Enough has been said, but evidently not done, about the Commonwealth Games. You wouldn't have needed an astonishing amount of foresight to predict a few months ago that procrastination and corruption would ruin India's coming-of-age act; that the target audience is a handful of countries that comfortably excludes some of the major sporting giants, the USA, China and Russia among them, is a different matter. What we would have liked to see was the top runners, most of whom come from the Caribbean countries, and other major athletes lend their names to India's first major sporting event. (No, I don't consider the Afro-Asian games big enough.)
Despite all the logistical problems and the concerns over large amounts of money being siphoned off to unheard-of quarters, perhaps it wasn't unrealistic to expect that somehow, at the last moment, the people in charge would pull themselves together to present a decent front and save the country from getting lambasted in the world press. I should have known better. Admittedly, there has been much embarrassment over the way the Games have been handled, and the people involved in the fiasco need to be pulled up as early as possible. However, in a country where traditionally justice has taken long to arrive or sometimes been entirely elusive, does it make any sense to call for a mass boycott so that the oversized egos of certain individuals are ground to dust, and those of others satisfied in the bargain?
When experienced politicians like Mani Shankar Aiyar and the "face of Indian writing", media darling Chetan Bhagat ask the public to oppose the Games to bring to book the parties that have brought so much disgrace to the country, I am left wondering if they have placed their brains in cold storage. Tourism isn't expected to bring in much revenues, thanks to all the negative press, the fears over filth and disease, floods and security. So do we really need a handful of smug, self-satisfied men, secure in the knowledge of their own standing and celebrity, to go around asking people to ignore the Games because, well, that's our answer to corruption and mismanagement? Really, now, this coming from individuals who are broadly considered intelligent leaves me genuinely confused- are we really hoping to solve the problems of this country with such ease?
How is this going to affect India's image? We need to ensure Bernie Ecclestone knows more about the revenues than the debacles; the future of motor racing in India could be at stake. Convince foreign tourists that the pictures of the Games Village were doctored. Filth? What filth? Your idea of hygiene isn't necessarily mine. A collapsing bridge or roof is just a minor glitch; if people are injured in the process, we could always give them a compensation and pose with them by their hospital beds.
The Commonwealth Games don't appear to be doing anything for sports in the country. With top athletes from around the world pulling out, the field has weakened considerably- so how much can medals be valued? Not taking anything away from the sportspersons who are braving all the negative publicity and ploughing on under obviously difficult conditions, the main idea of any international sporting event should be to have the best names compete against one another- an aspect in which the Delhi Games can be said to be heading towards failure. And if hygiene, sanitation and the quality of the infrastructure are the worrying factors, then four years is indeed a short duration. Inherent discipline is key, something that we seem to lack in quite a few areas.
If the Delhi Games, with their dubiously large budget, help us pull ourselves together and remind us of all that we're not but aspire to be, then it would be money well spent, and we could also rapidly erase the images we're currently flooding the world with. There are certain chronic diseases we need to eradicate- the sooner, the better. But boycotting the Games is not an option- we're not going to present a disjointed picture when a good chunk of the world has its eyes on us. Let the people with political vendettas and faux-intelligent personas froth away to glory.
Showing posts with label Sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sports. Show all posts
Friday, September 24, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Fifth Season
Cross-posted from The Weed Joint:
This must be a rewarding month for bookmakers.
June has always been an exhausting yet deeply blissful month for sport-lovers. Weekends are looked forward to with fervent ardour, adrenaline flows as abundantly as beer and battles for TV viewership are temporarily suspended (how can a sports fanatic not get his/her way?). I remember when Sundays in particular used to be punishingly hectic due to uncooperative cable operators, numerous phone calls and personal visits being made to them to take DD Sports (which, invariably, would be telecasting archives of the 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics) off air to put Star Sports on for the F1 race. The amount of sporting action was obfuscating- I remember one particular Sunday when motor sports clashed with hockey clashed with cricket clashed with tennis…Super Sunday the news channels called it, and rightly so.
On such tantalising days, spoilt for choice, you grip the remote tightly, caring naught for the beads of sweat on your palm and for bodily needs. If you get up for a snack or to answer a telephone call, you just might miss that historic moment that you would want to talk to your colleagues and later, your grandchildren, about. To rub it in when an equally passionate sports lover has missed it. Think, for instance, of all the people who were at the court to catch a glimpse of the incredible marathon match between John Isner and Nicolas Mahut- what a wonderful fireplace story. And this June, things are as busy as ever- Star Cricket is forced to telecast Wimbledon matches, so you get the picture.
The FIFA World Cup, as it does every four years, has won itself new supporters. Hitherto unknown names roll off alien tongues with astonishing adroitness, out-of-work presenters turn into expert columnists on the ‘hot’ quotient and partying habits of the players, drawing rooms that earlier erupted with the melodramatic shrieks of chiffon-saree-backless-blouse-clad soap opera actresses now warm to the infinitely preferable monotonous drone of the vuvuzela.
The ’consequences’ of the World Cup, of course, haven’t been entirely favourable as seen by a certain section of people. The French President reportedly chose to abandon meetings with certain non-profit groups in favour of an emergency discussion to tackle the most predominant ‘social’ issue- the lacklustre performance of the Les Bleus at the tournament- and didn‘t win himself too many supporters through this move. He sought a meeting with Thierry Henry as soon as he returned home- a good indication of how sports can often be as large as life and political egos.
It isn’t just at the higher levels, though. Us small fry are equally enraptured by the idea of sport. Picture an office area with a solitary speaker-phone, where a voice from the client’s end drones on in injured ignorance about trivial matters, when more pressing affairs beckon- four laptops sit adjacent to one another, streaming feeds from the two World Cup matches that are taking place simultaneously, Wimbledon, and the finals of the Asia Cup- of course people choose to crowd around them, punching arms and thumping fists, rather than indulge the unreasonable fancies of a person continents away. Justifiable. Isn’t this your perfect idea of an ideal workday? Gone are the days when you had to call home and find out from a disinterested mother or wife, who didn’t even know where the sports channels were, the latest score updates. Technology is in.
Interestingly, even in a cricket-parochial country like ours, the euphoria of the football World Cup has drowned out- albeit temporarily, as I‘m guessing- the cricket madness. The Asia Cup was only followed on the sidelines, when people had time to spare after having exhausted their overnight-earned football knowledge in heated discussions. Wimbledon seems to be faring slightly better, thanks to the publicity the Isner-Mahut match that lasted longer than eleven hours has generated. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, the perennial favourites, have also toiled to victory in five-setters, in a sense narrowing down the gap between themselves and the also-rans. Adding an element of interest was the departure of the French Open finalists in the first round of the ladies’ singles.
Also squeezed in last weekend was the US Open golf tournament, won by Graeme Dowell of Northern Ireland, making him the first European to win the tournament in forty years. Just another piece of worthless statistics if you’re a sports cynic, and a bit of news to gasp over if you’re one of the more sensible people inhabiting this planet. Golf isn’t just Tiger Woods- not anymore.
And in case you have some time to spare this weekend (discounting the mouth-watering England-Germany match-up), set it apart for the European Grand Prix taking place at Valencia, particularly if you’ve been watching with closely scrunched eyebrows the diminishing disparity between McLaren and Red Bull.
If you’re trying to escape the sporting madness of the season, sorry, you’re in the wrong year. If Shakira’s gyrating moves and the goal-scoring celebrations of the Wavin’ Flag song turn you off, please find yourself a new hobby.
If you are a bookmaker, go have a field day. For the rest of us, beer, popcorn and a good couch are always an option- I beg your pardon, THE option.
This must be a rewarding month for bookmakers.
June has always been an exhausting yet deeply blissful month for sport-lovers. Weekends are looked forward to with fervent ardour, adrenaline flows as abundantly as beer and battles for TV viewership are temporarily suspended (how can a sports fanatic not get his/her way?). I remember when Sundays in particular used to be punishingly hectic due to uncooperative cable operators, numerous phone calls and personal visits being made to them to take DD Sports (which, invariably, would be telecasting archives of the 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics) off air to put Star Sports on for the F1 race. The amount of sporting action was obfuscating- I remember one particular Sunday when motor sports clashed with hockey clashed with cricket clashed with tennis…Super Sunday the news channels called it, and rightly so.
On such tantalising days, spoilt for choice, you grip the remote tightly, caring naught for the beads of sweat on your palm and for bodily needs. If you get up for a snack or to answer a telephone call, you just might miss that historic moment that you would want to talk to your colleagues and later, your grandchildren, about. To rub it in when an equally passionate sports lover has missed it. Think, for instance, of all the people who were at the court to catch a glimpse of the incredible marathon match between John Isner and Nicolas Mahut- what a wonderful fireplace story. And this June, things are as busy as ever- Star Cricket is forced to telecast Wimbledon matches, so you get the picture.
The FIFA World Cup, as it does every four years, has won itself new supporters. Hitherto unknown names roll off alien tongues with astonishing adroitness, out-of-work presenters turn into expert columnists on the ‘hot’ quotient and partying habits of the players, drawing rooms that earlier erupted with the melodramatic shrieks of chiffon-saree-backless-blouse-clad soap opera actresses now warm to the infinitely preferable monotonous drone of the vuvuzela.
The ’consequences’ of the World Cup, of course, haven’t been entirely favourable as seen by a certain section of people. The French President reportedly chose to abandon meetings with certain non-profit groups in favour of an emergency discussion to tackle the most predominant ‘social’ issue- the lacklustre performance of the Les Bleus at the tournament- and didn‘t win himself too many supporters through this move. He sought a meeting with Thierry Henry as soon as he returned home- a good indication of how sports can often be as large as life and political egos.
It isn’t just at the higher levels, though. Us small fry are equally enraptured by the idea of sport. Picture an office area with a solitary speaker-phone, where a voice from the client’s end drones on in injured ignorance about trivial matters, when more pressing affairs beckon- four laptops sit adjacent to one another, streaming feeds from the two World Cup matches that are taking place simultaneously, Wimbledon, and the finals of the Asia Cup- of course people choose to crowd around them, punching arms and thumping fists, rather than indulge the unreasonable fancies of a person continents away. Justifiable. Isn’t this your perfect idea of an ideal workday? Gone are the days when you had to call home and find out from a disinterested mother or wife, who didn’t even know where the sports channels were, the latest score updates. Technology is in.
