It is not the incredible shots, it is not the crazy goals, it is not the improbable smashes.
Sport moves us because it shows the humane side of sportspersons. People like you and me. Because for every big hit that it provides, there is a equally frail, equally human vulnerability that it exposes.
None so much than yesterday, New Zealand vs South Africa, Cricket World Cup Semi Finals at Auckland in New Zealand. Sitting in the midst of 45,000 rapturous fans, one could sense the energy, earnestness, unpredictability and vulnerability of the men on the field. It was an intense occasion, one of the most intense I have seen. I have experienced the emotions of many a traditional rivalry, like an India-Pakistan, Botafogo-Flamingo, Germany-France, Boca Juniors – San Lorenzo, England-Australia. But here, it was the occasion. The fact that neither team had ever managed to reach the finals of the the world cup hung in the air.
Predictably, it started off sedately, with people in the stands saying "why do they even have the 50 over matches". It came to life when the bail lights got activated on Hashim Amla's stumps. It moved along, and seemingly, South Africa were stealing the thunder and running away with it all when rain intervened. A drizzle became a downpour and halted the momentum, else it could have well been a 370 score with David Miller and AB D playing beautiful cricket shots to leave NZ clueless.
The crowd enjoyed the break and the reprieve for NZ, and spent time eating and drinking, more of the latter. SA managed a good score at the end of their innings and the feeling was that this match would be theirs to lose, as they had made quite a handful.
Start of the NZ innings and only someone as fearless and as nonchalant about the situation ( and about the opposition) as Brendon McCullum could tear into one of the best attacks in the world. In fifteen minutes, it was mayhem and the crowd had gone absolutely crazy. You don't smack the fastest bowlers in the world on the front foot for six, that too when they are bowling their first over. Had we continued like this for another half an hour, the match could have been over and done with. The fearlessness of McCullum was more powerful than those of iconic fearless teams, like the Dutch football team of 1974, or the Sri Lankan cricket team of 1996. Yet, all along while he was doing this, there was a feeling in the crowd that something had to give way. It was too crazy to continue.
Something did give way. He fell, doing the same thing. Human, after all. And a hush descended on Eden Park. I could correlate it to the scene at the Eden Gardens in Calcutta when Shoaib Akhtar yorked Sachin Tendulkar first ball, many years ago. Brendon walked back. He stopped for a fleeting second. Had he just crossed the line of fearlessness and recklessness and missed out on a once in a lifetime chance to take his country to sporting glory.
From then on, it was always percentage play, and the tentativeness of the NZ team was in dramatic contrast to their captain's lack of it. A run-out, struggle against spin. It was trudging along. But was not likely to be good enough.
Until, a South African born Kiwi, a doubtful selection for the team in the first place, came in and started quitely building his innings. Elliott got that one boundary every few overs which still kept everything in reachable range, but it seemed they were done for. It would be one more of the sad sagas, so near yet so far, for the black caps. AB led from the front. Diving and running after every ball as if life depended on it. Putting more than 100 percent into every bit of it. And the team too. Every throw had not one , but often two players backing up. Players flung themselves at teh ball every few minutes. Every run had to be earned through the brow of Kiwi sweat. Giving more 100% on the field.
it was then that the crowd decided to make things lively. And started bucking the team up. It bucked up the home team, kept their spirits alive, cheered not just good singles, but also nicely played dot balls. As things got to the business end, Mexican waves started going through the Eden Park. It went once. twice. thrice... five times. A six halted the wave's progression. But took the applause to a crescendo.
And so, we got to the fateful last over. Game still on. Elliott, playing against the country of his birth and Professor Daniel Vettorri, an unlikely pair for New Zealand. When Vettorri cut Steyn for four, there was a surge of expectancy in the crowd. The superstitious ones stopped moving. Then a single to the professor. And five to win from two. Steyn against Elliott. A moment would make or mar the fortunes of both countries. For a lifetime of pride. Or regret. A hit here, or a miss there would make all the difference.
Steyn charged in. Elliott smacked it away. A few tiers into the stands. Six. Dear o Dear. Mayhem, madness. NZ in the finals. And what does Elliott do ? He goes up to Dale Steyn and comforts him. In his moment of greatest glory. The two teams bundle together. McCullum has a long chat with AB. They gave it their all. It was a game, after all. But it was a spectacle. Not because of any theatrics or tantrums or sledging from either side. But because of both sides giving it everything they had, in a manner that would be a supreme tribute to not just cricket, but to joy of sport. And at the end of it, tears, hugs, pats. All the very vulnerable human emotions. Out in the open. On display by some of the greatest players in the world. Making for one of the most intense, and poignant cricket matches of all times.
Thank you, South Africa. Thank you, New Zealand.
