That diminutive man deserves a word of praise. Sanchin Tendulkar is the man I am referring to. I have seen him batting, and I have seen flashes of his genius today, in the news, of course. The best impression I have of him is when he bounds forward, a tense ball of muscle, poised and ready, eyes narrowing on the trajectory of the ball, bat describing a huge wide arc, behind him parallel to his small body, then the whoosh of the bat through air as it describes another arc, a flash the eye cannot see, and then the “thwwwwaaaccccckkkk” as it strikes the meat of the bat, and the ball flies as if it has connected with a giant machine, one that can reverse the flight of the ball coming at a fearsome pace, and send it careening into the air, as if fear itself has been nullified, and victory has been established in a few seconds of sheer beauty and grace, of man and his instrument of precision.
That’s Sachin when he drives the ball over the bowler’s head into the stands, I am mesmerized, I am speechless, my eyes goggle, my hands itch for the hold of a bat, to ape him, imitate him, and try out the magic which is so effortless in his hands. Alas, not to be mine.
Congratulations Sachin on scoring 200 runs in a single one-day cricket match.
Yes he is the God of the religion Cricket!
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