Perhaps the historian who said all roads lead to Rome shall be best justified this afternoon when these two square off for the 20th time in a final at the Internazionali BNL D’Italia, and 30th overall. So without further ado, here is a brief snapshot of the heroes of the plot:

Roger Federer: Titles YTD – nil

Surprisingly, this is Federer’s first final of the year, partly due to injuries, and largely due to an unexpected brand of inconsistent tennis. But after a much helpful break of 57 days, he’s returned with renewed vigour and ambition. Shrugging off the inertia slowly in Madrid, he’s returned to form here. That he hasn’t dropped a set yet will be something Nadal will have made note of, although there have been moments of concern that haven’t been great enough to deny his date with destiny.

Starting off with a belligerence only he can muster, he subdued Starace and Simon in straight sets, losing all of six games in both the matches together. However, the quarter-finals and semi-finals proved more competitive, given the fresher pairs of legs across the net. Janowicz was touted as the killer on the prowl with the game to cause an upset against anyone, but for all his alleged pomp, Federer beat him in a slightly laboured straight sets match, 6-4, 7-6(2). Last night, Paire showed signs of promise but only had himself to blame for his loss, making double-faults at key moments despite playing some great tennis.

The common denomination has been a successful Federer, who has come up with some wonderful serves and scorchingly accurate forehands that have, unfortunately, faded a little over the week. However, one should expect to see him in his element in such a significant final.

Rafael Nadal: Titles YTD – 5

Most players lose focus and get restless after a break of 222 days. But Nadal has been exactly the opposite, walking with little labour into his 8th consecutive final since his return, having won 5 of them!

He’s played with a lion’s heart, and has more than made up for lost time on the court with a carefully planned strategy to his favourite destination – Paris. Even though he has been extremely comfortable on his favourite surface, there have been a few scares along the way for him.

He started the tournament well, beating Fognini in straight sets. The game against Gulbis was an engaging duel that he triumphed in with some sensational defense and patience. In the quarters, his Spanish compatriot David Ferrer managed to win a set, but lacked the mental resilience to complete a win. The supposedly tough semifinal against Berdych was a meek affair, with Nadal’s powerful groundstrokes helping him into his 8th Rome final in the last 9 years!

In short, the week has seen the steady rise of Nadal’s relentless yet accurate game and confidence that promise to test the Swiss master’s ambitions.

Significant trivia:

Nadal leads the rivalry 19-10 overall, with an even more dominant record of 12-2 on clay. In all their encounters, the winner of the first set has triumphed on 22 occasions, including in 16 games of the last 18 matches. While Nadal makes his 35th career ATP Masters final appearance with a 23-11 record so far, Federer enters his 34th with a record of 21-12.

The Vault:

Clay undoubtedly has been Nadal’s favoured hunting ground. He has an enviable 17-5 Masters finals record, apart from 7 Slam titles at Roland Garros, while Federer has an respectable 6-7 record, besides his lone French Open title in 2009. It is their first final after 2011, and Federer seems determined to avenge his defeat, as evident from the the quote below.

“He is the best mover on clay of all-time, if not Top 2 with Bjorn Borg, so it’s hard to play against him. But I’ve done it before and can put him under pressure,” stated Federer. “I hope this time I have a better chance than at Indian Wells, where things were a bit difficult for me. He’s had an incredible comeback, so I’m really happy for him. But someone has got to stop him, so I hope it’s me.”  

Rome occupies a special place in tennis lovers’ hearts. No matter who wins, we are going to be a part of yet another glorious moment of history in tennis. So, let’s just sit and savour the inimitable moments that only a Federer-Nadal match can create.

Bayern Munich celebrate following their victory after the UEFA Champions League semifinal second leg against Barcelona at Nou Camp on May 1, 2013 in Barcelona, Spain. Getty Images)

To a sport that transcends all religions, all roads lead to the Championship league final and unarguably, the crown is the final redemption of this adventurous odyssey.  Indeed, the dream of every player to wear a jersey is to picture himself raising the iconic trophy in the gaze of a billion under the colourful shower of roaring chants, celebration and euphoria.

But then again, this precious honour is glorified by the rarity and magnanimity of its achievement. Not too often does one get a hand on this royalty. Only the persevering hearts are blessed with a date with destiny.

In the 58 years of this magnificent ritual of gladiatorial war for gaining worship, at fourth place on the list of success rate for all time in the Champions League, with 4 titles and 5 runner-ups, Bayern Munich demands a fair share of respect and admiration. But with no title to display their prowess in the last 12 years, their genius seems betrayed; their hunger for the crown has grown.

In the last three finals, Bayern contested twice only to concede glory to their fancied opponents.

In 2010, after a tricky ‘win: draw: loss’ 7-1-5 season, it went home humbled by the magic and class of Barcelona. Not too defused by the loss to a Catalan unit that seemed on top of their game and the best a century was to ever see, they returned to the final two years later in 2012.

2012 was a different tale though, with a magnificent 10-2-3 season of iconic strategies and yet their trophy seemed elusive as they had to resign to the fickle fate of luck in penalties. Ironically, the same penalties that won them a place in the final while beating Madrid in the semis, denied them the final step to the throne against a par-Chelsea at home.

If anything, the sheer will of this champion to rise from those heart-breaking conquests of being so-near-yet-far to redeem themselves is laudable.

Heynckes has restored belief in an experienced side, and he has turned Arjen Robben and Thomas Mueller into ticking machines. He has driven passion into aging limbs, and instilled a truth into their vision that they stand as a unit among the best in the world. With a sparkling season that stands at 9-1-2, inclusive of a rampaging 7-0 aggregate thrashing of Barca in the semi-finals, they booked a night to the Wembley in search of the crown forfeited to chance a year ago. Deservedly, everyone’s money is on them this time around.

But as the wondrous surprises of the game would have it, against the expectations of half the world that would’ve bet or at least hoped for an El Clasico, it’s finally come to pitch an all-German final, although the two make an entry with contrasting victories against the two Spanish giants.

Bayern arrive with a conclusive revenge and humbling of a beleaguered Barca team carrying a momentum that seems unstoppable. More appreciably, the fact that they beat the Catalans at their own style and backyard should be a glaring indicator of their current form. Their less fancied opponents in Borussia Dortmund with a single title in ’97 aren’t exactly daunting, based on their domestic form. A facile 4-3 aggregate win against Madrid riding on the fortune of an elegant 4-1 win at home betrays their frailties exposed by an inspired Madrid at Bernabeu. However a 7-4-1 season elicits some respect and Bayern should handle them with care. Being familiar foes removes the element of surprise.

And so as it finally comes to stand, we have no El Clasico but one could expect a similar game with two top German clubs influenced by the style of the two Spanish giants. Bayern replicates the possessive play of Barca while Borussia mirrors the dynamism, pace and counter-attacking ability of Real.

Come May 25^th we are set for another epic showdown. Bayern should retrieve what’s theirs to gain, and that will herald the rise of true champions who braved despair, misfortune and risen against all odds, completing a historic treble this season.

Into the third week of the sixth edition of the nation’s most indulgent extravaganza, there are still a host of valid open-ended issues left unaddressed. The evolutionary innovation of this marvellous revenue-generating enterprise is perhaps not too praiseworthy, given the world’s awareness of India’s fanatical love with cricket. The laudable extension of the deal was to combine the two popular unrelated mainstream spheres of national interest – filmy entertainment and sport.

Successful as the broadcasters might argue, or progressively failing as the analysts would present, it’s a future that’s come to stay unrivalled. That the top players across the world are demanding of their boards an opportunity to participate in this lucrative league, is an indication of the direction of changing priorities. It’s a debate for another day if the once glorified virtue of the sport has fallen prey to temptation, but for today, we’ve got a more patriotic virus that needs to be quelled.

A closer look at the title of this addicting phenomenon sparks off a host of misleading issues passively hidden within all the euphoric celebration and glamorous exposure.

‘Indian Premier League’ is the proud name of this inescapable brand that consumes our time, money and energy for close to two months of our annual calendar. Essentially, in trivial break-up, it has but just three words – Indian, Premier and League.

Firstly, Indian?

A cursory glance at the 9 teams speaks a lot about the state of affairs. Even if the total number of the players in the teams stands at around 30-40, the key emphasis from respective boards has always been on the purchase of foreign players, ready to spend whatever it takes. As much as the organization babbles about a promise to promote the future talent of our nation, helping expose them to the best in our own backyard, it’s been a misleading tagline to purchase our idolized souls. As a matter of fact, out of the nine teams, we have five teams captained by foreigners and the key strategies of any team are inevitably based around the core nucleus built off the four foreign players. And to think that there are a majority of sections demanding an increase in the representation of foreigners from 4 to 5!

In between, there’s perhaps the bitter truth to be acknowledged that we turn up to cheer our ageing stars rather than the blooming buds, which makes the fundamental motive of this flowering exercise totally redundant. The promoters, however, are apparently are only too glad to pocket the collections every summer and sit back planning the entire year for the next season.

Though quite early into the latest season, with the exception of RR, there is no team that seems to be producing fair results without overtly relying on the foreign might. It could be too much to ask amidst the myriad other policies, but it’s time the domestic talent of the ‘waiting-in-the-wings’ Bumrahs and Viharis started getting its due spotlight and stage.

Secondly, Premier!

As much as the roaring delirious Indian frenzy is hard to come by elsewhere, the major and minor cricketing nations have attempted replicating the IPL with varying success. With the birth of many such franchises all across the world that come together to compete in the Champions League, one is tempted to ask if there is stiff competition to the IPL.

In terms of the revenues collected, IPL is perhaps unmatched given its wise base, populated audience and star power. But if the performances in the annual Champions League are any indication, the abysmal results of the Indian franchises are shameful. Despite all that our money has managed to buy in the last half decade, success seems elusive, costly to our cheap game.

Though the imperial reign of the IPL’s might can’t be crushed, undeniably, in the matters of the art, the title of Premier, resting back home is frankly misleading. Hence it’s indeed, secondly premier!

Lastly, the League…

Perhaps the only word that retains a sense of sanity in this misguiding acronym. Indeed, it’s a League, though one could say, more infamous over the years for the Bhajji slap, cheerleader’s lap, ignorant yet glamour yap, betting crap, and Modi trap.

Thankfully, it’s still early days for this promising future and one can only hope there are better days ahead. Misleading as the name might sound, I’d like to believe it’s not too wrong to stay optimistic of a change unto the reality of a true Indian Premier League!

Imagine the course of our modern existence bereft of a science of gravitation, had a hungry Newton, 400 years ago, just popped in the apple, not pausing to wonder ‘Why the apple fell?’

Life sometimes does pose in its hidden play the most trivial of questions. But naïve as they seem in our limited vision, there is inherently a deeper lesson that needs to be sought in wisdom. For often on these subtle foundations, rest the timeless monuments of an evolutionary renaissance of humanity as a whole. Therefore, it’s prudent to periodically sit back, observe the world’s randomness shoved into our daily intake and introspect on the definite lessons life seeks to teach us.

Sport, most often dismissed as frivolous entertainment, is an important ingredient of our cultural civilization that throws up, on timely basis, these trivial questions of revolutionary answers.

Across the ages, we have debated at hours’ end the entire range of sporting headlines right from pride, glory, honour and courage to shame, shrewdness and villains in greed.  With a spectrum so large that encroaches into each of our innumerable lifestyles and ideologies, sport then deserves a pedestal of spotlight, and attention unto its minutest move.