Interestingly, even in a cricket-parochial country like ours, the euphoria of the football World Cup has drowned out- albeit temporarily, as I‘m guessing- the cricket madness. The Asia Cup was only followed on the sidelines, when people had time to spare after having exhausted their overnight-earned football knowledge in heated discussions. Wimbledon seems to be faring slightly better, thanks to the publicity the Isner-Mahut match that lasted longer than eleven hours has generated. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, the perennial favourites, have also toiled to victory in five-setters, in a sense narrowing down the gap between themselves and the also-rans. Adding an element of interest was the departure of the French Open finalists in the first round of the ladies’ singles.
Also squeezed in last weekend was the US Open golf tournament, won by Graeme Dowell of Northern Ireland, making him the first European to win the tournament in forty years. Just another piece of worthless statistics if you’re a sports cynic, and a bit of news to gasp over if you’re one of the more sensible people inhabiting this planet. Golf isn’t just Tiger Woods- not anymore.
And in case you have some time to spare this weekend (discounting the mouth-watering England-Germany match-up), set it apart for the European Grand Prix taking place at Valencia, particularly if you’ve been watching with closely scrunched eyebrows the diminishing disparity between McLaren and Red Bull.
If you’re trying to escape the sporting madness of the season, sorry, you’re in the wrong year. If Shakira’s gyrating moves and the goal-scoring celebrations of the Wavin’ Flag song turn you off, please find yourself a new hobby.
If you are a bookmaker, go have a field day. For the rest of us, beer, popcorn and a good couch are always an option- I beg your pardon, THE option.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Forca, Football
Cross-posted from The Weed Joint
Scoring a jaw-dropping two points out of twenty in the preliminary round of a football quiz made me aware, for the umpteenth time, of my painful lack of knowledge of the game. I might have heard the lyrics of Waving Flag sung and re-sung and distorted to glory, groaned over the inevitable ubiquitous use of ‘Waka Waka’ in the newspapers, but I soon realised what I didn’t know was central to the theme of the quiz- in short, trivia about the game. Intelligent guesses and wild shots in the dark are always thrilling when the answers turn out right, but sometimes, when confronted by people who know their stuff inside out, ignorance isn't quite bliss.
The sulking skies opened up just before the quiz competition was due to start, and my teammate Airborne and I were hoping for a slice of extraordinarily good luck- the kind that led India into the 1950 World Cup finals, instead. It is another matter that they didn’t play because they weren’t allowed on the ground barefoot, as one version of the story goes. We were spared major embarrassment, of course, as people trickled in to increase the amount of competition (presumptuous of us to consider ourselves part of it, even so)- the quizmaster wanted atleast six teams to make a decent match of it, and his fears were unfounded. A decent number of people braved the rain to turn up at the prelims, and but for a bit of sparring, and Airborne and I might have reached the royal score of four, halfway to the cut-off. Six teams made it to the final round, and no, we didn't rue any lost opportunities.
As the questions flew around, we were treated to an intriguing collection of trivia scooped out of the massive amount of history the World Cup has accumulated over the years. Humour, controversy, corruption, and the crowning glory of triumph- football has seen it all.
Sport is no exception to the curses of human arrogance and senselessness. The brutal murder of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics and the ostracism of the Jews at the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin are some of the more famous examples of politics sullying the reputation of global sporting events. Evidently, football has had its share of controversies- the inaugural edition of the World Cup at Montevideo, Uruguay, in 1930, featured only four European teams, a surprisingly low number for a continent that is home to some of the powerhouses of the sport. Defending champions Uruguay sought to retaliate by boycotting the 1934 championship in Italy, another controversial tournament where the hosts themselves had to qualify to play.
This is just a sample of the trivia that we were treated to. There were references to bizarre incidents, such as the one about a dog running on to the field to be caught by England's Jimmy Greaves, who in turn had his lap graciously soiled, at the 1966 World Cup- yet another example of nature triumphing over man.
The magnitude of football’s reach is incredible. Its being a sport that can be played on the streets with a battered ball and goalposts traced out with a piece of chalk on a wall greatly helps matters. India may not have latched on to the idea of football asWe may be a long way off from having a football team to cry ourselves hoarse for. At a particular World Cup hockey tournament while India was still under British rule, the Indian team is reported to have sung ‘Meri Bhains Ko Danda Kyun Maara’, a folk song, to avoid singing God Save The Queen- Indian spirit, drawn straight from the rural heartlands. Maybe it won’t be too long before we have our own football anthems (and no, we’re certainly not taking the services of a certain bejewelled music director, thank you very much), and a football team that will give us someone to burden with our hopes and expectations (isn’t this what we do best?).
We returned from the quiz with our curiosity whetted- it was the perfect curtain-raiser to the approaching weeks of unbridled sporting passion, raw and real. The 2010 World Cup kicks off tomorrow, and here’s to the thirty-two teams that made it- the major hopes and the underdogs, the rookies and the players who will fight painstakingly to reach that one epoch before the swansong- this is one festival the world will feast on, undivided in spirit, for one magnificent month.
Scoring a jaw-dropping two points out of twenty in the preliminary round of a football quiz made me aware, for the umpteenth time, of my painful lack of knowledge of the game. I might have heard the lyrics of Waving Flag sung and re-sung and distorted to glory, groaned over the inevitable ubiquitous use of ‘Waka Waka’ in the newspapers, but I soon realised what I didn’t know was central to the theme of the quiz- in short, trivia about the game. Intelligent guesses and wild shots in the dark are always thrilling when the answers turn out right, but sometimes, when confronted by people who know their stuff inside out, ignorance isn't quite bliss.
The sulking skies opened up just before the quiz competition was due to start, and my teammate Airborne and I were hoping for a slice of extraordinarily good luck- the kind that led India into the 1950 World Cup finals, instead. It is another matter that they didn’t play because they weren’t allowed on the ground barefoot, as one version of the story goes. We were spared major embarrassment, of course, as people trickled in to increase the amount of competition (presumptuous of us to consider ourselves part of it, even so)- the quizmaster wanted atleast six teams to make a decent match of it, and his fears were unfounded. A decent number of people braved the rain to turn up at the prelims, and but for a bit of sparring, and Airborne and I might have reached the royal score of four, halfway to the cut-off. Six teams made it to the final round, and no, we didn't rue any lost opportunities.
As the questions flew around, we were treated to an intriguing collection of trivia scooped out of the massive amount of history the World Cup has accumulated over the years. Humour, controversy, corruption, and the crowning glory of triumph- football has seen it all.
Sport is no exception to the curses of human arrogance and senselessness. The brutal murder of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics and the ostracism of the Jews at the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin are some of the more famous examples of politics sullying the reputation of global sporting events. Evidently, football has had its share of controversies- the inaugural edition of the World Cup at Montevideo, Uruguay, in 1930, featured only four European teams, a surprisingly low number for a continent that is home to some of the powerhouses of the sport. Defending champions Uruguay sought to retaliate by boycotting the 1934 championship in Italy, another controversial tournament where the hosts themselves had to qualify to play.
This is just a sample of the trivia that we were treated to. There were references to bizarre incidents, such as the one about a dog running on to the field to be caught by England's Jimmy Greaves, who in turn had his lap graciously soiled, at the 1966 World Cup- yet another example of nature triumphing over man.
The magnitude of football’s reach is incredible. Its being a sport that can be played on the streets with a battered ball and goalposts traced out with a piece of chalk on a wall greatly helps matters. India may not have latched on to the idea of football asWe may be a long way off from having a football team to cry ourselves hoarse for. At a particular World Cup hockey tournament while India was still under British rule, the Indian team is reported to have sung ‘Meri Bhains Ko Danda Kyun Maara’, a folk song, to avoid singing God Save The Queen- Indian spirit, drawn straight from the rural heartlands. Maybe it won’t be too long before we have our own football anthems (and no, we’re certainly not taking the services of a certain bejewelled music director, thank you very much), and a football team that will give us someone to burden with our hopes and expectations (isn’t this what we do best?).
We returned from the quiz with our curiosity whetted- it was the perfect curtain-raiser to the approaching weeks of unbridled sporting passion, raw and real. The 2010 World Cup kicks off tomorrow, and here’s to the thirty-two teams that made it- the major hopes and the underdogs, the rookies and the players who will fight painstakingly to reach that one epoch before the swansong- this is one festival the world will feast on, undivided in spirit, for one magnificent month.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sport, the Healer
Watching sports heals.
Let's keep Indo-Pak relations and the fracas over the IPL out of this, because that isn't something I call sport at all- where the in-danger-of-obsolescence glamour queens strut about and spout wisdom at journalists and try to justify their actions; where political relations are inextricably linked with what should be healthy competition for a good cause.
People sit in nervous anticipation for the heroes of the day to walk in. The arena is charged with excitement, people fidget in impatience as the several routine motions are gone through before the sportspersons walk out to the centre. And at the first glimpse of those so eagerly awaited, a reverent hush falls over the crowd for the smallest fraction of a second as they grapple with the reality of seeing the people they deify in flesh-and-blood, of knowing that they actually are mortal- before they break into loud cheers and temporary hysteria, a sense of togetherness binding them all in this worship of common idols. Very little comes close to being at the hallowed ground, soaking in the atmosphere of anxiety, unsurpassed joy and collective sighs, groans and yells of delight.
More often than not, the magnitude of the event doesn't matter- however, sanctity ostensibly is proportionate to the scale and the grandeur of the match/game at hand. The Grand Slams, a World Cup final, a Formula One or a MotoGP race, are all evocative of the highest amounts of awe and admiration, time or geography weaving itself into the reasons for the passionate ardour shown them.
The women's singles final at Melbourne yesterday drove it all home to me- I realised how much I'd missed live sport over the past year when certain reasons had caused abstention from sports channels. Even as the match was in progress, I visualised in my head all that I'd like to see- Justine Henin carrying the momentum of her second set win into the third after losing the first set to Serena Williams, winning the match and sinking down on her knees in ecstasy, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders quivering as myriad emotions overtook her, and then receiving the Daphne Akhurst Trophy. (That none of this actually happened is a different story altogether.) I celebrated every point with her, worried every time Serena broke her serve, and finally felt deeply for her as she sat on her chair at the end of the match, dejected at what could so well have turned out otherwise to be the most spectacular fairytale ending.
