My Sporting Nature

SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT…

There is something about men and live sport. Not to sound like a male chauvinist pig or like a “man’s man”, but there is just something about men and live sport. All my life, I’ve been addicted to watching live sport on television, be it cricket, football (I mean football, not soccer), hockey (I mean hockey not ice hockey), the Olympics (not the winter Olympics) or basketball (yes, the NBA); I’ve always watched sports on television. Then I came halfway across the world from India to Canada, South East Asia to North America, from Bombay to Toronto, from a city of 19 million to a city of 4 million. Suddenly everything changed. No more live cricket. No more live European football, unless I make the effort to find out what channel it is on…oh let me guess…digital…cannot afford it.

So now, the only live sport I can watch really is football, (American Football, maybe some Canadian Football, its only recently that I discovered that there is a difference between American and Canadian football, but the game still doesn’t make sense to me, so I won’t talk about it and make myself look stupid.) Curling (now that doesn’t make any sense either, I’d rather watch American Football, maybe even some Canadian Football….they seem the same to me anyways.) and then there is Hockey. I am starting to enjoy hockey. I mean I do not know all the finer points of the game, but then again I know the important stuff. I know that there is a puck, two goals, two teams with five/six players each on the ice, unless there is a power play. But the most important thing I’ve learnt is that if you are in Toronto you’d better support the team with the blue maple leaf on their jersey. It’s either that or you go to Ottawa. So I won’t risk it. Go Leafs, Go!!!
So coming back to men and live sport, I grew up in India. So it’s only natural that I know everything there is to know about cricket. But more than the rules, the stars, the team that won the World Cup in 1975 and who they beat to win it, I know that I have memories. The memories attached with cricket. My first memory of watching cricket on TV is back in 1983. I was barely three years old. India was in the final of the world cup against the West Indies. I don’t remember a thing about the game. I was too small to remember. All I remember is that my father got home our first colour television. It replaced the old black and white TV, I don’t know why it was called black and white anyways, everything seemed blue on it. All I remember is that my dad bought a brand new colour television to watch India play the world cup final, and we won! I mean we beat an almost unbeatable team. Twenty years later, that old television, still exists. I am sure it still works fine, except that it’s lying in the garage in a box above the trunk which has my mother’s entire collection of jazzy 80’s plates, cups and spoons.
I remember watching on that same old television in 1989, on the 9 o’clock news that the Indian team selected a 16 year old child batting prodigy from Bombay to go on the tour to Pakistan. The same kid who went on to become the greatest player India ever produced, the same kid who has now become a man, Man enough to shoulder the hopes of close to a billion people. But if there is anything I remember about that night in 1989 is that I was playing scrabble with my parents and my brother in the balcony of our home. I remember every World Cup match between India and Pakistan. I remember the joy of beating them every time we played them in a World Cup. I remember that in 1992, I was allowed to watch the game and my older brother wasn’t because he was in Grade 10. And in India, if a kid is in grade ten he won’t even be allowed to eat a full meal let alone watch cricket, especially a week before the final exams. I know that four years later when the World Cup was held in India, I was in Grade 10. I remember that my grade 10 exams were postponed because the World Cup was being held in India. I know we beat Pakistan in astounding fashion. I know that Ajay Jadeja slammed the Pakistani bowlers. I know Venkatesh Prasad got Aamir Sohail bowled out in spectacular fashion. But what I remember most is my dad showing a rare show of emotion while watching cricket. I remember my mom for the first time watching the whole game without complaining. I remember that in 1999, the Indian team won a game against them in England when the army was battling Pakistani infiltrators on the border. And I remember partying all night on the sea-face in Bombay in 2003 with both the street kids and the kids who got out of daddy’s car. I remember my dad calling to find out if I’d got to watch the game knowing that I didn’t have television in the dorm. I remember that the same morning I had an uncomfortable situation with my then girlfriend’s father.
I remember that I cried when India lost the semi-final of the World Cup in 1996. I remember that my dad said, “I’m still alive so don’t cry. Don’t be a sissy.” I remember that my brother, my father and I all faked illnesses at school and work to watch India win the white wash home series against England in 1993. I remember that around this time a year ago, when India beat Australia in a Test match in Australia for the first time in 22 years, for the first time since I was a year old, I was in Toronto, listening to live commentary on the Internet at 2 a.m. I remember calling home to India to talk to my friends about it. I remember wanting to be out on the street watching the kids light fireworks to celebrate. I remember wanting to watch the highlights but instead, my roommate and I watched the Toronto Maple Leafs win a game that took them to the top of their division. I know that my Canadian friends have memories etched around Canadian hockey just like I do with cricket. It’s a man thing. Just like the kid in Brazil who know exactly what was happening in his life when Brazil won the football (not soccer) World Cup. Or like the old man who sits at Tim Hortons every morning, who knows exactly what he was doing the last time the Leafs won the play-offs; Or the kid in Chicago when Jordan returned to lead the Bulls to three more NBA titles. There is just something about men and sport. Not to say that women don’t enjoy sport or are not passionate about it. But there is just something about men and the sport they watch on TV. It’s about growing up, growing old and it’s just something to talk about I guess.