More so when the gaze rests on two legends late into their twilight, like Roger Federer and Sachin Tendulkar, the symphony is more than a mere compilation of notes and melody. One could well deliberate if we’d ever see men of such caliber return to seduce our senses, making even the study of their exits a lesson in itself. It’s perhaps in this backdrop that the question in focus now, ‘Why are Federer and Sachin still playing?’ as trivial to a witness as ‘Why did the Apple fall,’ and yet as enlightening to a Newtonesque mind that sits back introspecting for the basic laws!

Sachin Tendulkar

In the 136 year history of Test cricket, there are all but 11 players with more than 10000 runs and yet, only one man with more than 15k. He’s the only player set to shortly appear for his 200^th Test, enriching close to a quarter century career at the crease. He’s the only player to have crossed 50 tons in this format and combined with ODI’s, a total of 100 tons. The first to reach 10k runs in limited over internationals, he has 10 more for company in that league. But retiring with 18, 426, he seems far from even the genius crowd.  The man with most World Cup appearances and aggregate, he bowed out with a World Champion crown. Clichéd as it is, he’s performed with the burden of a billion, measuring up in act and art to the fanatic’s title of godhood bestowed unto him.

Indeed, Sachin Tendulkar has achieved all that one could dream in a lifetime, and perhaps aspire in two.

Roger Federer

The proud owner of a record 17 Grand Slam titles, inclusive of a career Grand Slam and seven titles on the lawns of Wimbledon, even as the next largest tally stands at Sampras’ 14. 76 ATP titles, a record 300 weeks as the number one, and at 31, fighting fit on his worst patch slumps to his lowest rank in more than a decade of ‘World No. 4!’. Indeed, Roger Federer has arguably justified his crown as the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time). Not to forget that the towering majesty of his lifeless statistics has been the unforgettable experience of every eye, gracefully brought alive in the elegance of his divine romance in play.

Given the wide world audience to this sport, perhaps, he’s fallen short of ascending to divinity akin to his illustrious comrade, but with certainty, he’s already scripted his place as a myth for eternity.

Contrasting as their respective games and lifestyles are, the similarities of their uniqueness in the heart of this fanatical hysteria are glaringly evident. And yet, for all the sheer genius of their trade that has earned them an unparalleled legendary status in sporting history, people today seem more bothered about why they are still playing. The critic’s argument is the seeming greed in their pursuit of a history that they alone are the authors of, perhaps at the cost of ignoring their waning prowess and ageing limbs, even as their continuing successes, albeit in patches, never cease to embarrass the press.

Our first assessment would accrue their unfinished journey to an ‘unparalleled passion’ coupled with the unmatched boons of skill for their game, reiterated in their actions, triumphs and commitment, time and again. But then again, there is more to this timeless drama than a mere combination of their love and passion with our adoration.

As I see it, they are the revolutionaries of a modern culture, advocating in their last lap, the ideal psychology every follower needs to embrace for life. One might perhaps categorize them into FedTen’s fundamental laws of leading a life that might be surmised as:

-          Chase your dreams, not limiting your goals to potential.

-          No matter what they say, you always have another chance.

-          The end is but a curse each has to accept, not in resignation to fate, but when their will gives way to wisdom.

-          Nothing is over until you believe and act like it is.

-          Success is the indicator of art while failures alone are the measure of an individual’s heart.

-          Love what you do to be loved in return.

-          If you fear the unreal, the real will remain beyond your grasp.

-          You compete to win over your own past, not to subdue others’ present.

-          Fortune favours the brave. History favours the opportunist.

-          It doesn’t matter if you are not the best. What really matters is whether you are at ‘your’ best.

-          When the day comes for you to depart, which is inevitable, all that counts is how many lives you have touched!

Sooner or later, desired or despised, their twilight will give way to a new dawn. So as the two heroes take their final lap, let us pick the last fleeting glimpses of gods at play and imbibe their glorious spirit to add victory to our lives.

In recent times, there have been a variety of articles penned, trying to gauge the motive of sport in one’s life. Despite the underlying shades that they all capture, each of them is but a sub-plot in one grand story based on the author’s perceptional experience. However, there was one aspect most failed to include, perhaps overlooked, given this era’s intuitive indulgence with complexity. I’d even wager that it is the most important aspect, and yet exposed and naked to the common eye every single day that we’ve learnt to ignore it for its timeless familiarity.

If you haven’t yet figured it out, I talk of ‘STYLE – the beauty component of art called sport!’

Stats, facts and figures are the palate of paid intellectuals with enough free time to debate about the game, long after the common sore throated enthusiast has left to the bar, for celebrating a success or dowsing his raging sorrow. Save the few fashionable gentlemen, probably the major share of humanity, me included, belongs to the latter fraternity, an extended family bonded together to a common cause. Undoubtedly, to most amongst this league of frenzied fans, the first love with sport would’ve been sparked with the ‘style’ of a legend in action.

Talking of style and sport in one sentence, tennis would be a perfect example!

Tennis was one sport that bloomed late, before attaining its deserving space in my life amongst the myriad other hobbies. In fact, I hadn’t quite figured the degree of my love for this sport until I found myself (adventurously) one morning at 3am during ‘study holidays,’ watching a classic ‘Roger-Novak US Open Semi-final!’

In that instant, I even pictured a ‘virtual bystander’ watching my enthusiasm and smirking at my obsession, admiring this crazy adventure of mine that could even get me expelled from college, and, probably in an undertone, bemoaning my sacrifice of an early morning’s peaceful sleep.

There could be multitudinous reasons that conspired to make me struggle against all odds to catch that game live. But clichéd as it sounds, the simple truth was that it was Roger Federer at play!

I was introduced to tennis in the late Sampras era, and for long, this game was more of an occasional fling. But things changed drastically when Roger rose to the crown and transformed this date into a romantic affair, with his seducing play. Back then, there were a host of acclaimed and accomplished names on the circuit, but apparently, none provided a glimpse of genius, enough to create a flutter to his unrivalled majesty.

It was no secret – we ‘respected him for his victories,’ but then, the more subtle subtext was that we ‘loved him for his game!’

It was such a joy to see him at play with an effortless elegance, even as he stuck to picking trophies like a trained pickpocket. Indeed,  he had a stylish complete package of serves, forehands, backhands, volley and movement. History is replete with articles full of a ‘thesaurus of adjectives’ used to describe this legend, but none quite justifies the aura he’s added to the sport. Therefore, it was no wonder to witness the next generation of fresh blood developing their game around his style. Arguably faulty, yet the beauty of a single-handed backhand, mastered by the modern Gasquets and Wawrinkas, attained from the master’s repertoire stands as the supreme metaphor of graceful class.

But as the legend of Roger goes, his first thorn was to be shoveled from the red dirt of Spanish clay. Ironically, the elegant emperor, strolling in the slams, was to be subdued time and again by the mundane persistence of a determined baseliner in Nadal. Provided a glimmer of hope against the champion in this new found strategy, the fitter bodies chasing victory were quick to choose their side.

Would it be style or victory?

The next generation champions like the Novaks and Murrays were quick to embrace victory at the cost of style. All of them are ridiculously agile, flexible and athletic, with a defense styled game committed to returning. Their untiring play beyond their limits has promised rewards is evident, but sadly remains an enduring test to the eye. There are flashing moments of awe, but merely as blink-moments in a 3 hour episode. Pitiably, for the artistic eye, men aside, even the women have gotten machinist, albeit pretty ones at that!

It is nice to count the rising number of marathons but how many of them actually seduce our senses?

The Nole-Murray clashes, widely billed as ‘the modern encounters to watch’, are purely on the nerve of greater physique. There are umpteen long punishing rallies from the baselines, with spare or nil volleys and drops. The players seldom try a creative run of play to set up passing shots. The only minor adjustment to the modern game is the ability of top players to mask offence in defense. With such episodes, all one waits to see is like with the machines bout in real steel: who lasts longer?

With this growing style of mundane yet winning strategy, I fear, the future of tennis wouldn’t feature any more of grace like Federer.

There is none to blame, for as humanity, we’ve always understood evolution as success in the ability to prevail. Darwin should’ve at least spared this sport for the magic of a Roger Federer. Someday, perhaps when Roger walks into his sunset, we’d be quick to comprehend what we’ve truly lost!

Sport gains its obsessive fervour from an endless list of interesting aspects. On the flip side are the seat-edge thrillers that remain a part of our gossip forever, epic moments handed down for generations, victorious celebrations that bring together a new family, intense rivalries that become the topic of endless debates, heroic moments of our own representatives that turn them into overnight legends, and of course the memorable journey of our favourite stars who continue to defy our logic of failure and mortality.

Saving the soap opera twists, the multi-layered controversies involving finances, fiancés and vices, there is perhaps one unforgettable day that gains utmost importance to any lifelong follower of a sport. The dreaded day of every fan in accepting ‘our clock governed lives’ in granting an unwanted farewell to the legend that lived our dreams.

However, life has a date with surprise and memories at times get engraved in our heart, sadly for the wrong reasons.  Imagine for a second, the unpalatable idea of having to see your celebrated hero of a lifetime walking into the sunset, head bent in shame. Apparently at times, a classic could even end with a despicable last frame.

‘With such stories, as much as the art would be appreciated for eternity, history’s maximum interest would only rest on the final scar’

Here’s a compilation of the worst exits in sport and quite surprisingly, each of them was a legend of their sport. However, the more astonishing fact is that for each it was a second innings, returning from injury or retirement to end up in a shameful finale. They were, to say the least, disgraceful, shameful and in remote reasoning, even justifiable. But in the pages of sporting history’s greatest classics – each of them would be an unmistakable blot!

Perhaps, the innate lesson within these infamous instances is that ‘Greatness is not all that counts at the end of the day!’

#1 A peddler loses direction…

There wouldn’t be a more accomplished legend screaming for attention and a rightful place atop this list. I agree leaving out Lance Armstrong would be foolish, but then wasting words on such a media’s darling would only be more foolish and repetitive. Hence saving some space and your precious time, we move on further into the league of extra-ordinary wrecks.

#2 Tennis’ misled queen…

There is probably some magic potion in the snow of the Swiss Alps, for even before Federer stamped his nation onto our imagination, there was an elegant teenage protégé who stole our hearts. In ’11, named one of the ‘30 legends of Women’s tennis of past, present and future’ by Time, this beauty boasted of all youngest-ever records, having made her professional debut 2 weeks after she blew off 14 candles. For a minor feel of her genius, her ’97 was the typical ‘06, ‘07 folklore stuff of Roger Federer.

With 5 Slam titles, 1 mixed doubles title and 9 doubles slam titles including a calendar slam, and 209 weeks atop the world rankings; Martina Hingis was the reigning face of tennis for a while. Injuries perhaps robbed us of more from this lady, who cut short her career and sought to retire in Feb ’03 at 22. For such a remarkable journey, typically as we’d like to categorically classify such rare brilliance, she was a legend!

But having come out of retirement in 05, fighting off her injuries with passion for the sport, she slowly fought her way back to shape and stardom. By ’06 she was easily moving about her deserved greatness, albeit with the loss of her once envious killer finishes.

