Sachin Tendulkar: God as I knew him

In the match that I earlier referred to, Gavaskar, now a cricket pundit, had predicted that it would be a close game, with the Australians coming out victorious. Though his prophecy came true, yet to the millions who bore witness, it was the presence of Tendulkar that saw the prediction fulfilled in its entirety. When he got out for 90 aggressively made runs, stumped of a wide, Sachin’s blitzkrieg (by the early 90s standards) had accounted for 60% of the Indian total; a jet propelled impetus to an antique aircraft that finally crashed and burned with the final destination in sight. The feat, repeated, despite high fever, in a winning cause against the still proud West Indies and a soul crushing loss against the newly resurgent Lankans, brought home the cruel fact that if we were to make the finals in our own homeland, a man who measured 5’4 in his socks would have to stand tall. With the spectators baying for blood in the 100,000 strong amphitheatre that was the Eden Gardens then, the Indians made a hash of a seemingly possible chase, reduced to weeping cricketers, raining missiles and public humiliation in the international cricketing scene. But what remained with me, was that for the first 99 runs of the Indian chase, what shone through was Sachin’s technical brilliance on an unpredictable wicket, his all consuming desire to take the cross upon his shoulders beyond the finish line; in other words, the ease and comfort with which he batted in the face of immense adversity and expectation. Kambli was never expected to be our messiah, yet he cried openly on national television – I wonder how, hidden away in a curtained dressing room, the light of our hopes would have reacted.

I shall touch but briefly on the Sharjah innings of 143 and 134, that first rocked the Australian boat, admittedly in the absence of McGrath, Hayden, Gilchrist and Lee – players who formed the core of the “Invincibles”. What stays with me till this day is that at a crucial moment in the match, a sandstorm swept across the ground, forcing players, umpires and spectators to take evasive action, shielding their eyes against the whirling dust. Yet, one man had his eyes wide open, staring about in anticipation, walking around to release nervous energy, showing despite himself, how much he wanted to win, how much he had waited for this chance, how much he despised this natural break and cursed the Gods who impeded his victory march. It’s well documented that Gary Kasparov’s innate competitiveness, even in the little things of life, was the secret to his domination of the chess world. To me, at the age of 25, SR Tendulkar, was equally, if not more, competitive.