Shahid Afridi's last one-day international innings. At the time, I was scaling Wellington's Mt Victoria during an 11-kilometre run. I followed the scores intermittently on the phone, but I knew I would not miss anything. I also knew that he would not get another chance to play an ODI, with Australia too strong for Pakistan in the quarter-finals of the World Cup. Afridi had long passed his prime, and it was evident he was only lugging his creaking body through the tournament in hopes that Pakistan could challenge the rest. It didn't happen, and truth to tell I didn't expect much from the man I once loved to watch.
I followed the ball-by-ball commentary, read of Afridi biffing his way to 23 from 15 balls. That was it. Can you expect more from Afridi in 2015? Concentration has never been his thing, even though he scored a fine century against India in his second Test. See ball, hit ball. Or maybe it's not that simple with Afridi. He is not easy to figure out, as plain as his batting. And that's another reason I liked watching him.
It was January, early morning in Bombay. Winter vacations were on, and back then they were a good two months almost. As you did when you were a young cricket buff during the Australian summer, you tiptoed around the house to get a cup of tea and then settled into your bed to watch whatever match was being beamed across the airwaves. On this particular day, it was a one-dayer between Australia and Pakistan from the Carlton & United Series of 1997.
To watch a full ODI from pitch report to post-match ceremony, without the disturbances of alarm bells or dormitory room-mates or dorm parents checking whether your bed was made, was to bask in comfort of a different sort. Sitting there on my bed, door sealed tightly so that no one could intrude, I remember being in awe of what my tiny B & W television set was relaying to me from Australia. I can tell you that I predicted Anthony Stuart's hat-trick Ijaz Ahmed c Healy b Stuart, Mohammad Wasim c Healy b Stuart, Moin Khan c Taylor b Stuart right before it unfolded, but then there was no one there with me on that magical morning to affirm my claim.
This was the same match in which I first saw Afridi; no, he did not bludgeon Shane Warne for successive sixes into the Ponsford Stand at the MCG in fact, his contribution with the bat was sedate and almost mature: twenty-something in almost twice the amount of deliveries but the sight of him running in to deliver one of his nippy leg breaks captivated me. I wanted to be like Afridi. Hell, I had the same hairstyle, why couldn't I bowl a batsman through the gate and act cocky doing it?
The stats box at the bottom of the screen showed his age - sixteen! - but even as Richie Benaud and Bill Lawry commentated on how young this kid was, something told me what the rest of the cricket world already knew: he was not sixteen. Yet the sight of Afridi running into bowl at Warne, locks flapping in the cool Melbourne breeze, was enough to allow my mind to dream about doing the same. And he got Warne lbw for 2.
I returned after that vacation raring to go, to try my hand at spin and slogging, and this new interest in Afridi amused many. The spin did not go quite as I had envisioned it would, primarily because I did not get the concept of what legspin was. A few experiments with medium pace in-swing followed, but with little success, and so I settled for offspin, which surprisingly came easy to me. But it wasn't what Afridi bowled, so something inside was not whole.
The batting? Ah, the batting. Yes, that was a lot like Afridi, with the exception that not nearly enough sixes came from my bat. Flat-batted whacks over cover? Check. Cross-batted heaves? Check. Backing-away slices? Check. The back leg up with a flourish when whipping tossed up deliveries to midwicket? Check. I had the Afridi look, I would like to believe, expect nine out of ten times the ball went straight to fielders. I blame you, Afridi, for my failure to bat properly. But whatever. I had your swagger. I felt cool.
As much I supported India - was there any other choice when you grow up in India? - I had a soft corner for Afridi. When he took that tumbling catch off Sourav Ganguly in the Independence Cup match in Chennai in 1997, secretly I celebrated, though I dared not let it be shown to my classmates packed into the common area of our hostel. When he strode to the crease at the top of the order, I wished him to do well but that Pakistan lose.
I followed the ball-by-ball commentary, read of Afridi biffing his way to 23 from 15 balls. That was it. Can you expect more from Afridi in 2015? Concentration has never been his thing, even though he scored a fine century against India in his second Test. See ball, hit ball. Or maybe it's not that simple with Afridi. He is not easy to figure out, as plain as his batting. And that's another reason I liked watching him.
It was January, early morning in Bombay. Winter vacations were on, and back then they were a good two months almost. As you did when you were a young cricket buff during the Australian summer, you tiptoed around the house to get a cup of tea and then settled into your bed to watch whatever match was being beamed across the airwaves. On this particular day, it was a one-dayer between Australia and Pakistan from the Carlton & United Series of 1997.
To watch a full ODI from pitch report to post-match ceremony, without the disturbances of alarm bells or dormitory room-mates or dorm parents checking whether your bed was made, was to bask in comfort of a different sort. Sitting there on my bed, door sealed tightly so that no one could intrude, I remember being in awe of what my tiny B & W television set was relaying to me from Australia. I can tell you that I predicted Anthony Stuart's hat-trick Ijaz Ahmed c Healy b Stuart, Mohammad Wasim c Healy b Stuart, Moin Khan c Taylor b Stuart right before it unfolded, but then there was no one there with me on that magical morning to affirm my claim.
This was the same match in which I first saw Afridi; no, he did not bludgeon Shane Warne for successive sixes into the Ponsford Stand at the MCG in fact, his contribution with the bat was sedate and almost mature: twenty-something in almost twice the amount of deliveries but the sight of him running in to deliver one of his nippy leg breaks captivated me. I wanted to be like Afridi. Hell, I had the same hairstyle, why couldn't I bowl a batsman through the gate and act cocky doing it?
The stats box at the bottom of the screen showed his age - sixteen! - but even as Richie Benaud and Bill Lawry commentated on how young this kid was, something told me what the rest of the cricket world already knew: he was not sixteen. Yet the sight of Afridi running into bowl at Warne, locks flapping in the cool Melbourne breeze, was enough to allow my mind to dream about doing the same. And he got Warne lbw for 2.
I returned after that vacation raring to go, to try my hand at spin and slogging, and this new interest in Afridi amused many. The spin did not go quite as I had envisioned it would, primarily because I did not get the concept of what legspin was. A few experiments with medium pace in-swing followed, but with little success, and so I settled for offspin, which surprisingly came easy to me. But it wasn't what Afridi bowled, so something inside was not whole.
The batting? Ah, the batting. Yes, that was a lot like Afridi, with the exception that not nearly enough sixes came from my bat. Flat-batted whacks over cover? Check. Cross-batted heaves? Check. Backing-away slices? Check. The back leg up with a flourish when whipping tossed up deliveries to midwicket? Check. I had the Afridi look, I would like to believe, expect nine out of ten times the ball went straight to fielders. I blame you, Afridi, for my failure to bat properly. But whatever. I had your swagger. I felt cool.
As much I supported India - was there any other choice when you grow up in India? - I had a soft corner for Afridi. When he took that tumbling catch off Sourav Ganguly in the Independence Cup match in Chennai in 1997, secretly I celebrated, though I dared not let it be shown to my classmates packed into the common area of our hostel. When he strode to the crease at the top of the order, I wished him to do well but that Pakistan lose.
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