However, her swansong shall remain deliberated for ages. It remains a controversy still clouded, but the fact stays that she remains guilty, in fault having gone uncontested. For a sport so mysteriously clean, Hingis was under investigation for testing positive for cocaine. Hingis was made aware of the test results post her third round loss to Laura Granville at Wimbledon, with both “A” and “B” urine samples failing the tests. She professed innocence, pleading, “I have tested positive but I have never taken drugs and I feel 100 percent innocent. I would personally be terrified of taking drugs. When I was informed [about the test] I was shocked and appalled.” She chose to not contest the accusation given the enormous time it would demand saying, “Because of my age and my health problems, I have also decided to retire from professional tennis.” She chose to retire even whilst handed a 2 year ban by the ITF for testing positive at Wimbledon ‘07, backdated to October at the start of 2008.

I always admired her and miss her often. But wiping off the tear in the corner of my eye, I’ve to admit, the return of a legend and the life of a queen were finally put to rest with my conscience.

#3 The Football Hall of shame goes to …

In the same vein, here was another rare genius off his foot. A bald Frenchman who led his nation to ultimate glory, he was the toast of the betting lords, a certain magician at work.

With a shimmering career as one of the finest ever attacking midfielder, he carved out a legendary status for himself. His very first World Cup brought home the World Cup for his country and he acquired overnight adoration after the brace that sealed their win over the defending champions and favourites – Brazilians. His impact was evident the way they consequently sealed even the Euros two years later.

The name is Zinedine Zidane!

He retired in ’04 post a surprising loss to Greece in the quarters. But probably, destiny desired a more iconic ending to the story of such a prolific legend. And hence, the man returned to serve his country in the time of its darkest hour. On the coach’s appeal, the dark knight rose to lead a depleted French side that struggled to even qualify for the mega event.

Given his majestic inspiring presence and assists, the team eventually reached the finals of ‘06. But the ending was one that we would’ve, on the worst night, encountered in a nightmare.

In the biggest showdown in modern sport, with close to 3 billion watching around the globe, the setting for his final act couldn’t get bigger. At the World Cup Final, after yet another record opening penalty goal into the 7^th minute, he ended up leaving with a red card for the most infamous head-butt in the 110^th minute.

In the subsequent interviews, Materazzi’s insults to Zidane’s mother and sister in that dying moment that led to Zidane’s tipping angered reaction came to light. Years later, Zidane remarked that he “would rather die” than apologize to Materazzi for the headbutt in the final, but further admitted he “could never have lived with himself” had he been granted a choice to stay and help France pick a 2^nd crown in his services.

Post the infamous red in the final, Zidane retired from pro-football, and confirmed that it was final. FIFA sentenced him with a three game suspension, but given his retirement, the genteel giant condescended to rather engage in three days of community service with kids as part of FIFA’s humanitarian projects.

I haven’t yet understood the experience, nor have I bothered to attempt it either. But for all our accusations of the man’s innate exuberance in the moment, I still forgive him, given the fact that I admired him from when I was 10, with him being my first football legend. I will always salute him and smile while re-reading his long but illustrious 32 awards’ list.

#4 Of men ‘who didn’t play’ for a dime …

It’s a heady caption, perhaps a little confusing even, given that here were men playing and yet paid to not play. But there did live such men of dishonorable reputation who squandered opportunity to a bank balance. However, given that there are far too many competing for the honors to take the prime spot, it felt prudent to make that a separate article altogether!

For now therefore, it’s adios…

‘Remember, at the end of the day, greatness is not all that matters!’

There was an unforgettable time called infancy, when our first stammering words were celebrated, when our fumbling and tumbling attempts evoked such pride in the eyes of onlookers. People rushed to our aid to wipe our silly tears and fears, lending a hand without reservation. There was no sense of hypocrisy in any experience or expression. Indeed, life then was literally a dessert gifted on a silver plate even as the world seemed like a savoury paradise.

Until the tireless clock ticked on till we were introduced to a phenomenon called success. Pretty soon, success was a desire we were obliged to habituate with great pride, for surroundings forced us to believe that this was the single defining attribute of a legend.

But somewhere amidst this obsession for spotlight, we began to ignore the might of darkness and power of freedom. In pursuit of a tricky fame upon the throne, we belittled the statuesque sentry guarding the door. It was a despicable psychology that soon plagued even our sport, and soon we were celebrating triumphs over relations, compiling stats rather than shaking hands, counting money at the mercy of meetings, and seeking victory over visitors.

Silly as it seems, humanity’s evolution began to be measured in piling progress, even if it’s at the expense of burying the heart!

In this backdrop, the story of Indian cricket was a reminder that perhaps the key to Indian failure was verily our success. For close to three decades after that glorious epochal day of ’83, the Indian follower hasn’t been distracted by any virtuous desire. Night and day, they’ve swarmed the stadia and passionately followed their heroes, hoping to relive the hangover experience of their past generation.

It took a while, a pretty long one at that, to recreate the moment. We went closer than imagined in ’03 only to be denied at the final yard. With each passing attempt, the situation got worse and our desire tipped into desperation. In a way, the ’11 World Cup triumph was the complete experience for in a long while, finally a host was gifted the luxury of drowning live in its success. Besides, it was the nation’s favourite legend’s final appearance in team colours in the World Cup, achieving his 28 years’ lifelong dream on his home ground. For once, it was such a pleasure to see Him in tears!

But alas, in this new found purple era capping the decade of Indian achievement in cricket starting from 2001, we failed in the art of coping with success.

In the hour of our wealthiest celebration on that night of ’11, wiser counsel stressed the need to invest afresh. A tough sacrifice seemed imminent but our emotional bond only got stronger. In hindsight, it was rather merely an obsession for success, at the cost of wiping our own tears. For it’s a tricky moment in every man’s life. An awkward moment when the artist gets lost in his finest art, a musician stands mesmerised with his magical melody, a sculptor turns still in grandeur of his most magnificent mirage crafted. A perplexing moment of risk, when one gets sandwiched between an unforgettable past and the possibility of a greater future. The inconvenient moment of realization when one needs to let go something immortal to find mortal ambrosia.

We took a while to learn. 2 years later, after many paling whitewashes abroad and humiliations under our own roof, this morning, we finally saw light and it seems, even if it’s too premature to celebrate, that our darkest days are over.

It was a fine win over a depleted yet respected opposition in favourable conditions. But more than a mere statistical entry into the victory column per se, it was the ingredients of the tale that were heartening.

The questioned captain produced his finest performance, equalling a captaincy record, capturing 21st win of his career. Ashwin got back to doing what he is reputed for. Harbhajan returned albeit noiseless to prove that spin wasn’t history yet in its birthplace. Kohli played with penchant to prove his burdening responsibility was motivating. And finally Sachin returned to his second home to prove his promising final innings of the career was just beginning.

Celebrating this magical moment, let’s not hope history repeats itself, given that we saw the English rise from the same position, a very short while ago.

Either ways, the only reason we succeeded was that we began to play with the nonchalant freedom of an innocent child. We set out to take risk as challenge and learnt to acknowledge and smile at failure, accepting our falls as a means to learn how to rise. We finally learnt to just play! There wasn’t a more illustrious metaphor of this childish renaissance as with the 39 year old legend smashing the first two balls over the fence.

It was a deafening proclamation in sedate grace from a resurgent hungry team that this promising dawn would lead to a memorable day ahead.

I for one at least, believe that our darkest days are safely tucked into the coffin!

Sport is indeed a complete experience that takes one through the extreme emotions of life. Even as we were lost in a hangover from accomplishing a lifelong dreamt World Cup triumph, we were rudely woken with a nightmarish hammering on scenic foreign lands best suited for romance. And to add to the pain of such a stinging disgrace, two legends unexpectedly limped off into the sunset. Suddenly, a mighty empire in its own den looked toothless and hence, it was no surprise that the mighty defence of its fortified pride was reduced to dust by a determined English side.

If only that could be treated as an aberration, the optimistic patriotic enthusiast in me pleaded!

Amidst all the chaotic repercussions in a fragmented home, as the final dynamite to tear it apart, its favourite son was demanded for a sacrificial ritual. After months of living a traumatic role, questioned for deservedness in every frame, the tragedy play eventually came to an end. Thankfully, the last remaining star in Sachin did yield only partly, staying on to bridge the dark night of this infant with its mature bright dawn.

We missed him in the colours but cricket moved on into a new era with a New Year that promised hope, although this bright moment was only postponed. Our very neighbours, who arrived as invited guests poisoned the menu and left until thankfully, the Cook returned to sacrifice his Christmas presents to deliver a perfect dessert as India regained its crown in the coloured robes!

Ironically, even as we celebrated at having reached the summit, the sane purist was found declaring that we have a long way to go. The, touchwood, reality!

Our once prided ‘home’ empire, now in ruins, is already a rumoured myth. History has recorded various Legends who once called us the final frontier but today we seem to be making history, more credible in creating legends off visiting novices. Our potential kings have gone into a sleep even as the opponents’ pawns are spiritedly advancing. The least we could ask of a mighty warrior is to instil courage in his ranks and fear across with his mere presence in the battlefield; the real reason why someone like Sachin, in his real avatar on the field, makes such a difference to a team’s spirit!

In ten days’ time, we will have a chance to erase the tainted past and provide our supporters a reason to stick on. The Border-Gavaskar trophy duel at home is a challenge royal enough that a victory would be respected, even if the opposition appears weakened due to a fate same as ours. Indian takes on Australia in a 4 match Test series starting from the 22^nd of this month. A victory would mean we are back to where we belong as champions who can hold their head high, at least at home, for a start!

Australia will be without Ricky Ponting

The appetizing factor for this series besides the perennial Sachin aura, would be a test of both the team’s abilities to stand tall despite losing two of their legends. India will walk out to the toss without Dravid and Laxman, while Australia will have to perform without the services of Ponting and Hussey. In the light of such magnanimous loss at least, you could probably say that both are equal or since its India versus Australia, I’d say India starts with a greater loss!

So, as we are set for an epic showdown that promises to be a defining moment in the cricket of both these nations, it’s time we took stock of our resources. Saving the visitors for another day, here is a thorough examination of our representatives.

From the bygone Test series loss to the English, there were a lot of key observations.

The negatives

Our captain seemed more focused on the pitch report. Sehwag was irresponsible and nonchalant throughout the series, save the first match. The openers, on the whole, weren’t keen to spend an hour together in the middle. Kohli and Sachin didn’t justify their stature. The middle order failed to produce one good combined counter-attack. The bowlers and specifically the spinners, were toothless and lacked the guile to trouble an opposition famous to fear spin. Sachin’s gaze seemed to be more focused on the distracting critic in the stands, losing his concentration against the English sardar. Duncan fletcher perhaps was in two minds, never reminded that his last engagement with the English was already done. Zaheer turned from bad to worse and the promising Umesh showed that his affair with injuries wasn’t yet over. And lastly, a faithful crowd was busy concocting revenge dreams when sanity would’ve demanded being a little circumspect.

The positives

With the vast majority of aforementioned negatives to be overcome, there were perhaps a few positives too that could be drawn. Pujara played some determined knocks to prove his desire for the no.3 spot. Sehwag showed a rare glimpse maturity and unusual patience amidst his belligerence that fetched him a ton, excusing his otherwise insipid series. Dhoni showed intent in performing, even if it was just individually. Ishant too bowled a few encouraging spells in patches.

