One moment, it was very noisy – all of Sri Lanka cheering with one voice. The next, everything went quiet. Time slowed down to a pedestrian crawl, then stopped, and died in the middle of the street. Pavement hawkers packed up the few remaining crackers that had not been picked up by ecstatic crowds the previous day, and began slinking off into the deepening night. Knots of tension formed in the neck, the shoulders drooped, there was a heavy weight on everyone’s chest. People exhaled slowly. The lights were going out in the stadium, and all around the countryside. The jubilant celebration at home, as events transpired that fateful evening at a packed capacity-crowd-thronged stadium across the Palk Strait, had been somewhat premature.
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| The crowd that gathered at Independence Square to welcome the team home |
Where were you when the blow fell? What did you do to alleviate your pain, or share in the misery of downcast sports fans and your dejected fellow citizens? How do you feel about the fracas now, a week after the arresting anticlimax at Wankhede?
Your responses to the above will determine the destiny of our nation in the days, months, and years ahead. Up to – and beyond – 2015…
Firstly, where were you when we came this close, but found the last step up to victory a best-foot-forward too far?
If you were anything like most of the rest of the nation, you were at home with family and friends, glued to the idiot box in the living room. Or out at a public place where patriotic sports- and national-spirit developers had set up wide screens for the benefit of the largely paying general populace. Or perhaps even across the sea, and lost in an ocean of screaming Indians. The point is that you were there – where it mattered, when it mattered, how it mattered. That virtually everything else about the folks who shared your food and fun times and feelings of frustration was just about forgotten is testimony enough to the power of this game to change us all – from selfish, individualistic persons into strong and united supporters of team and nation. So good that it hurts to say, and hurts that much more to see it fade away when the match is over…
Secondly, what did you do in the aftermath?
If you were anything like the rest of the nation, you ranted and raved and rationalized and reasoned it out. And even threw caution to the winds for a heady minute or six in which conspiracy theories were bandied about, adopted, and discarded. You sighed and sobbed and screamed. And when the last of the paparay music died, you crawled home to curl up and cry softly or deafeningly into your pillow, depending on your disposition or personality, and sleep a dreamless sleep. A few analyzed the outcome reasonably enough, handed out cold comfort like emergency units hand out pills at the site of a major disaster – and went back to their dreary, mundane existence. But a majority of our people were moved. By something far bigger than themselves. No matter what walk of life or corner of the land they came from…
Thirdly, how do you feel now?
If you are anything like the rest of the nation, the wounds are beginning to heal. Today, they’re not as raw as they were on that hot unforgiving night of Saturday, April 2, 2011. The ache doesn’t throb half as badly as it did in that first unbearable hour. Nor twitch or twinge as it did throughout the rest of the week/end. Time heals. And humour chipped in a pat on the back or a slap on the bottom – as if to say, it wasn’t so bad, mate. Witness the pathetic poojas of hopeful politicians, looking to score big out of the opportunity. Helped to put the loss (if it was that) in its proper perspective. Between the gods that failed and the demigods who (only? only!) made it to second place, a new hope springs up like rogue grass after spring rains. Already, there’s talk of 2015. What must be done to get us there, and get us as far as we got this time – and last time… and from the way things are being said and done now, it seems like we mean it.
One thing is for sure. Cricket can unite us Sri Lankans like perhaps nothing else can. And while we’re nowhere near naïve enough to suggest making it the national sport, we’re moved enough by the experience – which we all lived through – to be keen to build on that. Come, let’s? In a burst of misplaced enthusiasm, though, let’s not miss this one great chance to develop an all-new national identity based on the values the game and the afterlife that surrounds it brings to the board. As for those who would seek to corrupt it more than the powers that be at every level of crooked sub-society have corrupted it already… why, shame on you! Leave cricket alone. It’s not up for grabs. The genuine response of our people to our returning heroes proved that. Pity if the politicos miss the point. And provoke an outrage that will not readily be righted. A game like this slighted is the most dangerous game. Pay attention, people! That revolution will not be televised… |
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