Rains,
farce, soaring tempers, heartbreak- we have had everything in this edition of
the Champions Trophy. The Indians, emerging from the IPL spot-fixing quagmire,
were out there to prove a point. A whitewash in England, another rout at the
hands of Australia, losses at home- the shambolic displays had cast a shadow of
doubt over the younger brigade. The retired veterans called for the senior
players’ heads, the management received a lot of flak; 2012 was annus
horribilis for Indian cricket. For me, this victory is as sweet as the World
Cup if not more.
The
road to the finals was not one of roses but boggy with hostile conditions,
ferocious fast bowling attacks and the somewhat-farcical Duckworth-Lewis
system. Having negotiated these encumbrances with fluid ease, India went into
the finals with the odds stacked in their favour. But then, cricket is not a
game of dice. The rain gods were not merciful this time and the inclement
weather threatened to reduce the much-awaited final to a damp no-show. But to
the ever-optimistic cricket fan who stayed glued to his seat for 6 hours in the
icy cold weather, the crackerjack of a ODI-meets-T20 game that followed was
worth his money.
The
revered Indian batting line-up managed a seemingly paltry 129 runs on the board
in a stop-start innings. By ordinary ODI, oh sorry, T20 standards, this was a
mediocre total. But this was different. India could easily have screwed up and
been 80-all out against the swinging ball. The batsmen did well to keep the
Shahid Afridi and Umar Akmal impulses at bay and provided the bowlers something
to bowl at. It was going to be a tricky chase.
Things
were pretty normal initially with the expected early wickets and the low run
rate of England. But what ensued after the 17th over was surreal.
Dhoni
had kept his best bowlers for the end, which was again nothing short of a
gamble. Suresh Raina or Ishant Sharma could have easily gone for 20 runs in
some over . And then came the 18th over. Seeing the visuals of the
lanky Ishant Sharma handing his cap to the umpire, I was like “Dhoni, are you
nuts?!” My mind went back to Johannesburg, 6 years ago, where Dhoni had pulled
off a similar coup using Joginder Sharma in the same format. Back to the
present. The ball flying all over the park, a couple of wides; I bet the Indian
fans ensconced in front of their TV screens would have been muttering a flurry
of profanities under their breath. And then, the feather suddenly turned too
heavy for the scale. Morgan and Bopara fell in quick succession to slump to a
choke which would have made even South Africa go green with envy. And then we
got to see some of the most enthusiastic and grotesque
running-between-the-wickets cricket has shown us till date. The bowler
appealing for a leg before, the batsman scampering for a single, the close-in
fielder scurrying after the ball to effect a run out- chaos broke out at
Edgbaston. David Lloyd was shouting from the commentary box, “Can’t believe
this is an international team!” The English were buckling under pressure. India
had turned the choke on England.
Jadeja didn't give any room to
whack the ball and Ashwin continued to flummox the tail-enders, with the pitch
turning square and the ball Shane Warne-esque , and when the inevitable moment finally
arrived, Dhoni vented out his emotions and quickly uprooted another stump for
his souvenir collection.
To me, Dhoni’s words at the
post-match presentation were inspiring and summed it all. “I just told the
boys, don’t look up at the skies. The Gods are not coming to save us. We are
the no. 1 team and let’s play like one.” It was not only the voice of the young
Indian team but also embodied the spirit of the Indian youth. The era of
Tendulkars, Dravids and Laxmans is gone. This team is faceless. There are no
stars; the batsmen play fearlessly, the bowlers hunt in a pack and all the
players stand firmly behind their skipper. If you are going to bowl short, we
are going to pull you out of the park. If you are going to play foul and
indulge in some sledging, you are going to get most of it back.
The glory was, in itself,
immaculate and complete, but somewhere I was missing the sight of Sachin
Tendulkar pumping his fist and celebrating like a child. Never mind. Nothing lasts
forever. He must be proud. And Ravi Shastri too. For at the end of the day, ‘cricket
was the winner.’
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