Meanwhile, dropping a struggling Gambhir was a positive statement, though I would’ve been glad to see Sehwag accompany his partner through the door. Sehwag’s recent approach to the Irany trophy – the final practice match before the big series – to forgo it due to a stomach upset, seemed a little lackadaisical on his part. On a sincere note, bringing in Ravindra Jadeja might go a long way in helping his talent bloom, as he seems to be growing in confidence each day. He might perhaps be that elusive genuine all-rounder who needs to be groomed for the future. The return of the Turbanator is a decision of confusion though. Given a place for his present merit or past gratitude, he could however be the surprising element to his favourite bunnies.

All said, it’s now highly dependent on one man who holds much influence to the team’s attitude – Sachin Tendulkar. He might now be relatively much lighter, free from a huge monkey off his back, having rendered a host of eager critics jobless. His first series as a pure Test player should be interesting for viewing his approach. Probably, he should look to do what he is reputed for – score a lot of runs!

I was very happy to see him enthusiastic to play every domestic match he could avail of, not as a Sachin fan but as an Indian cricket follower. But the more heartening fact was his change in guard, to rectify the minor fault that seemed to be hampering his prowess of late. His latest mid-stump guard, a minor shift from the leg stump that seemed to be a perfect window to gate-crashing deliveries, is laudable. The immediate effects of such a subtle change were well evident in the return of those majestic straight drives and on-side perfection.

And so, we stand at the cusp of an exciting series and this is the India that awaits Australia. It remains to be seen though, as to which India turns up against Australia – the one that beat them 2-0 or got washed 0-4!

But today, ironically, it seems like his miraculous return to life, fighting death itself is his biggest curse when he stands ashamed as a guilty criminal.

Sport is indeed the most populace modern theatre; a stage where the life of its precious artist is magnified and transient roles become inspirational figures.

Legends in sport as they say are a myth that once played in the lane of impossible and breathed miracles. They come rarely in an era of the blessed and provide the script of folklore, leaving behind a mythical legacy of surreal divinity. As much as we’d wish to rebel those grand claims from such privileged eras not our own, denied or obliged, such history can’t be erased!

Although thankfully, our era seems to have been that blessed era save the inimitable Don who was more than compensated with an ageless charming Sachin Tendulkar. Micheal Phelps is a water-mark, synonymous with a shark in the pool. Bolt is an instant metaphor to human speed. Michael Schumacher is the superlative adjective to racing. Roger Federer stands apart as an ageless symphony of elegance in the realms of tennis. Jordan is the human image of an eagle rising to the sky. Martina Navratilova is the enduring figure of an ageless champion in women’s tennis.

In short, there is a rare flower in every garden of sport that leaves behind a lingering scent of adoration for eternity.

But are all these monumental tales of invincibility as magnificent by the virtue of their achievements or the achievement of virtue?

Not too long ago, in the same bracket as the aforementioned sporting heroes, there were some more whose deeds screamed for attention.

Tiger Woods was perhaps a once in a lifetime spectacle of accuracy to grab a golf club. Marion Jones was the face of American pride in athletics. A charming teenage sensation, Martina Hingis was among the potential queens of modern tennis. All promising conquerors in sight of the throne, until the lack of virtue undid their crown. Indeed, champions (well not quite in hindsight) amongst us who had it all, and yet deserved none.

And this brings us to the question of society’s stance with sport. ‘Are all these shameful cheats in news, because they cheated resorting to immoral means or rather cause we followers felt cheated?

In this context, I was more appreciative of the heart beneath the mind of a writer in labeling Armstrong as no Robin Hood!’

For, as much as Lance is an outlaw treated with disdain, he is a mirror to our subdued grey persona that needs to be acknowledged, even if it’s an inconvenient truth. Over the ages, amidst all the talk of human evolution, we have managed to retain and indulge in these errors as unshakable habits. Mistakes; often the most despised attribute of a human, are ironically today, the first aspect that reminds us of our mortality.

The root of the problem is thus essentially at the core of our psychology. The modern era is a society that is obsessed with fame and pedestal. Everyone demands a rank atop. Each seeks a mind habituated with robotic perfection, even at the expense of creativity. The market wants numbers and performance, often engaging the mortal beyond its limit, assuming its timely generosity to the purse as sufficient to calm the agitated individual.

Isn’t a child then taught to chase the crown at the expense of anything, even death and morality? It’s probably his curse to grow into a world that lives on the principle that ‘winning is all that matters!’

Such mindless traits handed for generations was destined to eventually end as an inevitable culture. The curse of cheating all life to beat competition was certain to show up at the one place it mattered most – a sporting arena where the thin line between forgotten history and historical future was a victory!

One glance around and it seems like our sports are filled with faulty routes to success. Faked falls to earn a penalty and innumerable tripping tackles or pushing to attract a yellow card or red card in football, countless styles of fouls in basketball, and the list goes on. In short, have we been licensed to cheat?

This happens to be one end obsessed with fame, while the other end of the spectrum is a contrasting dishonor in willing to sacrifice (if such a honorable word could be loosely used) anything for money. The pride of representing the country, god given talent, honor in playing, justice to their selection, and lastly even the joy of winning mean nothing ahead of an ignoble transient purse to them.

While both the choices are basal, I’d say the objective of the latter is worse!

It is time the world woke up to the need of the hour. The Armstrong episode isn’t yet another cheating scandal that is merely news for the craving media. It’s a cruel reminder that we are still living in the old phrase – ‘to err is human.’

It’s a call for a change in our approach to game and life as such. For in the final analysis, long after we have entered our twilight past retirement, while most would lose sleep over our achievements, it’s most important that ‘We’ better not lose sleep over how we got there. Probably explains why the fugitive behind this battling winner in Armstrong stands meekly in surrender today. Like as they always have said, ‘A clear conscience is the softest pillow!’

Bill Bryson once said, ‘I mused for a few moments on the question of which was worse, to lead a life so boring that you are easily enchanted, or a life so full of stimulus that you are easily bored!’

If the first semifinal between David Ferrer and Djokovic was a case of the former, where play was so straightforward and boring that anything mildly varying was enchanting, the second semifinal promises to be the latter; a worthy match so full of stimuli that one could easily get bored with minute-long lapses, given that there are two magicians in the midst. It is, after all, the battle of an ageless emperor taking on an adolescent prince who has courted his first maiden.

The past is in the past and needs to be safely tucked away amongst the voluminous tales of history. But alas, in sport and art, the past is the only yardstick; of virtue, deservedness and growth. And so every fresh battle gets more momentous in the shadow of its past. Vengeance is a vice, but not in the realms of sport. The loser who fails to conquer his victor in subsequent encounters fails to achieve growth over his lifetime. He might be a king one day, but the future shall only remember his frailties which he failed to overcome. And that brings us to the 2nd Australian Open semifinal.

ROGER FEDERER

Time is fleet-footed but it gallops in the land of the kangaroos. Against these swirling waters of change, a sedate swan has stood tall and firm. This is the same arena where the legend once stood in tears after losing a final to his Spanish nemesis, but he returned a year later to lift his 4th title here. He picked his 16th Grand Slam trophy then, and today returns to stay in the hunt for his 18th, although bereft of his once enviable cape of invincibility. He has remained an ageless warrior on the courts although the critics kept opining otherwise.

He may be among the few who dared to walk into a tournament as big as a Grand Slam without playing any warm-up tournament, but  he is also the only one who has 17 Grand Slam titles. The one and only, Roger Federer.

It was a smart move in hindsight, considering his aging limbs. The big talk at the beginning of the tournament, of Federer’s minefield of a draw, turned to be a blessing in disguise. A minefield he was given, but a gardener he has become, uprooting the weeds along the way. The added attention only put additional pressure on the potential novices who were then subdued with ease.

Fresh off an extended break, Roger started off with a straight sets rout of the promising Benoit Paire. The next three rounds would be exhilarating we were told, but the king stamped his authority. Nikolay Davydenko, the former world no. 3, was reminded of his present rank. Bernard Tomic, with his youthful exuberance, was gifted his elaborate glittering farewell. Milos Roanic’s gigantic serve was returned with double the efficacy. Three masterclasses from the silent dynamite that silenced the critics!

And for the last vain doubter of his deservedness, he reserved his experience for dismantling a powerhouse in the form of Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. The darkest moment was lit with a backhand return slice, easily the best shot of the tournament.

ANDY MURRAY

Some are gifted but fail to realize their potential, inadequately motivated to chase the crown. And perhaps for every era, there is one such sympathetic prince. Andy Murray is perhaps the Andre Agassi of the present era. At 25, for quite a while, perhaps longer than desired, this protégé was touted to pick his first Slam even as a certain ghost named Fred Perry got restless in his grave. And after four vain attempts, often at the expense of the 17-time legend, he nailed it last year at the US Open, beating Novak Djokovic in a five-set showpiece.

This has perhaps been his easiest route to the semis with no troubling pranksters along. Shielded from the the spotlight on the other two, Murray has silently cruised with clichéd perfection. It’s either because of a listless draw, with just one seeded player in Gilles Simon apart from Hasse, Sousa, Beraknis, and Chardy, or a because of a scorching ruthlessness in his game, that he has yet to lose a set. But now, he has a worthy competitor across the net, and perhaps for the first time in this tournament, a player capable of making him go that extra yard.

Murray comes off an impressive unbeaten streak of 12 matches in Slams with loads of confidence, having figured in the last 3 major finals (inclusive of Olympics) and winning two of them. And more than the statistics, the manner in which he’s achieved them is perhaps a correct indication of his evolution as a player.

TALKING OF THEIR GAME

Federer has been uncharacteristically happy to win off opponent’s errors. His first serve looked a little weak in the quarterfinal, but otherwise has been impressive so far. The forehand has regained its invincibility of the past and the backhand has retained its precision. His limbs seem to have aged but his heart has more than made up for their deficiencies. The only worry for him at the moment, is his inability to convert break points, which Andy will be certainly quite reluctant to gift.

Murray has improved his serve and retained his bludgeoning backhand. His young legs have meant that he leaves very little room for error. There hasn’t emerged anything magical from his game yet, but that’s in part due to the lacklustre draw handed to him. Cometh the hour, and he is one prince perfectly capable to deliver. His success could well depend on how powerfully he attacks Roger’s weak backhand, as Tsonga showed the other night.

HEAD TO HEAD

Few players can boast of a lead over Roger, but Murray can take heart that he belongs to that elite group. Leading 10-9, he goes into the match with a slender lead, although in the Majors, he’s often been decimated clinically by Roger (until the Olympics blowout of course). Their last two encounters, both on hardcourts, have been shared between the two, with the latest in Roger’s bag. It remains to be seen if Roger takes his revenge this time around for the humiliation he was handed on his favourite lawns while chasing his lifetime dream!

It was a tired Roger who turned up that evening, most profess. Will their adoration and belief be justified tomorrow? Only time will tell.

The heart says Federer, the head says Murray. But the eyes will witness the final answer tomorrow.

Indeed, a thrilling vengeance beckons, for after a long, long while, it’s the chased champion who is chasing!

PREDICTION: We couldn’t quite manage to reach the ORACLE, but we believe she thinks it will be Roger in 4 sets. If it goes to 5, then certainly Roger!

