So we won the match et al. You all know all that needs to be known about the match by now. But let me give you an insiders point of view. It was at the Brabourne Stadium. I don’t know where I got the idea it was going to be at the newly done up CCI.
On the Crowds
Call me a snob if you like, but the stands at Brabourne? Seriously? No way, you have got to be kidding me. Considering the amount we spend on a single meal, one would imagine that we’d have bought slightly higher than the Rs 500/- stand seats. But no, no. I am not to be spared. I was not being kidded, this is the unfortunate truth. The stands it is.
Do I have to go explain to you, my loyal readers, the complete and total agony I went through for hours (seemingly months) at a stretch - being jostled, squeezed, body massaged, subjected to the loudest, vilest noises - many of them from whistles and horns, many of them, shockingly worse!, from the mouths of those around. Ah, the horrors.
I spend the first couple of hours (again, seemingly from January to October) resisting all this. I am hot, perspiring (yes, the horror), I am having bad thoughts of there being a bomb threat - and me getting killed in the resultant stampede that would surely follow. Or worse still, being killed in a bombing, and my body parts mixed among the body of all these around me. (waaaaaa-aaaaahhh. I want to go home mommy)
Nobody takes me home however. Nobody wants to, after spending hours just getting in. The security was good, I have to give them, that.
On the Match… er, was there one?
In the months that follow, I give up and try to make the best of a bad situation. I try and follow the match. But it’s really hard, because all the idiots in front of me keep standing up throughout. The only thing worse than sitting on concrete with millions of monkeys all pressed together in a cage, is having to stand up all the time with millions of standing monkeys all pressed together in a cage.
After some time I could take it no longer and I yelled at the cops - who incidentally were sitting peacefully on chairs at the bottom of the stands - to do something. It took me quite a while to get their attention, and when I finally did I think they were shocked that this chick was yelling at them. In somewhat reluctance, one of them got up and did get the rowdy crowds in front of us to sit down.
For my part, I was cheered royally from all over the stands by the slightly more decent crowds in the stands who were possibly equally weary of standing the whole match. Not that my efforts were too fruit-bearing. One more over, and everyone is standing again. Like everything else this day, I give up.
I’m now sitting there, on hard concrete, with legs all around me, wishfully thinking… Those were the days; the glorious days of the air-con, plasma TVs, live-replays, English commentary….
On Symonds & Racial Abuse
Not that I wouldn’t settle for ANY commentary at the point. It’d be fair to say, we had NO idea what was going on. Sure, we knew Australia had won the toss and elected to bat. Sure we knew when there was a four or a six (mostly). Sure we knew when Symonds was around - mostly by the people around me chanting “Symonds is a bast*#$*, Symonds is a bast*#$* - which, if you thought I was being snobby earlier, should give you an idea of what despicable type of people were in the stands.
I was very upset that they were going on like that, especially in light of all the racial abuse allegations, but no one seemed to care. I tried to pacify myself with the hope that maybe the Aussies would not understand the accent, but even that was in vain because they’d also boo him continuously. Brett Lee on the other hand, played out to the crowds perfectly, namaste-ing them every time he was near enough to be seen. But there was something the crowds had against both Symonds and skipper Ricky Ponting and they were abused for sure. I did not observe anyone making monkey sounds or actions towards him, but if they were, it’s because they themselves were a bunch of monkeys I was ashamed to be with.
I am truly appalled.
(Note: The image above was not from the match I attended but from Getty Photos of Mumbaikers during the last match in Mumbai, the seventh and final one-day international between Australia & India)
On the other thing that really bugged me to death
OMG. Seriously, if I had a gun, I’d shoot them. Yes, I mean the cheerleaders. They were DISGUSTING. No, not the ones in the green (who actually had pompoms and some cheer routines worked out) but the horrible ones in the red, who were just doing whatever they liked - which mainly involved them jumping up and down and moving their hair all about the place.
Even the rowdy men got fed up of them after a while - which should tell you something about just how bad they were.
But still, there was no stopping them. Every over, ever six, ever four, almost every single darn ball, we had to hear loud blaring music (seriously, this is not cricket, this is a side-show) and see the four idiots, without any routines just move for the sake of moving.
And why were the all phirangs??? And barring the one arbitrary black skinned one in the green outfits, all the rest (four teams in all) were white skinned girls. WHY? Is that tantalization at it’s best? White skinned extras in Bollywood and now white skinned side-shows during cricket? And we are to support all this?? Be encouraged by this?? Cheer along with this??
All’s Well that ends well?
I guess the Indian team did play well. The captain with the long hair (no more! yipee!) led his boys well, while SRK and Deepika smiled at him through the large screen. As for our group of about 30 - some of us headed down to the Hilton (took us an eon to get there, two blocks from the stadium!). We had left our bags and stuff in one of our friends’ rooms, so we took the chance to have baths as well. What do you expect after being in that crowd?
Closed the night with maybe 20 of the 30 heading down to the Sports Bar at Phoenix City (yeah, apparently some had not gotten enough of sports). Pics below at Spaghetti Kitchen were we also grabbed a bite.
Thank God for good friends at the end of a terrible day.
(click on pics to enlarge)
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