I too was, like Tendulkar, a bit of a child prodigy. Only my art was that of the armchair cricketer. I was an absolute master of sitting in front of the telly and drooling over the cricket, of imagining strokes that Tendulkar could have played if he had'nt gotten out, of defending him from his prejudiced critics, of making it clear to the supporters of Lara and Waugh(elder) that the best batsman debate started and ended with SRT.
Tendulkar captured my cricketing universe like no other player. He was the harbinger of gooseflesh, of the jaw-dropping moment, of extreme dejection (when he got out cheap), of unalloyed joy and vexing irritation, sometimes all of them at the same time.
And this is how it had always been, until such time that Brian Lara, in an inconsequetial one-day match in Baroda got out in the cruelest of manners at the non-strikers end. Initially there was joy, then the thought that Tendulkar's hundred could well win this match- a much needed riposte to the SRT bashers, relief, and then suddenly utter dejection as one of the commentators mentioned that this was probably the last time Lara batted on Indian soil.
And as I tried to fight the slightest indication of a lump in my throat, the realization dawned that Lara deserved better from me. The loss of course is entirely mine.
But deep within the muddy recesses of my cricketing soul where there still remain a few strands of unbiasedness, I still bat like Lara in front of the mirror. And that is my tribute to the genius. Hope he has a smashing world cup (Tendulkar too!)
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