It’s winter time and scientifically, nights are longer than days, we are told. But in a well-lit adorable sporting theatre in Melbourne Park, nights are much longer and brighter by virtue of the stars that turn up. A host of brave men chasing history or making it, ready to brave the rising temperatures and risen legends to script a place of their own in the pages of the sport’s classics. Two weeks of sacrificing everything in return for attaining the one thing that needs to be held, both the serve and an elusive Grand Slam title!

After ten days of intense battle, an occasional surprise, few breath-taking moments of awe and a countless number of mundane rallies, we are set to unveil the final four who have a shot at the final glory for the 2013 Australian Open. One look at the draw and it seems like more than 85% of the world would’ve predicted the same even before the first shot was hit. As expected or rather rightly desired, all the top 4 seeds have lined up for the honors in the semi-final.

Although rational expression demands that we label them as two exhilarating contests, an astute analyst would treat them more aptly as a semifinal and a half, as demanded by the virtue of a cruel draw. If a little extravagance could be tolerated, I’d say it’s the ‘game of three and a half men!’ Not that the promising kid is to blame, but a certain valiant fighter named Rafael Nadal, who has made his absence badly felt.

Coming to the line-ups that shall take the courts:

#1 NOVAK DJOKOVIC [1] Vs DAVID FERRER [4]:  David Vs Goliath, The battle of machines.

DAVID FERRER

A player with 7 titles, the highest in the previous season, including a Masters trophy, is seldom brushed aside with scorn as an under-achiever, unless that player happens to be a certain lion-hearted lamb called David Ferrer. The disdain is reinforced by the fact that he’s yet to make to a Grand Slam final in his life. This Spaniard is today perhaps what his opponent was years ago – a participant who helped complete most semifinal draws!

Ferrer is probably content living in the shadow of the rest. And if he isn’t that player that his determination might suggest, he is probably destined to remain a legacy of the promising but unfinished monument emperors.

Before my contemptuous barrage upon this valiant fighter is mistaken as a mindless grudge, let me make it clear that it is but a reflection of his performances in this tournament.

The first round against a weak Rochus was a straight set affair. But amongst the final four, he is the only one to have lost a set right in his second against a hard-serving Smyczek. That said, his next round against a threatening former Australian Open finalist Baghdatis was resounding and admirable, as much as his fourth against an equally formidable unpredictable Nishikori, both of which he won in straight sets.

Ironically though, as against the desired enhancement in the performances on nearing the summit, his game has thoroughly fallen apart. His latest quarterfinal victory against Almagro wasn’t exactly convincing – his victory came about more a result of his opponent’s mental and physical fatigue. How often do you see a 10th-seeded player of appreciable calibre forfeit 3 chances to serve for the match, oncee as early as the 3rd set? Indeed, it was quite appropriately summed by the ‘Independent’ as a miraculous escape for the tireless Spanish machine.

On the gaming front, Ferrer hasn’t quite put anything on display to prove his growing stature or rebuff any claims of his insipid play. He’s developed a good serve, and as always he looks fit to run and retrieve, but it remains to be seen if he can match the wiser machine across!

NOVAK DJOKOVIC

Being the top seed is a source of pressure in itself, but there exists a league of extraordinary men unto whom pressure is a daily breath. Men, rather machines, like Djokovic seldom bother about opponents – they are too busy fighting the expectations of their own past.

Right at the start, this unparalleled gladiator was the most primed to pick his 3rd consecutive Australian Open title. But it remains to be seen if he can evade the curse haunting this Open right from 1968 that’s not allowed a single hat-trick, even to the legend Roger in his prime.

Novak’s odyssey to this position too has had an uncharacteristic tale. He’s had to face a draw of unexpected opponents right from round one, with each of them capable of pulling off an upset. Probably, in the big attention to the minefield for Roger, few bothered to notice the Djoker’s tryst with adventure.

Starting off with a straight sets victory over Roger’s Wimbledon surprise Paul-Henri Mathieu, Novak subdued the big serving Harrison, albeit with a discomfort that the score-line of 6-1, 6-2, 6-3 wouldn’t suggest. Up next against Stepanek, the minor chinks in Novak’s game were exposed, although their frequent meetings meant that the Serb went ahead unscathed with a calculated performance.  On a personal note, that was the match I enjoyed most this year.

Unlike the Spaniard though, Novak’s tests came earlier, as early as in the 4th round against a spirited 15th-seeded Swiss. It was a 5 hour marathon, with a lot of mundane tennis sprinkled with magnificence. Clearly, the top seed seemed ruffled, though he went to bed on the preferred side without his T-shirt.

But surprisingly, any fears of an exhausted Nole getting subdued by a powerful Berdych were silenced with ease, so much so that  one was forced to wonder which one of them had played a 5 hour match the other night.

The Serb’s game has been torn apart more than once in the last week, although he’s still managed to get this far. His phenomenal serve seems to have improved, as has his precision with his cross-court forehand, which complements his untouchable backhand. Thankfully, he’s lost nothing save his energy and perhaps a few ounces. If anything, he is probably now more certain of his untiring mental stamina!

HEAD TO HEAD

Having said it all, Ferrer now finds himself roaring to confront Djokovic for the 17th time across the net, in the 5th semi-final of his career. Novak leads the head-to-head 11-5, having won the last five of them, with the 5 wins that Ferrer has managed majorly being scripted on clay in ’07.  As a respite for the Ferrer fans though (and the anti-Nole, Fed fans) the last time Ferrer beat Novak, it was on the hardcourts in 2011 at the London Masters, even if that was followed by a five-match unbeaten streak on the same surface.

With all the said drama at stake, it remains to be seen as to who will defy the curse. Will Ferrer triumph over his personal curse and enter his 1st final, or will Novak master the curse of the place!

PREDICTION

We caught up with our (promising yet doubtable) ORACLE (read Namrata Suri) and this is what she has to predict: Djokovic to win in four sets!

On a waning Indian winter’s January afternoon, the curse of free time and rest could turn most restless. But such a disguised luxury is not everyone’s to gain. How often does a working Indian get the opportunity to catch a live game of the Australian Open?

These are scorching times, we are told by a boisterous Tamia on ‘Vijay’s View’, but the scorching games just seem to out-rival this heat. The bright and vibrant ‘Rod lever arena’ turns up on the screens and the brush with some of the game’s greatest heroes in action is just pure delight. Indeed, a mid-winter’s daylight fantasy!

Now the first week is seldom interesting in most grand slams save the occasional upset, despite the fact that it’s called an upset. It’s a time when the unseeded participants are busy attempting to uproot the mighty seeds that are already gigantic trees, when the deserving are filtered from the desiring, when the aspirants are taught their first lessons on the big stage by the hands of the masters, when the draws start converging in the direction of the legends.

Rarely though in the middle of such an insipid week, there is an evening that promises a date with destiny; an event when the spotlight falls on two competitors of contrasting auras, inflaming the darkness with a game of colourful drama.

One such promising encounter on the cards for the Aus. Open ’13, is a third round encounter between home favourite Tomic and home favoured Federer. It’s been an encounter that has been talked about right from the day the draw was drafted, further intensified by the mind games and war of words from the two. In my unbiased opinion, a clash between vanity and pride!

Tomic comes into the game brimming with confidence, with a 10^th straight win of the summer, having beaten Djokovic (even if it was at Hopman Cup) and picked an ATP warm-up title in Sydney en route to the tournament. It could although tip into over-confidence if he were to try taking on an in-form Federer by merely resting on the laurels of these victories from the recent past. His past year, if anything, is mildly unsettling and in a way, I’m right now reminded of a prodigious talent we’ve met before, called Marat Safin. Remember his on-court display after the Wimbledon ‘12 loss to David Goffin, when he smashed two racquets to vent his frustration?

Such abrasive fragility of the mind and emotional meltdown could be his greatest curse, especially against an equanimous genius called Roger Federer.

His recent verbal retaliation to the legend’s mind games have been received with varied criticism from the analysts and game’s pundits. Those who love standing by the underdogs (and on the lighter vein, Nadal fans) have lauded his courageous stance while most, including the prudent, would opine that it’s pride or sheer audacity!

Either ways, this prince in his first crown ought to realize that upping the ante in dealing with the Emperor’s statements in the press wouldn’t be quite the same as dealing with his venomous passing forehands or mesmerizing creative volleys in the run of play.

Federer on the other hand, doesn’t hold a warm-up title to either portray his latest form or affirm his experience in the fresh season. Recalling his majestic stats, like the 17 Slam titles, could be easily dismissed with a grin as relying too much on past glory. But it’s still a mockery of ‘even his 31 year old gaming vanity’ to dismiss his abilities to tame a 1 ATP title old protégé, more famous for controversies off the court!

Going by the mind of this monumental champion, I am quite certain that complacency wouldn’t figure in his mental arsenal when he turns up on the court on Saturday. Federer has never been the player to rely too much on the opponents’ aura, be it Rank 1 or Rank 100, treating both with as much respect; a fact that’s reflected in his unparalleled consistency as a top ranked player in beating unseeded novices.

In the present tournament though, the two of them have had contrasting journeys to the epic showdown. It seems pretty ironic that we have to label a round 3 encounter for HRH Roger Federer as ‘Epic’, but that’s the curse of age and birth of a Federer critic’s time perhaps.

Despite turning up on the centre court right from his practice blocks, Federer has straight away dusted his wardrobe of rest and got into cruise mode, winning both his matches in straight sets. He has looked in the usual form of his winning majesty, playing long mesmerizing rallies, creating unbelievable forehands in passing, a better first serve and consistent backhand. His only worry at the moment though, should be his inability to convert most of his break chances, which won’t be available in as much abundance with the top players. Beating Davydenko, a former No.3 in straight sets with the kind of game he played today, is perhaps an indication of his accelerated progress to glorious form of the old.

On the opposite site, for all the uproar about his potential to upset the big man, Tomic on his part, hasn’t quite managed to create the stature of a big hurdle to be crossed. His first match was quite straightforward against a lowly ranked Mayer but the second against a big-serving German Qualifier showed more frailties in his trade. Although Tomic seemed rock solid in extending his highly impressive run of service holds to 76 games, stretching back to the quarter-finals in Sydney last week, his inability to break his opponent should be a drawback against a firing Federer’s serve.

Having said it all, come Saturday night at Rod Laver arena, we are in for some bright fireworks. A potential upset as few might hope. A humbling defeat as some others might grudgingly profess. A hard earned win for the Swiss as the safe analysts might rant. Either ways, we have a meaningful encounter in the first week and Federer’s first game to prove his rightful desire for an 18^th slam.

Prediction: Roger to beat the maverick in 4 sets.

In such a backdrop, the stories of tennis’ twilight stories have been quite romanticized. Year after year, even as tennis fans watch in despair, most of our childhood icons have faded into oblivion. And with the increasing number of instances, as with the sudden retirement of a fiery Roddick to hang up his boots even before his first child came to the stands, there is a sudden statistic doing the rounds. That 30 is perhaps the ideal time to think of a life beyond the rectangle borders and closed stadia.

But there are those few who stir us to the glaring misconception of our statistical opinions. And they are the men who prove their mettle as the real fighters and true champions. Keeping Federer for another day, for today it’s the story of a brave-heart named Lleyton Hewitt!