It is great fun being woken up in the middle of the night by your sports-mad father, so you can sneak out and watch France's capitulation to Italy in a FIFA WC final; or rise early in the morning to enjoy the Copa America or a test match Down Under. You grab the remote every alternate Sunday to watch an F1 race, telling your mother (who, in most cases, would rather watch something else), that this is the only race in Italy or Monaco or Malaysia for that season- and every other Sunday, the MotoGP is on, the only one for the year in Britain or Spain. The tempo gathers momentum towards the end of the year, of course, when it becomes absolutely impossible to wrest the remote out of your hands, and if you depend on cable operators, you have to pick numerous fights with them to get some stupid movie channel off air and replace it with a sports channel. Your mother doesn't know how everything happens "just once a year" with such incredible regularity, slotting in exactly when the few programmes she watches are being telecast.
It isn't just about the results- these matches/games are where you can shut mundanity out for a few hours and be swept in the victories and disappointments of people you don't know, be one with all the other supporters halfway across the world, and have something to occupy your mind when everything else suddenly seems bleak and monotonous. Healthy, fulfilling and clean- if we can only keep it that way.
Let's keep Indo-Pak relations and the fracas over the IPL out of this, because that isn't something I call sport at all- where the in-danger-of-obsolescence glamour queens strut about and spout wisdom at journalists and try to justify their actions; where political relations are inextricably linked with what should be healthy competition for a good cause.
People sit in nervous anticipation for the heroes of the day to walk in. The arena is charged with excitement, people fidget in impatience as the several routine motions are gone through before the sportspersons walk out to the centre. And at the first glimpse of those so eagerly awaited, a reverent hush falls over the crowd for the smallest fraction of a second as they grapple with the reality of seeing the people they deify in flesh-and-blood, of knowing that they actually are mortal- before they break into loud cheers and temporary hysteria, a sense of togetherness binding them all in this worship of common idols. Very little comes close to being at the hallowed ground, soaking in the atmosphere of anxiety, unsurpassed joy and collective sighs, groans and yells of delight.
More often than not, the magnitude of the event doesn't matter- however, sanctity ostensibly is proportionate to the scale and the grandeur of the match/game at hand. The Grand Slams, a World Cup final, a Formula One or a MotoGP race, are all evocative of the highest amounts of awe and admiration, time or geography weaving itself into the reasons for the passionate ardour shown them.
The women's singles final at Melbourne yesterday drove it all home to me- I realised how much I'd missed live sport over the past year when certain reasons had caused abstention from sports channels. Even as the match was in progress, I visualised in my head all that I'd like to see- Justine Henin carrying the momentum of her second set win into the third after losing the first set to Serena Williams, winning the match and sinking down on her knees in ecstasy, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders quivering as myriad emotions overtook her, and then receiving the Daphne Akhurst Trophy. (That none of this actually happened is a different story altogether.) I celebrated every point with her, worried every time Serena broke her serve, and finally felt deeply for her as she sat on her chair at the end of the match, dejected at what could so well have turned out otherwise to be the most spectacular fairytale ending.
It is great fun being woken up in the middle of the night by your sports-mad father, so you can sneak out and watch France's capitulation to Italy in a FIFA WC final; or rise early in the morning to enjoy the Copa America or a test match Down Under. You grab the remote every alternate Sunday to watch an F1 race, telling your mother (who, in most cases, would rather watch something else), that this is the only race in Italy or Monaco or Malaysia for that season- and every other Sunday, the MotoGP is on, the only one for the year in Britain or Spain. The tempo gathers momentum towards the end of the year, of course, when it becomes absolutely impossible to wrest the remote out of your hands, and if you depend on cable operators, you have to pick numerous fights with them to get some stupid movie channel off air and replace it with a sports channel. Your mother doesn't know how everything happens "just once a year" with such incredible regularity, slotting in exactly when the few programmes she watches are being telecast.
It isn't just about the results- these matches/games are where you can shut mundanity out for a few hours and be swept in the victories and disappointments of people you don't know, be one with all the other supporters halfway across the world, and have something to occupy your mind when everything else suddenly seems bleak and monotonous. Healthy, fulfilling and clean- if we can only keep it that way.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Yay, Justine!
Belgian Justine Henin was pushed to the limit by 20-year-old compatriot Yanina Wickmayer. I'm glad she was. It is a sign of hope- you wouldn't want to see people coming back from hiatuses winning championships easily. The 7-6(3), 1-6, 6-3 scoreline wasn't a very heartening one for fans hoping to see Henin crush her less experienced rival.
That said, I hope Henin wins the Australian Open. She really deserves to- and I'd like her to win the rest of the Grand Slam titles as well, this year. Wishful thinking? Perhaps.
Today's match was an opportunity to see the fighter in Henin come to the fore- a real resurgence. With Kim Clijsters already out of the tournament, Henin is the lone Belgian in the draw. She faces Nadia Petrova in the quarter-finals, and it sure is going to be an interesting match. For some reason, though, I fear more for Henin when she's playing the less-experienced girls, than when pitted against the established ones. Remember when she unexpectedly lost to Marion Bartoli at Wimbledon 2007? She squandered what was perhaps her best chance at the most coveted Grand Slam title, the only one that she is yet to win. Winning the Australian Open should definitely give her the confidence and the rhythm that she needs for the year ahead; her monopoly over the French Open notwithstanding, the Grand Old Lady of Wimbledon is the tournament her fans would love to see her win.
That said, I hope Henin wins the Australian Open. She really deserves to- and I'd like her to win the rest of the Grand Slam titles as well, this year. Wishful thinking? Perhaps.
Today's match was an opportunity to see the fighter in Henin come to the fore- a real resurgence. With Kim Clijsters already out of the tournament, Henin is the lone Belgian in the draw. She faces Nadia Petrova in the quarter-finals, and it sure is going to be an interesting match. For some reason, though, I fear more for Henin when she's playing the less-experienced girls, than when pitted against the established ones. Remember when she unexpectedly lost to Marion Bartoli at Wimbledon 2007? She squandered what was perhaps her best chance at the most coveted Grand Slam title, the only one that she is yet to win. Winning the Australian Open should definitely give her the confidence and the rhythm that she needs for the year ahead; her monopoly over the French Open notwithstanding, the Grand Old Lady of Wimbledon is the tournament her fans would love to see her win.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Ambrosia and Revelry
Are there any beer-drinking competitions anywhere? If not, it should be made a sport. It would probably involve more spectators than participants, true, but I'm sure Heineken and Stella Artois wouldn't be too unhappy at the idea. Imagine beer being drunk by the gallon, fans cheering on from the sidelines with mugs and cans in their hands, the odours of fermentation all around.
But for the competition part, the atmosphere at the Singapore GP quite matched what I've just described. Beer was by far the most popular drink at the venue. Why, you could even tell from the brochure- while not allowing visitors to bring in any food/beverages apart from water, it mentioned there was enough beer at the venue to cater to the 'thirst' of patrons.
In fact, F1 is not just about racing. There is much more than just fast cars and politics- it is a three-day carnival. DJs, discos, stand-up comedians, pop acts, a paddock full of celebrities- the Singapore GP is definitely one of the more glamorous races on the calendar, and also popular with a number of ex-drivers. The F1 race is preceded by other classes of racing, so spectators here were also treated to the sight of whizzing Porsche and BMW cars. The atmosphere is absolutely electric, charged up with thrill and a sense of anticipation. This being a night race, there are ample opportunities to make it a visual treat, and spice things up with a good dose of nightlife. F1 Rocks, a new concept, was introduced at this race, consisting of a series of concerts featuring popular acts from around the world, leading up to the three-day extravaganza. In simple words, F1 is money. It is a sport, of course, but also a means of flaunting wealth, yachts and celebrity girlfriends. Exclusive parties, corporate hospitality and champagne separate the 'riffraff ' from the 'celebrities', so while we buy our own tickets and walk around the circuit, soaking in the atmosphere and ogling at the large screens and the expensive cars, they watch from the comfort of the garages or their own personal suites, wherever they are. Which makes me wonder- how different would that be from watching the race on television, if you are ensconsed in a booth at the circuit and watching it on a screen anyway?
India should bring F1 to the country, but it shouldn't become a farce like the IPL, not a platform for actors to sell themselves and talk in outlandish accents about things they hardly understand. Considering that the Sports Ministry isn't, to put it mildy, keen on F1 or even faintly interested in its merits, and with all the sweating over the most expensive Commonwealth Games ever, it doesn't seem very likely that F1 will be in India in a hurry, notwithstanding the optimism of Vijay Mallya and Bernie Ecclestone put together. A few years to go, then, if we do ever hope to have in India a conglomeration of nationalities drinking beer, watching cars speed around curves and blind turns (legally, for a change).
How long can we avoid the lure of money, after all? Bring it on.
But for the competition part, the atmosphere at the Singapore GP quite matched what I've just described. Beer was by far the most popular drink at the venue. Why, you could even tell from the brochure- while not allowing visitors to bring in any food/beverages apart from water, it mentioned there was enough beer at the venue to cater to the 'thirst' of patrons.
In fact, F1 is not just about racing. There is much more than just fast cars and politics- it is a three-day carnival. DJs, discos, stand-up comedians, pop acts, a paddock full of celebrities- the Singapore GP is definitely one of the more glamorous races on the calendar, and also popular with a number of ex-drivers. The F1 race is preceded by other classes of racing, so spectators here were also treated to the sight of whizzing Porsche and BMW cars. The atmosphere is absolutely electric, charged up with thrill and a sense of anticipation. This being a night race, there are ample opportunities to make it a visual treat, and spice things up with a good dose of nightlife. F1 Rocks, a new concept, was introduced at this race, consisting of a series of concerts featuring popular acts from around the world, leading up to the three-day extravaganza. In simple words, F1 is money. It is a sport, of course, but also a means of flaunting wealth, yachts and celebrity girlfriends. Exclusive parties, corporate hospitality and champagne separate the 'riffraff ' from the 'celebrities', so while we buy our own tickets and walk around the circuit, soaking in the atmosphere and ogling at the large screens and the expensive cars, they watch from the comfort of the garages or their own personal suites, wherever they are. Which makes me wonder- how different would that be from watching the race on television, if you are ensconsed in a booth at the circuit and watching it on a screen anyway?
