Malinda Words: A breathless hush at the close

Cricket fans may have heard of Sir Henry Newbolt’s oft-quoted poem where a cricketing metaphor is used to offer courage to a soldier in desperate circumstances. They may have read at least the first verse, which contains not a clue about the miseries of wars about to be lost.

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!’

[from ‘Vitai Lampada’ or ‘They pass on the torch of life’]

Cricket fans know the feeling of defeats wrested from the jaws of victory. They know how it feels when the last recognized batter is bested by a wicked delivery; ball beats bat, hits the pad and the dread finger is raised ruling the batter out. And, when this happens at home, the entire crowd goes silent.

It could be worse. Consider the last delivery of an ODI. Two to win, one to tie. There’s a run out. It has happened many times. At home. The cries of anguish get stuck in the throat. The opposing team has not just got the last batter out and won the match, but has silenced the stadium as well.

The pain of a loss is less when victory is a hope and not considered an inevitability. There’s a lot of that happening in India right now. Painful, but not exactly tragic. Unless of course you are the diehard fan, the kind that finding the team having to get 10 with just one delivery to come, prays for a no-ball which is dispatched to the boundary followed by a six in the free-delivery that comes next.

A few hours ago, Sri Lanka lost to Afghanistan in what was almost a must-win game to infuse life to semi-final hopes. Sad, but probably no ‘hush at the end.’ Imagine if India was in the driving seat against, say, New Zealand. Let’s assume that the Kiwis have to make 124 to win in 67 deliveries with just 3 wickets in hand. Imagine that Rachin Ravindra is still in the middle having compiled a painstaking 56 off 85 balls. Now, think. Ravindra goes berserk and takes New Zealand home in the very last delivery of the 2023 Cricket World Cup.

Everyone at the Narendra Modi Stadium in Ahmedabad would be shocked with disbelief. There would be dead silence. That, friends, would be quite a hush.

A few hours ago, I read that Percy had passed away.

Percy Abeysekera. One of a kind. Iconic. Sri Lanka’s one-man cheering squad before and after the country achieved test status. Percy has cheered on cricketers from debut to farewell game. Hundreds have walked into the middle and one day walked back never to play again. Percy stayed.

‘He has held the flag. He was the flag. He was the ambassador long before the term “sporting ambassador” came into vogue. He was the nation. He kept the flag flying high. He represented us all. He was there when things came right. He picked everyone up when things went sour.’

That’s how I described Percy a few years ago.

There’s a breathless hush at the close unlike any the cricketing world has witnessed, for Percy will cheer no more.

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is the 256th article in the new series that began in December 2022. Links to previous articles are given below]

31 October 2023

A breathless hush at the close

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