There isn’t a more inspiring image of endurance and motivation besides this 31-year-old. Turning up at tournaments and often handed a wild card in lieu of his past glory, he plays out marathon five-setters and goes deep into the tournament to prove that honour is dependent on deservedness and not sympathy. One finds him inspiring when he even accounts for quite a few of the seeded heavy-weights. Defeating a rank 15 Raonic and the very next day, a top 10 player fresh off an impressive Davis cup victory, Berdych, in making it to the Kooyong classic final, is no mean feat.

But to evaluate the deservedness of his grit and genius, perhaps we just need to rewind the film of his career.

The youngest to make the World No.1 and if quantity seems the demand of the hour, he stayed there for close to one and half years. He was the last of our generation to own both a singles and a doubles Grand Slam. He was the fierce fighter who played an austere semifinal and returned the very next day to humiliate the don in his den, beating Pete Sampras in straight sets at US Open final, all at 20. A charged prince who returned the next year to prove his deservedness for the throne, storming through to his 1st Wimbledon title, losing just 2 sets in the entire tournament. A feat never matched till date.

Surprisingly, despite his world conquering talents, he was that erratic maverick who could kiss the stars and wade to the bottom of Marina Trench with equal ease. A legendary sensation and yet the only open era Wimbledon defending champion to lose to a qualifier in the first round.

There is no player to have tasted as much success in dismantling Federer early in his career, winning 7 of their first 9 matches, although it happened before Federer’s majestic era started in ’03. Understandably, most fail to gauge his dominance given the way the Swiss maestro later reversed this audacious advance as fading aberrations, picking the next 16 of their 17.

In a way, Hewitt was the tenacious bridge connecting the two monumental epics of Pete Sampras and Roger Federer. An unregistered legend. A bridge across time.

28 titles inclusive of 2 season ending WTF ATP titles, 15 times losing finalist, 2 Grand Slams, twice a Grand Slam runner-up, 2 Double career titles, and 4 times Doubles career finalist!’

Indeed, an inspiring CV of a modern day gladiator who has conquered age!

Love and adoration aren’t gifted overnight. It takes a lifetime of sacrificing oneself in whatever they could offer, be it art, sport or science, to demand the respect and love of a follower. More often than not, this hero might have to even forgo a commoner’s trivial desire in the awareness of the eternal public spotlight. He might have to brush off a focused scrutiny upon his every move that is perhaps the means of livelihood for a few organizations.

In truth then, such a celebrity status is actually a disguised curse. It’s a life that appears enriched with all the glamour and regality of a king that still demands a celibate amidst the vices. It pushes man to the pedestal of supreme and evaluates his detachment there. It confers upon him a robe of divine to lay bare his mortality.

Most succumb to the temptations given that we are humans essentially. But a few stand tall, despite all the million attractive affairs and remain the inspirational ideals to emulate.

Talking of the contemporary legends who have driven (literally) millions crazy, the immediate names that dance are our lips are Ronaldo, Sachin, Federer etc, famous (as ascertained by the stats) in that order.

All of them have their share of rivals for adulation, though one that has enjoyed maximum limelight is the debate around ‘Ronaldo versus Messi’.

Year after year, we find that both of them perform relatively ‘equally efficiently’ while the votes and numbers mean Messi takes home the FIFA Ballon d’Or. With yet another win this year, Messi takes home his fourth successive title, pushing him into an exclusive league of the best to have ever graced the sport. Ironically at 25, and an extended contract at Camp Nou till 2018, one could safely predict a couple more!

Surprisingly, almost every single time, there has been Ronaldo in the competition albeit with a few supporters in the elite panel backing his genius. Not taking away anything from Messi’s deservedness, it’s always painful to see the celebrated hero in Ronaldo walk home empty handed habitually. It’s no secret that if not for being born in Messi’s era, Ronaldo would’ve certainly had his share of more than one title. But for now, he has to be contended living in the short man’s big shadow.

It is perhaps times like these when you extend support to that tactful theoretician (probably Ronaldo’s fan) who unearths some stats as to why Messi is more successful purely because he is backed by a team, while the ‘Madrid’ striker is the lone ‘Real’ winner.

And yet, just when you begin to ‘pity’ such a legend, a brush with media gives you all the humane aspects of CR7’s life that leave you cruelly mistaken about your choices of pity. So much so that if anyone at that moment needed a little pity, it would probably be that face staring back at you in the mirror.

Probably saving this one department of collecting metal pieces for adoring one’s home, it’s pretty evident that Ronaldo scores over Messi in every other.

Messi has had his share of voluptuous women so much so that legend goes that his mother once blasted a lady troubling her son in the market-square. But it’s no secret that Ronaldo is the more handsome star with more ‘reported’ raunchy off-court romances (of course, judging women is a matter of perspective) that involves a host of supermodels and celebrities. Further, this real world appeal has only exploded in the virtual with an ever-rising graph of fans and followers buzzing on the social platforms.

Ronaldo earns almost equal to Messi for his boot while easily makes double the amount from his smile.

Glancing at these successes, one is tempted to question ‘why Ronaldo scores over Messi in every department?’

Ronaldo wears a loathed but admirable self-confidence people often mistake for his pride which actually enhances his appeal amongst the current generation that loves attitude. Messi’s sedate avatar although advisable, leaves him lesser by that yardstick who possible dismiss him as meek without his boots.

Further, Ronaldo has earned his fair share of despicable images over the years, in part due to his exuberant avatar painted by the media supplementing his lavish style of life.

But it’s been a while and only of late, that we have actually seen the gentility beneath his genius, and the heart of a man buried in his fame.

A celebrity who remains indebted to this day, sharing his wealth in silence to an old friend who sacrificed his own dream putting friendship and talent ahead of opportunity. A pompous extravagant sporting icon who decides to wear his father’s name on his jersey in tribute to the first man in his life, who he believes deserves all the glory. A caring heart ever ready to help for the cause of the needy, who felt honoured recently to be made ‘Save the children’s ambassador.’

A non-hypocritical human who openly displays all his emotions be it crying on the field, or trying to veil an inevitable disdain in losing a Ballon d’Or, penalty or a match. And yet, turn up wearing a broad grin to greet a bunch of kids and bring loads of cheer.

A leader willing to go that extra mile to subdue the invalid accusations upon his team in the way he stood up for Raul Meireles stating, “As captain of the National Team, I know my colleague Raul Meireles very well and I’m sure he’s not capable of doing what he’s accused of. I give him all my support and sympathy.” Indeed a patriot striving that extra yard to erase the tainted tag of chokers for the Portuguese in world football.

Verily, Ronaldo is a monk within the Ferrari!

He probably might have lost more trophies than he desires, but it’s no secret that he’s won as many hearts as he deserves. And this is where he always scores over Messi!

The most promising metaphor of hope is a bright beginning; none more justified, as with the artistic realms of life like sport. Every fresh season is a time for new dawn. It’s the start of a fresh adventure; a new battle for supremacy against old rivals, a new chapter of glory for the gifted. It might be virgin silverware or simply more success to existing dungeons of stashed away glory. For some, it might be that final attempt at scaling that elusive peak. For some, it might be just about retrieving the throne. For some, it could even be an unrelenting obsession with their crown. Either ways, in optimism or pain, to all alike, it’s a new chapter that has to be written, bidding adieu to the bygone past.

Indeed, the nights of a glittering ‘Melbourne park’ are the befitting settings to welcome this new dawn!

An archaic monumental museum with priceless humane memories upon its synthetic turf, it’s an annual exhibition of myth where the legends come alive. Going into its 108^th year, though christened Australian Open only in 1969, there have been humongous numbers of stirring memories upon this elegant court.

It’s Roy Emerson’s favourite home, with 6 titles turning insignificant before a mystic Margaret Count’s 11. A revitalized Agassi’s second home. The very same historic turf where Roger forced us to believe his mortality in tears, failing yet again against his nemesis and yet, confirming his legend the next year by picking his 16^th title! A little known Baghdatis wonder that surprised us all the way to the finals with a set of audacious slices. A lean youngster earning his 1^st slam in 2008, which was treated as an aberration until the surcharged night of ‘11 that announced the return of an awakened tireless machine – Novak Djokovic, picking his 2^nd slam. And finally, the marathon classic last year, voted as the best match of 2012, that saw the D’joker court victory in the longest final in grand slam history.

It’s indeed the perfect battleground where everybody arrives fresh off a break, with charged bodies and relaxed minds, treating us to some of the most unforgettable marathon classics.

There are quite a few like Ferrer or Tsonga, who will have to strive a little harder and go that extra distance to prove they are up and ready to be counted among the winners at slams and not just competitors completing the draws. Yet another exclusive league involves the likes of Murray and Del potro who have to rid themselves of a burden called ‘one-slam wonders!’

Though many might would like to believe that Murray has come of age, I’d still not put him in the same bracket as the top two in the absence of Nadal. I’d rather evaluate his material at the end of a year’s winning habit than his first brush with success.

Thus, for now, it’s all about the game between the two unique and celebrated legends of the circuit.

ROGER FEDERER

For a legend like Roger, it shall perhaps be all about returning to his second favourite hunting ground to prove, if anything, that there is only time to be mastered. Having reached that stage of life where every victory is history, critics seem more interested about his retirement than the performance. He will still be striving for his deserved throne which essentially means that he will need to go that extra yard to remind these mortals that he still remains an enigma.

At 30, he will probably need to strive harder in practice to appear on court with his sizzling forehands that retain their accuracy amidst their charm. But in our fanaticism, ‘demanding’ a slam would be pure greed after seeing his tally at 17. Although, seeing his passion and commitment, a couple could be due before he hangs his boots. Maybe it’s a time when we should be celebrating his game, keeping aside his records. Although the absence of his nemesis Nadal might just be a welcome booster for this ageing knight going into the Australian Open, starting next Monday.

Calling it his greed to hang in there would be a folly, because even today, a grand slam win by beating Federer is the ultimate test of deserved glory. Probably, if anything, a grand slam in his era would mean that you break into a league that is respected for earning a win!

NOVAK DJOKOVIC

At 25, with age, ability and the tide on his side, here is finally a player who could attempt to replicate the minor aura of the great Roy Emerson’s feat of 5 consecutive Australian Open titles. Novak is perhaps the first player post-1968, who is capable of capturing a hat-trick at Melbourne, if his form is an indication. Although, we are yet to applaud a hat-trick in his 8 attempts here, which excludes Novak from some of the game’s all-time greats.

Arguably, he is the favourite to pick the crown, coming in from a fantastic late 2012 season. Though the break might have been a welcome respite for most due to the fear of the red-hot zone he was moving into. With a much deserved break, fresh strategies and fitter bodies, Djokovic will have to battle more than just the player’s game. But he’s no stranger to that either!

He too will be encouraged by Nadal’s absence that promises to bring him at least 2 hours closer his 6^th slam, although he would still be wary of Murray and Federer, in that order.

The hope is of course a final between the aforementioned duo which should be another cracker of a contest. In a world of emotional films, the ending demanded from a script would be the dark knight’s victory over the d’joker. But, as for this real world’s equivalent, we will have to wait a watch.

All in all, it promises to be yet another exciting two weeks of tennis ahead. For the Nadal fans, it’ll be yet another uneventful grand slam. But on a positive note, they’d be more open to support Federer now.

It’s time to sit back, pull together the sofas and welcome old friends to home for a midnight special over a gulp of lays and coffee. A time for fanatic support and loyal debates till the last point is won.