India should bring F1 to the country, but it shouldn't become a farce like the IPL, not a platform for actors to sell themselves and talk in outlandish accents about things they hardly understand. Considering that the Sports Ministry isn't, to put it mildy, keen on F1 or even faintly interested in its merits, and with all the sweating over the most expensive Commonwealth Games ever, it doesn't seem very likely that F1 will be in India in a hurry, notwithstanding the optimism of Vijay Mallya and Bernie Ecclestone put together. A few years to go, then, if we do ever hope to have in India a conglomeration of nationalities drinking beer, watching cars speed around curves and blind turns (legally, for a change).
How long can we avoid the lure of money, after all? Bring it on.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
On Track
In the midst of spectators from Argentina, Brazil, Germany, Great Britain, Finland and Singapore, I watched Lewis Hamilton drive to victory. Strangely, I wasn't disappointed. It was an experience to be savoured, an ambience to be absorbed to saturation. Seeing the drivers in flesh and blood as they were driven around the track on lovely cars, waving to the crowds, was surreal- people I'd seen on television, admired and detested, but wanted to know, were right in front of me. Hamilton is definitely charismatic; he can endear himself to the crowds, and so can Nico Rosberg.
The race didn't go my way at any point. Hamilton sped off comfortably, the two safety car periods making no dent in his lead, his pit-stops flawless. Rosberg, challenging for a podium position, made a mistake that a rookie would have been ashamed of, driving clear over the white line as he exited the pit lane, incurring a drive-through penalty. Sebastian Vettel gave him company, being penalised for speeding in the pit lane. Adrian Sutil pushed a little too hard trying to get ahead of Jaime Alguersuari and took himself and Nick Heidfeld out, the latter already in misery having started in the pit lane. The Toro Rosso cars faced premature exits, in fact coming into the garage in the same lap, while brake troubles plagued Mark Webber.
Starting twelfth, championship leader Jenson Button did pretty well to finish fifth, consolidating his position on top. Rubens Barrichello finished sixth, giving the Brawn team something to smile about. The Ferraris continued their run of misery, both the cars finishing outside the points.
No pile-ups, no massive shunts, but the race never turned into a procession, as street races sometimes threaten to. The back of the pack- the Ferrari of Giancarlo Fisichella, the Force India cars, and Alguersuari's Toro Rosso, provided some excitement as they kept bunching up. On the track, how close or far apart the cars are becomes really evident, and you wait breathlessly for them to lunge at one another, to attack.
I wouldn't have missed this race for the world. One dream has come true, many to go.
The race didn't go my way at any point. Hamilton sped off comfortably, the two safety car periods making no dent in his lead, his pit-stops flawless. Rosberg, challenging for a podium position, made a mistake that a rookie would have been ashamed of, driving clear over the white line as he exited the pit lane, incurring a drive-through penalty. Sebastian Vettel gave him company, being penalised for speeding in the pit lane. Adrian Sutil pushed a little too hard trying to get ahead of Jaime Alguersuari and took himself and Nick Heidfeld out, the latter already in misery having started in the pit lane. The Toro Rosso cars faced premature exits, in fact coming into the garage in the same lap, while brake troubles plagued Mark Webber.
Starting twelfth, championship leader Jenson Button did pretty well to finish fifth, consolidating his position on top. Rubens Barrichello finished sixth, giving the Brawn team something to smile about. The Ferraris continued their run of misery, both the cars finishing outside the points.
No pile-ups, no massive shunts, but the race never turned into a procession, as street races sometimes threaten to. The back of the pack- the Ferrari of Giancarlo Fisichella, the Force India cars, and Alguersuari's Toro Rosso, provided some excitement as they kept bunching up. On the track, how close or far apart the cars are becomes really evident, and you wait breathlessly for them to lunge at one another, to attack.
I wouldn't have missed this race for the world. One dream has come true, many to go.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Sniff- Hamilton on Pole
Because I'm here, body and spirit, and this might well be my only chance ever to witness a race live at the circuit, I have decided to be unabashedly biased.
Qualifying didn't exactly throw up the results I expected. With little or no overtaking expected on a street circuit, the results of tomorrow's race have fairly been determined. Lewis Hamilton powered his McLaren-Mercedes to pole, while Rubens Barrichello will not be the most popular man in the Red Bull and Williams motorhomes tonight, the Brazilian swerving and shunting into the barriers just 26 seconds before Q3 ended, putting an end to any further efforts from the drivers to better their existing lap times. Sebastian Vettel will start second tomorrow, followed by Nico Rosberg in P3. Rosberg put up a decent show as the more fancied Brawns struggled through qualifying. Jenson Button didn't make it to Q3, nor did Kimi Raikkonen, the Brawn and the Ferrari not very impressive tonight. Raikkonen admitted they lacked speed, and attributed it to the fact that Ferrari were already concentrating on 2010, and work on the current car had stopped since the Hungarian Grand Prix. Ouch. That isn't very encouraging, with three races yet to go this season.
The other Ferrari of Giancarlo Fisichella failed to make it past Q1, his ex-teammates from Force India providing him company as they couldn't quite match the promise they have shown in the past few races. The Singapore GP seems to be all about adaptability- how well you can get out of your comfort zone and tailor your styles to suit the vagaries of a street circuit, especially, driving under floodlights.
Romain Grosjean spun initially as the cars came out on track, but managed to get his grip back and keep it going. Except for a few false alarms and sparks, there wasn't much excitement at qualifying. Barrichello's cup of woes overflowed, though, as a gearbox change means he will start tenth tomorrow, instead of from P5, due to the five-place penalty.
Stats apart, being at qualifying, hearing the first murmurs of disappointment and triumph, was an interesting experience. I might well have been watching a race at the Interlagos, squeezed in as I was between an Argentinian couple on my left and a group of Brazilians on my right. I don't think either party was fervently supporting Barrichello, though. They seemed more interested in the fates of Webber and Hamilton and, to make my life more bearable, Raikkonen. I saw only a couple of large banners, not quite the euphoric excitement I expected at an F1 race. This is probably the difference between a country that is steeped in motorsport tradition and one that has adopted it as, I hate to say this, commercial sustenance. I might be wrong, though. Tomorrow will tell. Singapore is a beautiful city to hold an F1 race in, particularly suited to a street circuit, and definitely rivals Monaco in terms of modern grandeur.
Just in case you are curious about the Fullerton, the Merlion, the Singapore Flyer and the Esplanade, names I have been mentioning off and on over the last few months, do make sure you watch the race. I have seen glimpses on the big screen on GP TV, and I never imagined it could look that real. The luminescence of the sea, the glitter of the skyscrapers, the magnificent structures all around the circuit make for some spectacular views. In just its second year, the Singapore GP has certainly proved a huge success, a massive magnet for foreign tourists and F1 connoisseurs.
Qualifying didn't exactly throw up the results I expected. With little or no overtaking expected on a street circuit, the results of tomorrow's race have fairly been determined. Lewis Hamilton powered his McLaren-Mercedes to pole, while Rubens Barrichello will not be the most popular man in the Red Bull and Williams motorhomes tonight, the Brazilian swerving and shunting into the barriers just 26 seconds before Q3 ended, putting an end to any further efforts from the drivers to better their existing lap times. Sebastian Vettel will start second tomorrow, followed by Nico Rosberg in P3. Rosberg put up a decent show as the more fancied Brawns struggled through qualifying. Jenson Button didn't make it to Q3, nor did Kimi Raikkonen, the Brawn and the Ferrari not very impressive tonight. Raikkonen admitted they lacked speed, and attributed it to the fact that Ferrari were already concentrating on 2010, and work on the current car had stopped since the Hungarian Grand Prix. Ouch. That isn't very encouraging, with three races yet to go this season.
The other Ferrari of Giancarlo Fisichella failed to make it past Q1, his ex-teammates from Force India providing him company as they couldn't quite match the promise they have shown in the past few races. The Singapore GP seems to be all about adaptability- how well you can get out of your comfort zone and tailor your styles to suit the vagaries of a street circuit, especially, driving under floodlights.
Romain Grosjean spun initially as the cars came out on track, but managed to get his grip back and keep it going. Except for a few false alarms and sparks, there wasn't much excitement at qualifying. Barrichello's cup of woes overflowed, though, as a gearbox change means he will start tenth tomorrow, instead of from P5, due to the five-place penalty.
Stats apart, being at qualifying, hearing the first murmurs of disappointment and triumph, was an interesting experience. I might well have been watching a race at the Interlagos, squeezed in as I was between an Argentinian couple on my left and a group of Brazilians on my right. I don't think either party was fervently supporting Barrichello, though. They seemed more interested in the fates of Webber and Hamilton and, to make my life more bearable, Raikkonen. I saw only a couple of large banners, not quite the euphoric excitement I expected at an F1 race. This is probably the difference between a country that is steeped in motorsport tradition and one that has adopted it as, I hate to say this, commercial sustenance. I might be wrong, though. Tomorrow will tell. Singapore is a beautiful city to hold an F1 race in, particularly suited to a street circuit, and definitely rivals Monaco in terms of modern grandeur.
Just in case you are curious about the Fullerton, the Merlion, the Singapore Flyer and the Esplanade, names I have been mentioning off and on over the last few months, do make sure you watch the race. I have seen glimpses on the big screen on GP TV, and I never imagined it could look that real. The luminescence of the sea, the glitter of the skyscrapers, the magnificent structures all around the circuit make for some spectacular views. In just its second year, the Singapore GP has certainly proved a huge success, a massive magnet for foreign tourists and F1 connoisseurs.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Singapore Grand Prix- Friday Practice
An eight-year-old dream of mine is coming true.
I am finally watching an F1 race, live, at the venue.
The Singapore Grand Prix is here. The tickets which had been safely stashed away finally saw the light of day- or should I say the floodlights of the Marina Bay Circuit Park.
With traffic jams prolonging travel time around the island, taking a train was the best option, and I got off at Raffles Place and followed the clear directions to Gate 6, the entrance to the Esplanade Waterfront Grandstand. Full marks to the organisers for the arrangements- if India is ever planning to host an F1 race, it certainly has a lot of work to do.
Gate 6 is in the vicinity of the Fullerton Hotel, and the area offers some of the best views of the city. Merlion Park, the Esplanade, the skyscrapers in the business district, the sea- they couldn't have chosen better when they planned the street circuit. For once, without getting lost or confused, I made my way to the grandstand and settled in for the second practice session, having missed the first due to a delay at work.
