Swaroop has this endearing knack.
When at the store, she forgets everything that she needs.
And when I am watching cricket is when her memory does the flooding in thing.
You are informed.
You are told.
You are warned.
And you realize that this can’t wait for tomorrow.
Then Chanderpaul ambles in.
And you get up to go to the store.
He’s around 32.
Not many years left.
And as uninspiring and ungainly as he was when he debuted.
You had the grace of Lara.
You had (yes, had) the aggression of Gayle.
Even the elegance of Sarwan.
Who wants to watch Chanderpaul?
He’ll go about it with the enthusiasm of an RTO clerk.
He grafts, he accumulates.
He sweats, he drinks, he blocks.
He stands there, shifty and fidgety.
Weirdly, facing his long on, tapping nervously.
As the ball arrives, an ungainly arc brings the bat bang in front of the pads.
More like a scared kid would keep a pup off his feet.
An ugly tap in front of square.
A hop as he plays it off his feet to fine leg for a single.
Square cuts one that just rolls down the slope to the rope,
touches it and stops, bored.
Chanderpaul is the viewer’s drinks break.
Frankly, nobody sits up nights to watch him.
(Or Collingwood, for that matter.)
(Or Dinesh Karthik.)
Uninspiring, in a word.
Blenders.
Last night, the Windies lost again.
The last man out?
Chanderpaul.
On 70 from 163 balls.
This, following up his 136 n.o. from 257 balls.
In the series, Chanderpaul has scored 448 at 148.66.
He’s joint man of the series with Monty Panesar.
After 2002 and 2004, this was the third time he remained unbeaten for more than 1000 minutes.
And he is the first man to have done that.
Ever.
Yet, the paeans and the odes are all about Monty.
No articles, no blogs about good old Chanders.
Imagine if this had been Lara.
Or Sachin. Or KP. Even Dravid.
But this was Chanderpaul.
I tried to explain my anguish to Swaroop last night.
And all she asked was:
“Do. I. Really. Have. To. Sit. Through. This?”
Without the swash and the buckle.
Without the hoopla.
Without the PR and the endorsements.
Without the ads and the odes.
They stand and deliver.
And get forgotten.
Here’s to the Chanderpaul men.
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face it. you're just biased about attention seeking surds.
ReplyDeleteTony has this incredible knack.
ReplyDeleteHe is struck (and often, one hears the blow) as she casually moves about her tasks.
His blog splutters into life.
A well written, re-readable post, is almost disdainfully spewed out.
And then...
(this is where the knack lies)
... there is utter, silence.
He doesn't reply to comments, he say (smirking under his trademark toothbrush moustache) for by the time he next deigns to vist this place, months pass.
I, for one, intend to make merry, while waiting for the next one.
Perhaps one of my lengthy asides may get through his thick hide, and the layers of protection that years of beef provide, to prod him into lifting digits on a regular basis.
We might as well just mail each other.
ReplyDelete