Irrespective of who take the slam in two weeks’ time, we would have added another slice of memories to our new chapter. And hopefully, found another shining star on these dark nights at Melbourne.

It was 1999 and I was a 10 year old boy. The world everywhere seemed more bothered about a certain Y2K bug. But to me, the question uppermost in my mind was the result of the UEFA Champions league that summer. I waited long, in hope of waking up one fine day to read about my red army travel to Spain and complete a laudable session capturing a treble. As of then, my support wasn’t because of the knowledge of the game, but purely in awe, of the fame of a handsome young protégé at Old Trafford in the No. 10 jersey called ‘David Beckham.’

With each passing day of the season, my dream seemed to take a better shape. Until, on May 26^th ‘99, my hero Beckham made sure it materialized. In the dying moments of a game which seemed far beyond them the entire match, so much so that Bayern fans had already lit some flares in celebration, this fashion icon produced his trademark curling magic corner to assist in the winning goal, helping capture that elusive Championship trophy in his basket.

A dramatic colorful night that will remain etched in the minds of all United’s fans forever but personally a romantic night that started my love affair with this club.

It was then that I set out to understand better the nuances of this spectacle I long brushed aside as a run-with-the-ball game.

Since that night, I’ve been proud to stand by a side that’s unarguably the hottest property in England, promising a healthy mix of style and substance. I am a die-hard fan who has got the opportunity to celebrate 8 Premier League titles, 4 FA cups, 3 League cups, 5 FA Charity Shields, 2 UEFA Championship League crowns, 1 Intercontinental cup, and 1 FIFA Club World Cup. If this was a brief 12 year summary of our partnership, you could well imagine the history this club boasted of before I’d come!

But more than the records, in my brief stint, it’s been the joy of proudly owning phenomenal talents like Beckham, Giggs, Ronaldo, Rooney and the latest recruit, RVP.

However, it’s not been always one bright summer day as a fan at Old Trafford. There have been those trying times and those dark days when the stars have faded away into the sunset or walked off into their new homes as when Beckham left in ‘03 or Ronaldo in ’09. But the eternal hope for this enigma has been a constant pillar that is supporting this monument – a knighted Sir Alex who has unearthed time and again world feared dynamites.

Among the many celebrated warriors at FC Man Utd, for varied reasons, my favorite hero was CR7. And therefore, when he left for his dream team in ’09, I was quite shattered.

I’ve always been indebted to Man Utd for shaping this protégé, but probably at that time turned a little disloyal. For, my heart was now divided between two homes. One that stuck on with this old Juliet of memories and the other that went in search of a new romance to Real Madrid with the game’s Romeo.

Since his arrival, the last 3 years have been phenomenal for both the clubs in many ways, and with that I’ve had double the reasons to smile. I now have twice the amount of victories to celebrate. It’s like a never-before-experienced thrill of courting two seducing proud mistresses at once!

And therein lay all the trouble. For it’s now time for this uncomfortable date. A risky affair involving confronting both ladies on one eventful evening!

To whom does our support go when the two face off on one night?

As CR7 loyalists, it’s easy to scream along with Real for his triumph, until you look around to find your own cheerful family across, sitting in the stands vociferously shouting for Man Utd. Your heart begs to stick with your hero, while your mind argues to show some respect to the home. You don’t want to see either of them lose and yet desire to see both succeed.

One only needs to browse through the books of history to find a lovely bond between the two clubs, to find an intense ‘friendship’ that dates back to 1958. That year, when Real Madrid won the European Cup, they immediately desired to gift it to Manchester United who were unable to participate in the Competition after the Munich air tragedy. This application of Real Madrid was rejected but Real still dedicated their trophy to the legendary Busby Babes. Also, Real Madrid offered a holiday to all Manchester United players in Spain to help them recover from the psychological trauma. And to assist United’s recovery, Real played 5 friendlies in 5 consecutive years with Manchester United. They even offered their best players if needed like Puskas and Di Stefano for one year on loan, although it never took shape because of the English Federation rules.

If you are still confused, it’s as simple as ‘Why would Ronaldo leave a family at Manchester United unless he found a home at Real Madrid that was as good if not better?’

“Probably when he moved out from a house where all were United, he knew he was going to a home that was Real!”

Either way, for once, I am forced to believe that a high-scoring draw would be a fair result. And finally, I’ve come to see that it certainly wasn’t meant to be a nightmare after all. Probably, just an extended family home-coming!

In response to the ridiculous two years of getting beaten world over and dipping popularity, N. Srinivasan has promised a ‘return with vengeance!’

Of course, before you are further misled, it’s a motive for a film titled ‘The revenge of the fallen’. He has promised to spend extravagantly (what with the over-flowing BCCI coffers) for the BO success of this proposed revenge entertainer. The sky-rocketing budget though isn’t to be disclosed!

Talks are on for finalizing the eye-candy to perform the item-number, though at the moment, we hear it’s a strange tussle. Ideally, as most believe, Poonam Pandey is the front-runner, given her audacious promises that at one time ‘may-have-partially’ inspired a streak of victories. However, ‘Sunny’ Leone seems to be giving a fight given her popularity and shared name with India’s one time batting legend. Although sources say Rohit Sharma, Rahul Sharma and even Siddharth Mallya are endorsing some hidden talent, loyally from the Kingfisher calendar. Whosoever makes the final cut, finally we can be certain of ‘at least something served spicy’ even if it’s not the revenge part!

Given the choice of genre, it’s been a frustrating week for the writers who are struggling to replicate a Hollywood revenge story-line with the desi masala ingredients. There have been some novel scripts but all turned down, given our BCCI’s biased and bad selection committee. Until one young talented writer (who seeks to remain anonymous) gave the perfect plot. It was a crazy combination fitting dirty picture into a Count of Monte Cristo plot. The ‘Count of Monte Cristo’ plot was an immediate inspiration he says, considering the similarity in the teasing wicket ‘count of Monty Sikh’ blot recently. Recall those unforgettable images of a traitor in a turban turning a high expectation experience of watching the Little Master Sachin Tendulkar into an SRK starrer Ra.One horror?

The story-line:

(now sit back and enjoy)

The movie kicks off with a high octane adrenaline war sequence against arch-rivals, fighting for a land. The opening shot pans out on a fiery, gritty bald Die-hard 5.0 ‘Bruce Willis’ version of Virender Sehwag smashing the goons to all corners of the park in the back-drop of fireworks. The plot moves forward with a hard-working Gautam Gambhir being the hero’s accomplice all along, forging a slow paced sequence amidst the alleys.

However, given the audience’s demand for the early entry of their super-star Robo, Rajni, Batman, Superman, all in one, Gambhir manages to get the immovable run-machine Schwarzenegger Cheteshwar Pujara stranded mid-way in the firing lane.

And then there is the much awaited entry. To the audience’s deafening whistles, the 100 badges major and ‘grandson-to-grandpa’ adored superstar walks out to face all the opposition single-handed. It’s a pressure time for he has to create history with his every target!

Along the way, Gambhir sacrifices himself to add the emotional value. But it’s a departure on a high, through a miscalculated rampage, for the sake of bringing in the ‘daylight-vampire-Edward’ Virat Kohli for the youth and feminine appeal. He also has the additional burden, taking the major share of the expletive ‘Delhi-belly’ punches to be delivered. The aggressive uber-cool rugged rogue!

It’s a bad day today and probably a bad twist (though we will know only in hindsight) to find the Little Master off the field, caught by the goons. It’s naturally party time in the rival camp, which means the 1st item song comes on. Now it’s the one and only scapegoat – ‘Nicolas Cage’ Rohit Sharma who walks in to court embarrassment and failure as usual. Now that was clichéd, but boy, anything else could be ridiculed for magic.

Best suited to engage both the glamour and the goons, it’s time for ‘Jason Statham’ Yuvraj Singh to step in. He is daring and dashing, reaching for the stars always, giving more work to the cheerleaders. He fells the fellows, but eventually along the process, falls.

Save the tears guys. By now you ought to realize it’s a movie. Besides, even in reality, this guy was born to live!

It’s now a short-but much needed celebration time in our camp and the first choice is an expensive (even $2 million) yet amazing, consistent, curly-haired ‘RJ’. Radio Jockey in a party?

Sorry for the misleading acronym but it’s our one and only ‘misunderstood’ Ravindra Jadeja. He does the ‘PSY’ for today while the bikini item number reels out. Of course it’s out of place, but as always, so is he!

Amidst the fan-fare, to put things in perspective, the captain cool Air-force one ‘Harrison Ford’ MS Dhoni arrives to brief the party on the situation and the need of the hour. He promises to stick out there until the end, even if it means ushering in a boring phase for a while. ‘It’s the end that matters,’ he declares. You can’t help recall ‘The Hurt Locker’ – boring, but nevertheless an Oscar winner!

However, when all the sough-after ‘multi-crore Khans’ fail, lost in seducing raunchy enemy distractions, the unexpected son rises. It’s time for the unexpected small budget sedate – ‘life of Pi’ R. Ashwin. All classy, perfect in technique. He does the star turn in the darkest moments, and the whistles are back. It’s once again adrenalin time and desi style with our David taking the fight to the Goliath. It’s a Chennai warrior bravely scaling the Kashmir peaks. A glimmer of hope, but he also falls!

A brief fight is endured from the suave emotionless Pragyan Ojha, but to no avail. Following his exit, the lanky lean long-haired Ishant Sharma goes the swinging way, attempting to salvage some fading pride. It’s no use as this elongated DiCaprio dies, as always!

This leaves us with a lone gladiator Dhoni with no partners, though (we have a reason to believe) he has demanded such a script from Srinivasan.

It’s now time for some Hi-Def. slow-mo sequence from the captain!

Dhoni is trapped on the tip of the mushroom peak, with one bullet and six villains separating him from victory. How will he take it from there?

Well if you didn’t guess yet, he does the helicopter!

Remember that crazy sequence by Owen Wilson in behind enemy lines? He jumps, catches the edge of the flying helicopter in time and shoots accurately at the base of the mushroom cliff that explodes, killing all six of them.

And the movie concludes with our brave hero presented the country’s highest bravery award in the backdrop of a patriotic score.

Thus it comes to end, with everybody is in tears. Whistles, raucous applause, claps, and screams of joy fill the air. Emotions are high with everybody hugging each other. Differences forgotten, old rivalries forgiven, sourness suppressed, the Indian family comes together!

The future unfolding:

The BO registers an unimaginable success with the BCCI raking in close to 1000 crores in the first month and 14 nominations for Oscars. An ecstatic N. Srinivasan calls for his 1^st press release post the movie’s success and declares – ‘Going by the phenomenal response, the BCCI proudly announces a sequel!’

Later however, sources have confirmed about a satirical Navjot Singh Sidhu suggesting a ‘prequel’ (allowing Dada, Dravid and Laxman). For once, it seems Bhogle and Shastri also seemed to agree with him!

The die-hard movie critics though were found sitting in a corner, banging their heads, trying to figure out the revenge part in the larger-than-life plot.

Didn’t some-one tell them this was a fantasy film?

DISCLAIMER: This article is fictional and is intended to be read in good humour.

It was the hour of despair, age to despise, a certain curtains on a false dawn for the Indian cricket fan when the Kangaroos and the Caribbean partied and dominated like they were possessed. Indeed, it has been an unpleasant era when our neighbors unfurled new legends while we sat boasting of the aging limbs past their prime.