Imagine. Think of a tight coil of anticipation unwinding suddenly, as the first F1 car roars around the corner, tantalisingly audible but not in sight yet. And soon, before you realise what is happening, it comes round the corner, speeding in with a high-pitched whine punctuated with thuds as the car bumps over the kerbs. The Red Bull cars came out first, followed by Williams, Force India, Ferrari, Renault, McLaren Mercedes and the rest. What an exhilarating sight it was, the glossy shine and vibrant colours of racing cars lit up by the powerful lights, sleek cars curvingh gracefully down the bend, precariously close to hitting the wall, but negotiating the turn with precision and near-perfection.
There wasn't much action during practice, apart from Mark Webber spinning while he was on top of the time-sheets and ending up in a wall, due to which the session was red-flagged for about fifteen minutes. This resulted in his slipping down the order, Sebastian Vettel clocking the fastest time, followed by Fernando Alonso with an inspired, last-minute dash in his Renault, shoving down ex-teammate Heikki Kovalainen to third spot. The Ferraris, sadly, were uninspiring, as was Lewis Hamilton. Earlier in the day, the first practice session had also witnessed a red flag, thanks to Romain Grosjean's mishap. This session was interesting in terms of the time of day- as twilight melted into night, the drivers had to deal with the transition from sunshine to darkness- a rather daunting task for them, considering every other race takes place in the afternoon.
Qualifying takes place tomorrow, and Red Bull and Brawn seem to be where most 'experts' are laying their money. Saturday will tell.
I am finally watching an F1 race, live, at the venue.
The Singapore Grand Prix is here. The tickets which had been safely stashed away finally saw the light of day- or should I say the floodlights of the Marina Bay Circuit Park.
With traffic jams prolonging travel time around the island, taking a train was the best option, and I got off at Raffles Place and followed the clear directions to Gate 6, the entrance to the Esplanade Waterfront Grandstand. Full marks to the organisers for the arrangements- if India is ever planning to host an F1 race, it certainly has a lot of work to do.
Gate 6 is in the vicinity of the Fullerton Hotel, and the area offers some of the best views of the city. Merlion Park, the Esplanade, the skyscrapers in the business district, the sea- they couldn't have chosen better when they planned the street circuit. For once, without getting lost or confused, I made my way to the grandstand and settled in for the second practice session, having missed the first due to a delay at work.
Imagine. Think of a tight coil of anticipation unwinding suddenly, as the first F1 car roars around the corner, tantalisingly audible but not in sight yet. And soon, before you realise what is happening, it comes round the corner, speeding in with a high-pitched whine punctuated with thuds as the car bumps over the kerbs. The Red Bull cars came out first, followed by Williams, Force India, Ferrari, Renault, McLaren Mercedes and the rest. What an exhilarating sight it was, the glossy shine and vibrant colours of racing cars lit up by the powerful lights, sleek cars curvingh gracefully down the bend, precariously close to hitting the wall, but negotiating the turn with precision and near-perfection.
There wasn't much action during practice, apart from Mark Webber spinning while he was on top of the time-sheets and ending up in a wall, due to which the session was red-flagged for about fifteen minutes. This resulted in his slipping down the order, Sebastian Vettel clocking the fastest time, followed by Fernando Alonso with an inspired, last-minute dash in his Renault, shoving down ex-teammate Heikki Kovalainen to third spot. The Ferraris, sadly, were uninspiring, as was Lewis Hamilton. Earlier in the day, the first practice session had also witnessed a red flag, thanks to Romain Grosjean's mishap. This session was interesting in terms of the time of day- as twilight melted into night, the drivers had to deal with the transition from sunshine to darkness- a rather daunting task for them, considering every other race takes place in the afternoon.
Qualifying takes place tomorrow, and Red Bull and Brawn seem to be where most 'experts' are laying their money. Saturday will tell.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Meeting Bernie
I met Bernie Ecclestone.
I am no fashionista, couldn't be one if I tried ever so hard, but I like walking down the corridors of the impossibly glamorous malls on Orchard Road, looking into display windows at absurdly clothed mannequins, giant handbags, shoes that would make the wearer tower over an entire NBA team. Turn left, it's Louis Vuitton and Chanel, look right and you have Prada and Dolce & Gabbana. Labels rule. Orchard Road is the best place to be at to savour completely the flavour of the F1 season. Tourists throng the malls, and apparently, celebrities too.
Standing by one of the exits at Takashimaya, a small figure with an unruly mop of grey hair, wearing the familiar white shirt, he could almost have passed off for a nondescript shopper (if people who actually buy things there can be nondescript). But Bernie is the man with the deep pockets and the hands that hold the reins of F1, and it is hard not to recognise him if you have, for months on end, seen him strolling down the starting grid, patting shoulders in fireproof suits, having a word with team bosses.
I was, of course, dumbfounded, and after the word "Bernie", I just managed to choke out an incoherent sentence which I don't intend to repeat. I told him I was from India, to which knowledge his first sentence came out completely naturally- "India. We are coming there next year." He seemed pretty impressed by the fact that I was from India, and if I have contributed the tiniest mite in convincing the powers that be that there is quite a sizeable population looking forward to F1 in India, I will feel my life has had purpose and meaning.
I was speechless when I met Bernie and shook hands with him. I would have positively swooned if I'd run into one of the drivers. This is surreal. There was a very pretty girl beside Bernie, presumably Tamara Ecclestone, his daughter.
(The real reason I went to Orchard was watch-shopping. Tag Heuer blew me away. Only, the price tags were a little steep. We walked into Chanel for a lark, and walked out laughing after we saw a watch worth $75, 300. Only. Finally, though, I managed to find myself a decent black Esprit watch, not flashy, but very attractive. Simple is nice.)
Tremendous uncertainties, possibilities of turning round the corner and running into an F1 star, the thrill, the actual experience of living out what I've always wanted to see- it's all so overwhelming! Can I hope to get just a little bit luckier? Sunday will tell.
I am no fashionista, couldn't be one if I tried ever so hard, but I like walking down the corridors of the impossibly glamorous malls on Orchard Road, looking into display windows at absurdly clothed mannequins, giant handbags, shoes that would make the wearer tower over an entire NBA team. Turn left, it's Louis Vuitton and Chanel, look right and you have Prada and Dolce & Gabbana. Labels rule. Orchard Road is the best place to be at to savour completely the flavour of the F1 season. Tourists throng the malls, and apparently, celebrities too.
Standing by one of the exits at Takashimaya, a small figure with an unruly mop of grey hair, wearing the familiar white shirt, he could almost have passed off for a nondescript shopper (if people who actually buy things there can be nondescript). But Bernie is the man with the deep pockets and the hands that hold the reins of F1, and it is hard not to recognise him if you have, for months on end, seen him strolling down the starting grid, patting shoulders in fireproof suits, having a word with team bosses.
I was, of course, dumbfounded, and after the word "Bernie", I just managed to choke out an incoherent sentence which I don't intend to repeat. I told him I was from India, to which knowledge his first sentence came out completely naturally- "India. We are coming there next year." He seemed pretty impressed by the fact that I was from India, and if I have contributed the tiniest mite in convincing the powers that be that there is quite a sizeable population looking forward to F1 in India, I will feel my life has had purpose and meaning.
I was speechless when I met Bernie and shook hands with him. I would have positively swooned if I'd run into one of the drivers. This is surreal. There was a very pretty girl beside Bernie, presumably Tamara Ecclestone, his daughter.
(The real reason I went to Orchard was watch-shopping. Tag Heuer blew me away. Only, the price tags were a little steep. We walked into Chanel for a lark, and walked out laughing after we saw a watch worth $75, 300. Only. Finally, though, I managed to find myself a decent black Esprit watch, not flashy, but very attractive. Simple is nice.)
Tremendous uncertainties, possibilities of turning round the corner and running into an F1 star, the thrill, the actual experience of living out what I've always wanted to see- it's all so overwhelming! Can I hope to get just a little bit luckier? Sunday will tell.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Reporting from the Front
Today I am rather convinced that India is not exactly in a position to hold an F1 race on a street circuit.
No, I haven't joined forces with the Sports Ministry- sadly, we have people who cannot tell a sport when they see one. Seeing the length of the lines of cars jamming the roads of Singapore this week, however, I can't imagine a race through the roads in India, when it is already bursting at the seams and the traffic threatens to spill over into the tiniest crevice possible.
The lanes of the Marina Bay Circuit have been closed to general traffic this week, in preparation for this weekend's Singapore Grand Prix. Cars snake through the tunnels at snail's pace, and this is when you regret your decision to take a cab instead of the train that would have delivered you home in half the time. Now imagine blocking roads for a week in India. Of course, we have impromptu closures all the time, but then something of this magnitude, requiring the best possible infrastructure, is something I don't think we are quite ready to pull off at the moment. What an irony that many of the people working on construction and laying roads in Singapore are from India!
Living in Grand Prix country is a whole new experience. A week of excitement, an influx of tourists, F1 signs everywhere, designer boutiques more primmed up than usual, models of cars and art inspired by them. The thrill is palpable, and Singapore is glorying in the attention, notwithstanding the fiasco of last year's race and the Renault revelations.
Just one more day to Friday.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Turnaround
Forget the fact that Ferrari are not quite there (an understatement, I agree) this season. They are almost as bad as, and how I hate to make the comparison, the Kolkata Knight Riders this season. So the IPL is not just about glamour and advertising and flashing your face and colours on television every other minute. It isn't about promos, controversies, publicity, and empty talk. Not entirely. Looks like a team missed out on one necessary ingredient- the game. And how I hope a particular person is learning his lesson! (Not that I'd really mind if he didn't; it just doesn't make the least bit of difference to me.)
Ferrari are biting the dust too, yes, and they'd better snap out of it pronto. While it might be politically correct to say seeing Button, Vettel and the rest of the upstart co. on the podium is good for the sport, I'll say this: I don't mind seeing them there, but where I'd like to see them is on the third step, behind the two Ferrari drivers. Pipedreams. Don't rub it in. I can hardly wait for the Europe leg to begin.
Ferrari are biting the dust too, yes, and they'd better snap out of it pronto. While it might be politically correct to say seeing Button, Vettel and the rest of the upstart co. on the podium is good for the sport, I'll say this: I don't mind seeing them there, but where I'd like to see them is on the third step, behind the two Ferrari drivers. Pipedreams. Don't rub it in. I can hardly wait for the Europe leg to begin.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Brawn Force and the Rest
The F1 season continues with its Asia leg at Shanghai this weekend, with the Chinese GP offering Jenson Button a delicious opportunity for a hat-trick. Ross Brawn has indeed turned around a struggling, down-in-the-dumps team, bringing them to the top imperceptibly and nipping any criticism in the bud.
