sport and empower smaller nations.

Sangakkara, Mahela, Misbah, Dilshan and Afridi. Cricketers that we shall see no more of as of yesterday. But you never know with Afridi. Teenagers aren't the best decision makers anyways. The first three are certainly among the best to ply their trade and among the finest ambassadors of the game. Afridi will be remembered as the one that did injustice to the talent that was his and the opportunities that came his way.

One more week. Three more games. Will the cup travel to the Southern hemisphere? Will it stay in India? I would personally like a closely fought final between India and New Zealand ending in favor of India. Time to buckle up! 

Bay Area 1170AM Tamil darbar

We were returning from somewhere last Sunday evening. Usually we play the mp3 collection to keep things quiet and friendly during a drive. Side story: although it is filled to the gills with Ilayaraja songs, the first file on this pen drive, for some reason, is the Macarena. And every time we start the engine, the audio system resets to the first song. And since we’ve had this same collection for a very long time now, that song is now firmly tattooed on my kid’s brain. He was singing it aloud when we were at the Niagara Falls last year. Over the din of the falls, a Hispanic family voiced their approval. Oye! Back to the story. I had removed the stick for some reason and had not plugged it back in. So we had to resort to the airwaves for music. My default station is NPR but my son hates it from the bottom of his heart (appa, vera paattu podu, iva pesindey irukka Eng: Dad, play some other song, these people are just talking) So we tuned into 1170AM the desi station in the Bay Area.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, I default to NPR for my short commute and on those rare occasions when I tune into 1170AM, I almost always catch some talk show in Hindi. Given my proficiency in that language, I make a quick exit. But when I travel with the missus, she prefers this station. Talk about timing but we have listened to some Kannada programs and even Telugu programs but nary a bit of Tamil. Last Sunday was one such day where we caught the tail end of a Hindi program followed by a Women’s day Telugu program. Side story: I was surprised at how much Telugu I was actually able to follow. Side story: Four years in a private engineering college have given me only a smattering of engineering concepts but more than a working knowledge of conversational Telugu. Thank you Reddys, Raos, Vamsis, Yelamarthis. Back to the story. There are two things that I have observed in the multiple Telugu and Kannada programs that I have had the opportunity to listen to. The program hosts always speak good quality Telugu and Kannada. Granted there is the English phrase or three thrown in. But for the most part, it is in their language. Second, the hosts have always been coherent and were not hemming and hawing or were lost for words.

Surprisingly, the program that followed the Telugu one last Sunday was Tamil darbar. Yaay, Tamil on radio finally!! It was hosted by a certain Ms. Minmini (Chinna chinna aasai singer?) and a Mr. Baba. The show was about Women in Tamil Cinema. That took some wind out of my sail but I was still pumped. Side story: All Tamil entertainment across all media formats shall feed off Tamil cinema. Talk shows, debates, culture, sports, politics, technology, business, music, dance, TV, radio, the internet and anything else under the sun will be based on Tamil cinema. Computational lithography for EUV illumination systems as observed in modern Tamil Cinema. Barathi Raja on the effects of El Nino on the kuruvai crops in the Cauvery river delta. Back to the story. The two hosts spent some time flitting from one lady veteran to another. There was the regulation hat tip to Manorama, followed by obeisance to Suhasini Mani Ratnam, interspersed by songs featuring them. Honorary mentions were made about SriVidya, Revathi and a couple of others. By which time I had arrived home and turned it off.

What really bothered me was that the entire show was in English. In case you had missed it, the program was titled Tamil Darbar. The hosts were hardly able to string together an English-free sentence. Coming off programs in good Hindi and Telugu, this struck a very discordant note. Also, they were not comfortable chatting about movies either. Mr. Baba, hosting a show about women in Tamil cinema through the ages, announced (in English) that he started watching Tamil movies from 2000 AD, thus leaving Ms. Minmini to carry on by herself in English.

Minmini: Suhasini is a wonderful actor, illiya?

Baba: Grmpfh…Yeah

M: She has portrayed a wide range of roles, illiya?

B: Hrrmph….Sure. Wide range.

I felt outraged. Not as a Tamilian but as a radio listener. This program reminded me of the interview scene in thillu mullu. And I don’t mean it as a compliment. The content was questionable; the presentation bad and the attitude, worse. Why is the average Bay Area Tamil listener getting short changed by 1170AM?

Those that tune in to a desi station do so mostly for nostalgia. To get a quick fix of the language and culture of the old country. Not for spoken English lessons. If I need movie trivia in bad Tamil, I’ll watch Sun TV. The primary objective of 1170AM, and I’m out on a limb here, should be to recreate the magic of AIR and vividhbharathi in a distant land. Bring back the ads for Archana Sweets (Radha, late-a vandhennu kovama? naangu naangu naangu onbadhu ettu naangu) and Saravana Stores (Ranganathan theru, mambalam rayil nilayam arugil.) for God's sake! Imagine driving down Highway 1 on a beautiful spring afternoon after a hearty lunch. In a moment of weakness, I tune in to 1170AM to complete the picture of heaven. The last thing I want to hear is broken Tamil from someone with a mouthful of marbles. (Short name Supi sir! Suppi-yaavdhu guppy-yaavdhu. Get out!) Even if it is an ad for a tax consultant, let it be in good Tamil. Please?

On my missus’ suggestion, I now plan to try out for a radio host at 1170AM. My voice does not have a rich captivating baritone nor do I possess the wit and humor of a Thenkachi Swaminathan. But I have a feel for what is missing from 1170AM and believe that I can provide that. In reasonably good Tamil. Or at least make an earnest attempt. Who knows, maybe on my way out of the interview, I might find myself saying to the next candidate: Candidate-a already mudivu pannittaangappa. Interview ellam eye waas!