Dream was the only hope to an ardent follower. And hence it was no surprise when God answered from the city of Dreams – Mumbai.

A short curly haired teenage genius arose from the suburbs of this port city to conquer the world’s rising tides and raise storms on the sands of time. He came, he saw, he played, he conquered.

Nothing more needs to be said besides this simple metaphor of his deservedness for the colors he was to adorn for close to quarter of a century -‘Seemed like ODI’s were born gauging his arrival and T20’s were born realizing his exit’

And yet for this blooming lotus that seemed to intoxicate the entire world with his majesty, the rest around him were only frogs lost in the grandeur of their prized possession. More often than not, it was a common script to find this indefatigable gladiator fighting all alone against all odds, only to fall short agonizingly. His counter-attacking game resembled the dreaded style of the long feared Windies greats. Along the way, he did lose a few games, but then certainly won our hearts with his game.

And so, while this city of flamboyance promised a fresh modernity in attack on the grand stage, we needed a more homely motive to complete the strategy. Worse still, the infamous weeds of greed for money had infected our sport. For a country that fought its independence over a century, to win with non-violence, our victories needed a warrior of restraint and nobility. A gentleman who could mock with a blank face and bent head!

And rightfully, to complement this vibrant Achilles heel from the Bollywood capital, the green city Bangalore unearthed its unrelenting suave Buddha.

He was a sedate fighter who had all the time in the world to spend enough of it seeing the ball stroll or dance in the corridors. He had enough patience to wear down a hostile brigade, making quiet maidens his comfortable home. If there was one loser who had to relent from the pressure of this silent defiance, it had to be the restless bowler!

Some adventures are murky affairs right from the onset and at best left alone in wisdom. And if there is one subject that is going to be scrutinized for each word, it has to be this tale of two cities – Mumbai and Bangalore. But then, it is purely in comparing the art of two of the most contrasting classical styles of modern times that we understand their relevance in our game!

Entering the scene 6 years after Sachin, Dravid got down to business right away in his Test debut. And beginning that day conquering the British, he has had an illustrious career, taking a little sheen away even from the little master himself earning titles like Mr. Dependable and The Wall.

Both of them have scripted their own world records to merit their claim for eternal greatness. Sachin first earned his reputation from Wisden as the best batsman of all time after the Don and rightfully, Dravid followed. The beauty was that both offered themselves for the nation whole-heartedly. When needed, Dravid kept wickets for the country’s better batting options as did Sachin move around the order to accommodate youngsters at his own expense!

It’s no secret that this genteel craftsman from the lanes of the colorful city lived a lifetime in the shade of the master fly-over. Probably, if he only belonged to a different time, Dravid too would’ve been the supreme deity of that era.

Now the obvious inconvenient truth remains that Sachin has got himself a bigger fan base, which brings us to the question as to what has resulted in this. It’s pretty clear given their styles and the mindset of the modern times when humanity seeks quick results to everything

It’s evident from the numbers that Sachin has been that complete player who has performed in all formats while Dravid has found a biased favor for his performances in the test format.

May be its more to do with the fact that Sachin has given us the more emotional moments as with Sharjah or the world cups against our favorite arch-rivals where he mirrored our wars, sportively decimating the Pakistani attacks.

While Sachin is that mystical Monalisa who leaves you gaping, Dravid is that wall beneath that patiently stands all day long supporting this masterpiece. By itself, the wall has no charm and yet is the most important ingredient for supporting a roof and forming a home. There may have been too many times when the master launched himself in nonchalant freedom, only aware that the throne was fortified with an impregnable wall at the other end.

Either ways, the final truth remains that we needed both and deserved both for victory and our successful story was a tale of these two cities.

Probably, we only managed to appreciate the light of each lamp in the shade of the other – a truth now only too clear when the wall has crumbled, the emperor unsure and the empire in fragments.

There was a time in the history of human civilization when the fear of the unknown inspired the birth of the divine.  An unseen force created then by man to explain the unfathomable phenomena beyond our control. A belief then inherited down by generations for centuries, transforming this myth to a legend. So much so that God today demands a special place in the heart of humanity as the eternal hope, path and promise to salvation, redemption from suffering, reason for joy, as the one father for this world-family.

Over the evolution of man, in the modern age, when rationality is a highly rated possession, divinity has acquired its obligatory share of critics. However, as much as this topic remains a favourite for the philosophy forums, religious debates and the eternal tug-of-war between science and superiority; as a lyrical artist of this era, ‘divinity’ to me is a matchless metaphor, none more deservedly in the context of sport.

For each of our sports, we have these unexplained phenomena. Those mystical magicians who captivate on all platforms, fierce gladiators who promise hope in the darkest moments, triumphing against all odds, subduing all challenges with grit. Indeed, the messiahs of a new dawn uniting a world of divided opinions and incessantly in quarrel. Their lives are a script of history that the future times would be forced to envy as a golden age. Verily Gods without a robe!

Cricket’s God needs no introduction!

‘Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar’ has shared the altar with the holy trinity, worthily demanded a fair place in the hearts of a billion followers, moved a million with his every move, struck a chord with his every stroke, brought a smile with every mile he laboured past, inspired a future cricketing culture with his every cap, influenced innumerable lives who imitate his every act.

In a single format of the colours alone, he’s done more than what people could achieve through a combined excellence in all formats. As if his genius wasn’t enough in arguing for his greatness while batting, he once even picked up the ‘Castrol Best Bowling Performance of the Year award’.

But then again, probably by glorifying him in the domains of supernatural, we might fail to acknowledge the achievements of the man he actually strove to be!

He silently runs an orphanage, giving a dream to 200 orphans in the suburbs of the city of dreams, acknowledges the desperation of a billion passionate supporters back home, standing up to promise and deliver. He never fails a request on his tour to drop into any place to give a little joy to the underprivileged. Burying the sorrow of his loving father’s demise, he turns up in time for national duty. Diligent and disciplined, he’s a restrained recluse in the colourful world of glitz, goods and glamour.

Having done everything in his capabilities to give us that single reason to smile, today, probably he has even sacrificed his passion to play a little longer because we seemed restless and cribbed impatiently in our quest for a little sensationalism.

Agonizingly, the most tragic part of his story is unfortunately this last chapter of his illustrious career. As his proud family, once too happy to carry him upon our shoulders for 23 years, we failed when it mattered most. Not that he sought to live off our sympathies or past laurels. For an enigma unto whom silence itself would be a dishonourable gesture, imagine walking out hearing a home crowd booing his failure.

As followers of sport, let’s in the least, learn to bid farewell to a sportsperson in honour. For whatever reasons, declaring ‘Good Riddance’ vehemently while seeing him walk out is a hypocritical and derogatory phrase. As true passionate sport followers, each of these players makes our day and hence deserve a respect in their sunset, and certainly more so a legend like Sachin!

Let’s not be disrespectful to the man and his selfless offerings for want of a little attention or in resent over his over-adulatory fanatics. Complaining that he’s become larger than the game is a black spot on his dedicated performance. For, that wasn’t what he set out to achieve in the first place.

Probably, his only curse is that he belongs to that category, unto whom ‘greatness is thrust upon!’

If anything is to be given to this humble man in this late hour when he walks timidly into the darkness, it’s an immortal place among the stars in gratitude for the memories he gave us.

Thankfully, he’s not yet completely done.

Today, as we mourn in the exit of this seen God, let’s not forget to stand and take a bow in respect to the unseen man!

A thousand odd, if not more, articles have been written over the span of just a year on this precious martyr of our home. An entire spectrum of articles across all genres, right from demanding, advising, analyzing, pleading and finally even countering his deadline of retirement; from starters to accomplished intellectuals who have all the passion, wisdom, experience, ability or in the least a desire for some sensational audience. Either ways, they have all succeeded in garnering enough attention for themselves and at worse, more in the little master’s mind.

When I was a kid, my father always held my hand as we walked past the honking hurried traffic. Those were the days of my faltering judgement and I was only too glad to look up to him daily when we successfully made it across and plant a kiss. But over the years, I realized that despite the fact that I had grown, he still continued to hold my hand as we neared the road. Initially I cringed on this aspect, moaning as an adolescent denied his little freedom to flaunt. But later looking a little deeper, I realized that like most, I had failed to see that the action had remained the same whilst the experience modified. The grasp essentially has remained the same, while the grip is now different.

Back then, certainly it was his way to make sure I was safe amidst all the million unknown dangerous tides. But today, probably it’s not about giving me protection me anymore, but instead taking a little support for his tired legs. Somewhere along the way, he surely would have figured that he’s caught up with time and understood that he needs me more than I once needed him. And when I realized this intent behind his grasp, I no longer complained but took pride in lending a hand.

This timely shoulder of support in gratitude could never make up for all that he did for so many years. And either way, desired or despised, I realized ‘this will not last forever!’

Well the story of ‘Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar’ isn’t one bit different. Precisely the reason I’ve christened him the ‘father of Indian’, if not world, Cricket!

For close to quarter of a century, the man has defied more odds than can be imagined to gift a billion people a smile every time he walked out with a bat. In a land that has too many troubles to count and reasons to divide, he’s been one constant unifying answer of joy. Enough has been said and written about the influence of this enigma on the audience and I seek to take no more space myself. Neither do I wish to harp on his gigantic numbers and stats piled, because that’s for the future’s perception of a legend they weren’t as blessed to watch in action. For our times, it was all about the little master and his mystical show. It seldom mattered that for so many years our nation wasn’t a top ranked team in the world, satisfied in the shadow of this dark knight’s conquests.

He gave us all so much in his every outing. And in my opinion, the greatest lesson the master taught was the art of embracing defeat in life, not as an end but a pause along the eternal show. We crib and lose heart in a failure after every short trial. But in his realization of a lifelong desire in the 2011 World Cup triumph, we find an inspirational tale demonstrating that sometimes dreams can take a lifetime, even if the dreamer in question is Sachin!

Some argue that we Indians are too emotional, unlike the brash Aussies, regarding our adoration that denies us as much victory. Probably that’s what defines our unique identity as a cultured society that has learnt to give a human his due respect. For a martyr who has dedicated his entire lifetime to make the nation proud, it’s so unbecoming of ourselves to label him in his dying moments as selfish. Wouldn’t he know better to walk off the scene when his conscience pricked him in the knowledge of occupying an undeserving place?

This may very well be his final phase of innings in his career that we will ever get to see. Therefore, let’s learn to show a little gratitude and give this aging father a timely hand. One look at his game today reflects a wounded warrior succumbing to his mental frailties, beaten more from our tireless abuse rather than his aging reflexes. After all his selfless displays of a celibate on the pompous arena of glory for a lifetime at the expense of everything he sacrificed, often when ‘we least deserved him,’ it’s time we gave the senile genius in his twilight of desperate times, a little support when ‘He needs us the most!’

When he does hang his boots one day, the show will obviously continue, for he was essentially a mere part of a greater tale called cricket, even if he was its favourite hero. More sequels will follow with each volume unique and celebrated in its own right, gifting every era their proud son. But my only prayer for now is that we shouldn’t go down in history as that ungrateful era that exiled its greatest hero because of a little selfishness. A little patience couldn’t hurt. And certainly a few losses wouldn’t be too hard to digest in memory of his fading valour.

Let us realize that ‘When one walks a thousand miles, he certainly knows when to stop!’