The FIA has ruled that the double-decker diffusers are valid, and that potentially brings the entire fight onto the track this weekend. The season has already been mired in scandal, starting with the season opener in Australia, and McLaren-Mercedes have been left sweating over the 'lying' scandal- how on earth do they manage to get themselves into the most embarrassing scrapes?- and without a sporting director. Ferrari have been in the limelight for all the wrong reasons as well- the defending World Champions haven't scored a point yet, and will indeed be praying for a windfall in China. The balance has toppled strangely this season, the fancied teams not even in the reckoning after the first two races. But then, this is sport, and things can improve in no time. McLaren will be hoping they can get the facts right when they appear before the WMSC, for this is some publicity they definitely wouldn't want, especially after the bitter Spygate saga of 2007. Ferrari, on the other hand, need to pull up their socks and take proper decisions. Kimi Raikkonen's race at the Malaysian GP was ruined by the decision to put the wet tyres on way before the rain started, putting paid to his hopes of a points finish as the plan unfortunately backfired.
Will the big guns get going this weekend? Having Ferrari pit their wits against Ross Brawn would indeed make for some exciting encounters, and having the McLarens and the BMWs join the party would absolutely enliven things up. 'Our' team, Force India, trundles on, taking satisfaction in its record of 100% finishes in the two races, hoping for better grid positions in qualifying and a few points in the races. What with things gone all topsy-turvy this year, Vijay Mallya just might be in for a stroke of real good luck.
The FIA has ruled that the double-decker diffusers are valid, and that potentially brings the entire fight onto the track this weekend. The season has already been mired in scandal, starting with the season opener in Australia, and McLaren-Mercedes have been left sweating over the 'lying' scandal- how on earth do they manage to get themselves into the most embarrassing scrapes?- and without a sporting director. Ferrari have been in the limelight for all the wrong reasons as well- the defending World Champions haven't scored a point yet, and will indeed be praying for a windfall in China. The balance has toppled strangely this season, the fancied teams not even in the reckoning after the first two races. But then, this is sport, and things can improve in no time. McLaren will be hoping they can get the facts right when they appear before the WMSC, for this is some publicity they definitely wouldn't want, especially after the bitter Spygate saga of 2007. Ferrari, on the other hand, need to pull up their socks and take proper decisions. Kimi Raikkonen's race at the Malaysian GP was ruined by the decision to put the wet tyres on way before the rain started, putting paid to his hopes of a points finish as the plan unfortunately backfired.
Will the big guns get going this weekend? Having Ferrari pit their wits against Ross Brawn would indeed make for some exciting encounters, and having the McLarens and the BMWs join the party would absolutely enliven things up. 'Our' team, Force India, trundles on, taking satisfaction in its record of 100% finishes in the two races, hoping for better grid positions in qualifying and a few points in the races. What with things gone all topsy-turvy this year, Vijay Mallya just might be in for a stroke of real good luck.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Back to Business
The Formula One season begins this weekend at the Australian Grand Prix. This time, the hype and anticipation seem more justified than usual, considering the fact that there are some genuine changes coming into force; the FIA is doing more than just amending the qualifying rules this time around. The introduction of the Kinetic Energy Recovery System or KERS, while optional, does seem to hold some promise, of course counterbalanced by reduced downforce and aerodynamic changes; so does the introduction of slick tyres, albeit with the use of both soft and hard compounds in each race still being mandatory.
The whole business of recession has taken its toll on F1. With Honda pulling out and jeopardising the population on the F1 grid, the epitome of reliability, Ross Brawn, came to the rescue with the Brawn GP team. Brawn force with Rubens Barrichello, reminiscent of the good old Ferrari days when a legend called Michael Schumacher stalked the circuits, along with charismatic Brit Jenson Button, should definitely pack some punch and bring life into a grid that is raring for a show of unpredictability. BMW drivers Robert Kubica and Nick Heidfeld linger on the horizon as men of immense talent, and hopefully this season their consistency will develop into improved performance and race victories. Toyota still remain the sometime-soon-will-prove team, the wins have remained an unrealised dream, and Jarno Trulli and Timo Glock (in particular, after the notoriety he gained following the dubious slowing down at the Brazilian GP 2008) will really have to work some magic to justify their presence on the grid.
Renault seem to have entered the latter stages of convalescence, and after their strong showing at the end of 2008, Fernando Alonso should be a happier man than he has been the past couple of years. Some flamboyant Latino spirit seems imminent this year, with Alonso, Massa and Barrichello promising much. Boys, you'd better deliver.
Force India, through some stroke of luck, are not the last team on the grid in terms of their position on the pit lane; that will not carry them up the grid when it comes to points, sadly, and Giancarlo Fisichella will have much work to do to add to his tally of points as his career evidently enters its last stages. Adrian Sutil, well, is it misfortune for him or luck for Force India? Time will tell, though there doesn't seem to be much on the surprise or unpredictability front coming in from that quarter.
The heirs, the sons of ex-F1 drivers, unfortunately, are yet to create their own identity. Talented but still in the shadows of drivers delivering more consistently or worse still, of their fathers, Nico Rosberg, Kazuki Nakajima and Nelson Piquet Jr. have their tasks cut out for them. With younger drivers waiting in the wings or already on the grid, this is possibly their last chance to get a firm foothold in the sport.
One rule I would recommend the FIA include in next season's changes is a ban on the name Sebastien (or Sebastian- irrespective of the way it is spelt). The Red Bull-Toro Rosso combine seems to have a knack for picking them out, though I'm sure nobody is really complaining. While Sebastien Bourdais was nothing much to talk about last season, Sebastian Vettel proved a stunner, winning the Italian GP. This season, he can well play the role of upstart, if not a potential title contender. That will have to wait until Red Bull take their game up several notches. Sebastien Buemi, much praised and watched out for, replaces Vettel at Toro Rosso as the young 'veteran' slides up into Red Bull. Mark Webber remains at home there, though, still waiting for the performance of a lifetime.
Ferrari remain unmoved from their position of favourites, of course, as Kimi Raikkonen will try to refute all the criticism of last year as critics insisted he was losing focus. Massa will attempt to get over the bitter loss (how cruel it is to lose the championship by a point!), putting his guts in. McLaren-Mercedes, on the other hand, have had a rather rocky start to the season with chassis problems and testing crashes, but can pre-season testing be a true enough indicator of what the races will be like? Lewis Hamiton will drive his heart out before he concedes the championship for sure, Heikki Kovalainen perhaps trying to prove a point beside his more fancied teammate.
This season will not feature races in North America. F1 is growing increasingly Asian in terms of geography as seven of the seventeen races this season take place in Asia or Asia-Pacific. Call me old-fashioned, but I do admire the natural settings of European circuits much better than the polished to perfection, blue-and-grey swanky structures of the new ones springing up all over Asia- not to mention the street circuits among skyscrapers, a patch of harbour and sleek yachts thrown in to relieve the monotony. Whatever happened to the forests, mountains and chateaus? Oh yes, this is F1. It's all about money. And also surprises, plotting, sportsmanship. So what are the odds like for the drivers?
Speculation ends (or begins?) this weekend.
The whole business of recession has taken its toll on F1. With Honda pulling out and jeopardising the population on the F1 grid, the epitome of reliability, Ross Brawn, came to the rescue with the Brawn GP team. Brawn force with Rubens Barrichello, reminiscent of the good old Ferrari days when a legend called Michael Schumacher stalked the circuits, along with charismatic Brit Jenson Button, should definitely pack some punch and bring life into a grid that is raring for a show of unpredictability. BMW drivers Robert Kubica and Nick Heidfeld linger on the horizon as men of immense talent, and hopefully this season their consistency will develop into improved performance and race victories. Toyota still remain the sometime-soon-will-prove team, the wins have remained an unrealised dream, and Jarno Trulli and Timo Glock (in particular, after the notoriety he gained following the dubious slowing down at the Brazilian GP 2008) will really have to work some magic to justify their presence on the grid.
Renault seem to have entered the latter stages of convalescence, and after their strong showing at the end of 2008, Fernando Alonso should be a happier man than he has been the past couple of years. Some flamboyant Latino spirit seems imminent this year, with Alonso, Massa and Barrichello promising much. Boys, you'd better deliver.
Force India, through some stroke of luck, are not the last team on the grid in terms of their position on the pit lane; that will not carry them up the grid when it comes to points, sadly, and Giancarlo Fisichella will have much work to do to add to his tally of points as his career evidently enters its last stages. Adrian Sutil, well, is it misfortune for him or luck for Force India? Time will tell, though there doesn't seem to be much on the surprise or unpredictability front coming in from that quarter.
The heirs, the sons of ex-F1 drivers, unfortunately, are yet to create their own identity. Talented but still in the shadows of drivers delivering more consistently or worse still, of their fathers, Nico Rosberg, Kazuki Nakajima and Nelson Piquet Jr. have their tasks cut out for them. With younger drivers waiting in the wings or already on the grid, this is possibly their last chance to get a firm foothold in the sport.
One rule I would recommend the FIA include in next season's changes is a ban on the name Sebastien (or Sebastian- irrespective of the way it is spelt). The Red Bull-Toro Rosso combine seems to have a knack for picking them out, though I'm sure nobody is really complaining. While Sebastien Bourdais was nothing much to talk about last season, Sebastian Vettel proved a stunner, winning the Italian GP. This season, he can well play the role of upstart, if not a potential title contender. That will have to wait until Red Bull take their game up several notches. Sebastien Buemi, much praised and watched out for, replaces Vettel at Toro Rosso as the young 'veteran' slides up into Red Bull. Mark Webber remains at home there, though, still waiting for the performance of a lifetime.
Ferrari remain unmoved from their position of favourites, of course, as Kimi Raikkonen will try to refute all the criticism of last year as critics insisted he was losing focus. Massa will attempt to get over the bitter loss (how cruel it is to lose the championship by a point!), putting his guts in. McLaren-Mercedes, on the other hand, have had a rather rocky start to the season with chassis problems and testing crashes, but can pre-season testing be a true enough indicator of what the races will be like? Lewis Hamiton will drive his heart out before he concedes the championship for sure, Heikki Kovalainen perhaps trying to prove a point beside his more fancied teammate.
