Pawar Play

(Image Courtesy: New Indian Express)

L Suresh unearths a daring tale of how the Aussies took revenge on the English – on Indian soil.

The twilight reduced the two weary men to mere silhouettes against the evening sky as they rested on the jerry cans that they had been lugging all day. “Coach, it’s almost a year since we lost the Ashes,” grunted the man they called Punter.

The Coach responded with thunderous silence. His long years of experience had taught him that the best thing to do when one was completely clueless was to keep shut - it would always be mistaken for deep contemplation. After he made sure that he had given a long enough pause, he spoke. “We will get the Ashes back!” Suddenly realizing that it wasn’t said with feeling, he broke into a whoop. “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oy, oy, oy!” he chanted, hoping that it would inspire Shane Warne, who was somewhere in the vicinity, cursing freely and pushing a car uphill.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” said Punter mirthlessly. “It’s still not enough. How do we get one up on these Poms?” “Whaddya mean?” asked the Coach. “Well, we’ve done it all before. We’ve won the Ashes, we’ve won the World Cup – we need to do something that we haven’t done before.”

The Coach went back to his air-conditioned tent and his laptop. In half an hour, he rushed out, horrified. ‘Crikey, how did we miss that one?’ he thought. ‘Got to speak to Punter about this!’

The light from the bonfire stretched the two excited men to elongated shadows against their tents. “Punter, I think I got it,” whispered the Coach excitedly. “So did I,” grumbled Punter. “Should ask Warney to stop forwarding such lewd stuff.” “No, not that. I figured a way by which we can get even with the Poms!” “I’m listening,” muttered Punter, wondering why men around a bonfire always spoke in whispers.

“One thing that England did was to sweep the Indians out of the World Cup in 1987. We have clobbered the men in blue, pummeled them into submission, bludgeoned them, but never got to sweep them out. This is our chance to do that at the Champion’s Trophy finals.” “Sure, we can do that, so what’s the big deal?” Punter asked.

“Get a load of this – 5^th November was when the Indians lost to England in the ‘87 World Cup semi-finals and it was held in Mumbai (then Bombay). Guess when the finals of the Champion’s Trophy will be held?” “5^th November 2006!” came the excited reply. “And it’s going to be held in…” “Mumbai!” “Precisely!” “Okay, we’re on!”

The dying embers of the bonfire witnessed a master plan being hatched. Damien Martyn was secretly trained in a three-step maneuver of prod-grab-push. And he would get into the act when he was given the signal.

Days passed. The Champions Trophy began. As expected, the Australian juggernaut rolled on right to the finals in Mumbai, mauling the West Indies and winning the match with a few overs and many wickets to spare.

Then came the time for the prize giving ceremony. Punter went on stage and was all set to collect the trophy when he spotted a lone figure stomping on his cap and simulating a sweep shot time and again. Why was the Coach acting so strange? It suddenly dawned on him. In his excitement, he had forgotten all about the English revenge. India hadn’t reached the finals either. ‘Oh no,’ he thought frantically, ‘what do I do now?’ He caught the Coach’s eye.

The Coach was clueless as always and went into contemplation mode. Punter cursed. “Boy, am I glad we are getting rid of him after the World Cup!” He looked around furtively. So what if the Indian team wasn’t there to be pushed out of the tournament? There was still a lone Indian out there on stage. In a flash he knew what he needed to do. He whispered to Damien Martyn. “Get the boys on stage,” he hissed and beckoned with his index finger.

“Punter, why are you rolling your finger over?” asked Martyn. “That’s the beginning of Pawar Play!” Punter hissed.

The rest, as they say, is history.

(Appeared in the New Indian Express Sunday Supplement on 19 November, 2006)