This season will not feature races in North America. F1 is growing increasingly Asian in terms of geography as seven of the seventeen races this season take place in Asia or Asia-Pacific. Call me old-fashioned, but I do admire the natural settings of European circuits much better than the polished to perfection, blue-and-grey swanky structures of the new ones springing up all over Asia- not to mention the street circuits among skyscrapers, a patch of harbour and sleek yachts thrown in to relieve the monotony. Whatever happened to the forests, mountains and chateaus? Oh yes, this is F1. It's all about money. And also surprises, plotting, sportsmanship. So what are the odds like for the drivers?
Speculation ends (or begins?) this weekend.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Lewis Hamilton's Story- Engaging, but not enough
Lewis Hamilton: My Story was written after Lewis Hamilton's unimaginably splendid rookie season in Formula One in 2007. Which is why, Hamilton doesn't intend to call it an autobiography, because he is too young for one. The book maps out Hamilton's life, from being a kid in Stevenage, to the karting years, and then his career in Formula 3, GP2 and finally the glorious pinnacle of F1.
Few drivers, perhaps, have such sensational debut seasons. Hamilton made it to the podium at the season-opener in Melbourne and delivered nine consecutive podium positions before his run came to a halt at the European Grand Prix at the Nuerburgring. His consistency meant he led the championship from the third race of the season. His undoing was the Chinese GP, where he could have taken the drivers' title, and the final twist of fate, after the run of incredibly good luck throughout the season came to a complete halt at the Brazilian GP. Kimi Raikkonen won the championship- 110 to Hamilton's 109.
Hamilton would by no means be short of matter for a sequel. He has since had his revenge on Ferrari, winning the 2008 championship in just as heartbreaking a manner as Raikkonen won his. Hamilton finished with 98 points against Felipe Massa's 97.
It wasn't just Hamilton's skillful driving that created ripples that eventful year, though. His relationship with the then defending World Champion Fernando Alonso, making a transition from French team Renault to McLaren Mercedes hogged the headlines, as did the controversy of the British team being in possession of data belonging to Ferrari. These incidents are revisited in the book, and while nothing much is revealed in terms of the McLaren-Ferrari controversy, there is quite a bit about Hamilton's relationship with Alonso, his attempts to make the Spaniard feel at home in a British team. Hamilton, by his own admission, didn't have trouble settling in, having been a part of the outfit for a really long time through associations in his pre-F1 years, and understandably the team must have had a tough time juggling two extremely ambitious drivers and their careers. I wouldn't want to talk about which of them is a more thorough gentleman, though- having read about it all from Hamilton's point of view, who says Alonso could have done more to fit in, I would like to know why Alonso did lose his cool despite having all that experience. He was portrayed as a brat in the press, I remember, and it was rather astonishing why somebody seeking to defend his title would act in such an immature manner.
The book does for a smooth read about a driver's foray into motorsport, from the formative years to the destination, with descriptions of Hamilton's situation in each race of the season. However, I do think it could have done with a little more in-depth description of how the driver works with the team, how everything is put together over a race weekend.
But then, this is the first celebrity 'autobiography' I'm reading, and perhaps this is how they all are. Hamilton sounds decently humble, ambitious and confident. However, this isn't good enough to convert me. I was asked by a colleague at work why I was reading about a driver I didn't support. Well, this has just been one of my attempts at being unbiased and fair, and try to view things from the other party's perspective. That said, I just can't wait to see Ferrari make mincemeat of McLaren-Mercedes in the 2009 season. Beg to differ? Go ahead, dreamer.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Drought
The drought has set in:
1. In Roger Federer's career: Federer going on a winless streak. That will probably not take too long to happen if he continues to be in his current woeful form. Speculation, of course, blames it on everything from lack of motivation to age to a mere temporary slump- all followed by a question mark. In the meantime, a Spanish hero, reminiscent of one of the swashbuckling, horse riding, sword-toting warriors of medieval times who carried away beautiful girls, has risen up the ranks and upstaged the aging Swiss master. Change is good. I can, therefore, hardly wait till a certain Serb called Novak Djokovic overthrows Nadal.
2. At the Olympics, for India: A flash in the pan, the single medal, and it's all over. Every time the Olympic Games come around, we optimistically, cautiously, list out our 'medal hopes'- not to hear of them for months thereafter. Maybe, four years down the line, some of their creaking bones will make an appearance for want of younger, brighter sportspersons, sparking off debates regarding how the youth has gone to the dogs, is not interested in sports, how parental pressure drives schooling, and every other irrelevant topic under the sun. Fill the studios, sensationalise, keep the sponsors happy. Give the officials their foreign trip once every four years (is that why India doesn't get anywhere near winning a bid to host the Olympics?), wage wars over who will carry the Olympic torch when it passes through India en route to a more favoured destination (if India had been part of the bidding race); battle over who will carry the Indian flag at the opening ceremony. The sport? Well, that's on the sidelines, of course. We haven't forgotten it entirely. We'll deal with it once the diplomacy is done, and everyone has had his or her fifteen seconds of fame. And we'll remember to hype up the 'big' names- even if they tape their wrists as soon as they find themselves losing to somebody unheard of.
3. In the Ferrari F1 camp: They have gone without a win far too long. They blew an engine, the unlikeliest of mishaps possible, while leading the Hungarian GP (and so reminiscent it was of Michael Schumacher's car leaving behind a trail of smoke at the 2006 Japanese GP, allowing Fernando Alonso to power his Renault to victory and potentially the championship). Can no team do without a mid-season slump? This is where McLaren-Mercedes lost it last year, topping it up with the Spygate saga. Hopefully, Ferrari will be able to pull it together and get back in form. While I normally root for Felipe Massa , I'd give anything to see even Raikkonen win (I despised Kimi Raikkonen in his McLaren days- all of a sudden, he is a saint). All for the prestige of the Ferrari team.
4. In my intellect: Which would probably explain why I spent two precious evenings skimming through a Danielle Steel novel. Saccharine sweet, nauseating, excruciatingly tragic, over-the-top girlish- why on earth would I want to read such a book? Because my brains said they were taxed and needed some respite from war, philosophy and common sense; what better anesthetic than a mushy romantic novel? Sense prevailed in one department, though, and as I mentioned, I just skimmed through the book, instead of reading every single word of it. Nothing in it seemed to point vaguely to an improvement in vocabulary or wisdom.
The drought will soon come to an end, I am optimistic, in three cases for sure.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Books and Retirements
Mila 18 is one of the most marvellous books I have read in a while. Set in the Warsaw Ghetto, it is an engaging story of Jews standing up to the Nazis. Leon Uris describes in a compelling fashion the trials of the Jews as they withstood the onslaught of heavily armed Nazi attacks with their ragged armies formed by ordinary people. With extreme determination, the Jews stood up to wave after wave of evil, endless crimes and horrors perpetrated against them by the arrogant, indifferent Nazis under the leadership of Hitler. It is really hard to describe the way I felt when I imagined a large mass of humanity struggling to survive despite the indignities being heaped on it. Such books make one appreciate life better, to realise how blessed one is not to have to suffer such atrocities.
What an irony that I was in the midst of this particular book when I heard, for the first time, about a woman named Irene Sendler. Sendler, who died recently at 98, smuggled 2,500 Jewish children out of the Warsaw Ghetto to give them a chance at life. Mila 18 describes just such people, who dedicated their lives to giving the rest of their kin a chance to live. It was an extremely risky job, and they did it really well.
Uris describes war not just through cold facts, but by delving into the hearts and minds of people who were involved in it. You can feel the grit and the anger of Andrei Androfski, the quiet determination and frustration of Alexander Brandel, the bravery of the Catholic Gabriela Rak who defied her people to come to the aid of the Jews; while most other Poles cowered under German domination, people like Rak came forward to help the Jews out of their misery. It is hard to conceive how anybody on this planet can be capable of such cold-blooded cruelty. But it has happened, and continues to.
It's rather disappointing to think Justine Henin is retiring so early. I had been expecting her to play for two more years at the least, to win a Wimbledon title, the only Grand Slam title that has eluded her. Perhaps it wasn't to be, or she would have won it last year. She capitulated in a bizarre fashion to Marion Bartoli in the 2007 semi-finals, throwing away her best chance to win arguably the most prestigious Grand Slam title and prove her skill on grass. I must admit that my loyalties had begun to get a little confused with the rise of Ana Ivanovic, but I did want Henin to win as much as possible because she had very little time ahead of her. However, she is retiring gracefully, while at the top, and she will be remembered long for her talents, playing amidst a host of female players who depend on brute force. She hasn't been having a very good season this year, and obviously she knows best if she is really going irreversibly downhill. Her announcement did come as a shock, though; perhaps her turbulent personal life hastened her decline. Alongwith fellow Belgian Kim Clijsters, she came as a breath of fresh air in a women's game that was increasingly depending on power and force, rather than skill. The summit will probably belong to East Europe again, with the Russians and the Serbs leading the pack.
Another star female sportsperson, Swede Annika Sorenstam, has announced her decision to retire at the end of the season. I haven't really followed her career or exactly been a fan, but she was the first female golfer whose name I knew, and I respect her for the stature she has earned in yet another male-dominated game.
I shall go back to reading My Name Is Red now. It is pretty different from the books I've been reading all this while, and I find it pretty absorbing. The power cuts have made my progress miserably slow, for I really don't fancy holding a book for long with sweaty fingers, perspiration running into my eyes as the rain clouds stubbornly refuse to grant respite from over-40 temperatures.
What an irony that I was in the midst of this particular book when I heard, for the first time, about a woman named Irene Sendler. Sendler, who died recently at 98, smuggled 2,500 Jewish children out of the Warsaw Ghetto to give them a chance at life. Mila 18 describes just such people, who dedicated their lives to giving the rest of their kin a chance to live. It was an extremely risky job, and they did it really well.
Uris describes war not just through cold facts, but by delving into the hearts and minds of people who were involved in it. You can feel the grit and the anger of Andrei Androfski, the quiet determination and frustration of Alexander Brandel, the bravery of the Catholic Gabriela Rak who defied her people to come to the aid of the Jews; while most other Poles cowered under German domination, people like Rak came forward to help the Jews out of their misery. It is hard to conceive how anybody on this planet can be capable of such cold-blooded cruelty. But it has happened, and continues to.
It's rather disappointing to think Justine Henin is retiring so early. I had been expecting her to play for two more years at the least, to win a Wimbledon title, the only Grand Slam title that has eluded her. Perhaps it wasn't to be, or she would have won it last year. She capitulated in a bizarre fashion to Marion Bartoli in the 2007 semi-finals, throwing away her best chance to win arguably the most prestigious Grand Slam title and prove her skill on grass. I must admit that my loyalties had begun to get a little confused with the rise of Ana Ivanovic, but I did want Henin to win as much as possible because she had very little time ahead of her. However, she is retiring gracefully, while at the top, and she will be remembered long for her talents, playing amidst a host of female players who depend on brute force. She hasn't been having a very good season this year, and obviously she knows best if she is really going irreversibly downhill. Her announcement did come as a shock, though; perhaps her turbulent personal life hastened her decline. Alongwith fellow Belgian Kim Clijsters, she came as a breath of fresh air in a women's game that was increasingly depending on power and force, rather than skill. The summit will probably belong to East Europe again, with the Russians and the Serbs leading the pack.
Another star female sportsperson, Swede Annika Sorenstam, has announced her decision to retire at the end of the season. I haven't really followed her career or exactly been a fan, but she was the first female golfer whose name I knew, and I respect her for the stature she has earned in yet another male-dominated game.
I shall go back to reading My Name Is Red now. It is pretty different from the books I've been reading all this while, and I find it pretty absorbing. The power cuts have made my progress miserably slow, for I really don't fancy holding a book for long with sweaty fingers, perspiration running into my eyes as the rain clouds stubbornly refuse to grant respite from over-40 temperatures.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
What Interests Us Most
Mandira’s saree misadventures, noodle straps and lack of cricket sense are history. When it comes to talking of women in cricket, the focus has shifted to the cheerleaders in their obscene, skimpy, indecent, unacceptable (feel free to add to the list) attire, and their (repeat list of adjectives) dance moves. So now we have politicians butting their noses in as usual, calling for a ban on something that violates Indian culture.
Why are we even paying so much attention to the cheerleaders? When people thought test cricket had got boring, one-day cricket came in. And now that the scheme of 50 overs an innings is also looking uninteresting, Twenty20 is grabbing attention. (Next in international cricket: the six-overs-a-side games that are played in Hong Kong by the bigwigs, along with minnows like UAE. Who is next after Subhash Chandra, if the ICC refuses to recognise it?) To add to the appeal of the game, we have fireworks, Bollywood (as usual), SMS contests, and, yes, cheerleaders. They are just one of the numerous unnecessary elements in the IPL. So why not just let them be, instead of raising such a hue and cry over them? Surely nobody is fool enough to watch the IPL matches just for the girls when there are plenty of them, dressed in a similar fashion, on many other channels?
If they’re thinking of banning the girls, then they should also ban the bicep-flaunting non-entities that yak away in the studio nonstop, talking more of flat stomachs and phone numbers than the actual game. Apparently you don’t need much skill to be a presenter in cricket. You need some credentials as a model/VJ or maybe not even those, and be able to string together three consecutive sentences in English, and there you are in front of the camera, babbling away to glory in the company of better men like Robin Jackman and Greg Chappell. Every few sentences, you hand it over to a girl near the boundary, who will give you ‘exclusive’ interviews with one of the numerous entertainers (read out-of-work, quite-into-retirement ‘celebrities’), specially for the viewers. I think Mayanti Langer did a much better job with the ICL than the pretenders here. She had good screen presence and carried off the show rather well, despite the fact that many of the matches resembled the ones ageing movie stars, who last played cricket in high school, participate in for charity.
Adding to the list of irritating elements in the IPL, and perhaps topping it, is the Bollywood contingent. Why on earth do our actors feel that they simply have to make their presence felt everywhere? SRK definitely goes overboard with his antics, and to someone looking for refuge from his constant onslaught on television viewers through advertisements, game shows, movies, promos and the news, the IPL matches are certainly not the answer. Has he forgotten about the movies that he has on hand (if there are any, that is)? Is the IPL also responsible for amnesia, then?
When I look at Sharad Pawar, what come to my mind first are the air-conditioned boardrooms of the BCCI. It only strikes me later that he is also a Cabinet Minister. After all, cricket is what hogs the headlines all the time, and the new controversy involving Harbhajan and Sreesanth is only making matters worse. Cricket is important, the crisis in Vidarbha can take a backseat. For the first time, I feel more interested in the stock markets (of which I’ve never understood much), than in cricket. For the same old debates on ethics in cricket will play themselves out, we’ll have Barkha, Rajdeep, Arnab and co. conducting serious debates on whether cricket really is a gentleman’s game. Rajeev Shukla and Kiran More will be seen on three different TV channels in one evening. There will be talk of how the incident is being perceived in Australia after the fiasco during India’s trip there, and comparison perhaps with the Shoaib Akhtar-Mohammad Asif incident. Ban the cheerleaders? Maybe we should start with the news channels.
Bans seem to be the only solution to every problem in India, especially when a thing is alien to ‘Indian culture’ (which, apparently, only our politicians can define best, even if they send their children abroad). I’ve seen a sticker my father bought when he was young; it said: ‘Ban Teachers’. Of course, that is how we feel in college when we have unending lectures from self-professed experts, especially during the last period. You can feel badly about anybody or anything under the sun, but you possibly can’t always call for a ban. Rational thinking is a term that seems to have got obsolete. Anyway, if it is right to call for bans and if it does work, then I’ll call for a ban on SRK, even if I’m putting my blogging career in jeopardy by doing so.
So what is the situation like on Dalaal Street?
Why are we even paying so much attention to the cheerleaders? When people thought test cricket had got boring, one-day cricket came in. And now that the scheme of 50 overs an innings is also looking uninteresting, Twenty20 is grabbing attention. (Next in international cricket: the six-overs-a-side games that are played in Hong Kong by the bigwigs, along with minnows like UAE. Who is next after Subhash Chandra, if the ICC refuses to recognise it?) To add to the appeal of the game, we have fireworks, Bollywood (as usual), SMS contests, and, yes, cheerleaders. They are just one of the numerous unnecessary elements in the IPL. So why not just let them be, instead of raising such a hue and cry over them? Surely nobody is fool enough to watch the IPL matches just for the girls when there are plenty of them, dressed in a similar fashion, on many other channels?
If they’re thinking of banning the girls, then they should also ban the bicep-flaunting non-entities that yak away in the studio nonstop, talking more of flat stomachs and phone numbers than the actual game. Apparently you don’t need much skill to be a presenter in cricket. You need some credentials as a model/VJ or maybe not even those, and be able to string together three consecutive sentences in English, and there you are in front of the camera, babbling away to glory in the company of better men like Robin Jackman and Greg Chappell. Every few sentences, you hand it over to a girl near the boundary, who will give you ‘exclusive’ interviews with one of the numerous entertainers (read out-of-work, quite-into-retirement ‘celebrities’), specially for the viewers. I think Mayanti Langer did a much better job with the ICL than the pretenders here. She had good screen presence and carried off the show rather well, despite the fact that many of the matches resembled the ones ageing movie stars, who last played cricket in high school, participate in for charity.
Adding to the list of irritating elements in the IPL, and perhaps topping it, is the Bollywood contingent. Why on earth do our actors feel that they simply have to make their presence felt everywhere? SRK definitely goes overboard with his antics, and to someone looking for refuge from his constant onslaught on television viewers through advertisements, game shows, movies, promos and the news, the IPL matches are certainly not the answer. Has he forgotten about the movies that he has on hand (if there are any, that is)? Is the IPL also responsible for amnesia, then?
When I look at Sharad Pawar, what come to my mind first are the air-conditioned boardrooms of the BCCI. It only strikes me later that he is also a Cabinet Minister. After all, cricket is what hogs the headlines all the time, and the new controversy involving Harbhajan and Sreesanth is only making matters worse. Cricket is important, the crisis in Vidarbha can take a backseat. For the first time, I feel more interested in the stock markets (of which I’ve never understood much), than in cricket. For the same old debates on ethics in cricket will play themselves out, we’ll have Barkha, Rajdeep, Arnab and co. conducting serious debates on whether cricket really is a gentleman’s game. Rajeev Shukla and Kiran More will be seen on three different TV channels in one evening. There will be talk of how the incident is being perceived in Australia after the fiasco during India’s trip there, and comparison perhaps with the Shoaib Akhtar-Mohammad Asif incident. Ban the cheerleaders? Maybe we should start with the news channels.
Bans seem to be the only solution to every problem in India, especially when a thing is alien to ‘Indian culture’ (which, apparently, only our politicians can define best, even if they send their children abroad). I’ve seen a sticker my father bought when he was young; it said: ‘Ban Teachers’. Of course, that is how we feel in college when we have unending lectures from self-professed experts, especially during the last period. You can feel badly about anybody or anything under the sun, but you possibly can’t always call for a ban. Rational thinking is a term that seems to have got obsolete. Anyway, if it is right to call for bans and if it does work, then I’ll call for a ban on SRK, even if I’m putting my blogging career in jeopardy by doing so.
So what is the situation like on Dalaal Street?
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Wishlist for the New Season II
While I have made my leanings towards Ferrari pretty evident, I would like to see a good fight this season- on the track, not off it. 2007 was abominable for all the ruckus caused by the spying allegations. While the whole episode did spice up the season, F1 could have done without such negative publicity. The season, the first after seven-time World Champion Michael Schumacher's retirement, was pathbreaking in that there was a rookie driver in the shape of British Lewis Hamilton competing for the championship. Accusations flew back and forth within the McLaren garage as defending champion Fernando Alonso found himself struggling to keep pace with his young teammate. There might have been some British pride overruling the demands of decorum, and I don't think I really blame Alonso for feeling left out. Yes, perhaps he was jealous of his often more successful teammate; but there must have been a pressing reason to force him to move back to Renault despite his having earned himself a most coveted berth at the British team.
The spying saga also grabbed a lot of space as Ferrari accused McLaren-Mercedes of having stolen confidential information. McLaren was disqualified, a rather disgraceful result for a team with a rich racing tradition. Ironically, Renault, accused of spying by McLaren, was let off due to lack of evidence. Coming into the new season, there will hopefully not be any more of such nonsense. The teams must compete with integrity; of course there is big money involved, but what is sport without fair play?
There is one comeback I'd like to see this season. I want Valentino Rossi to win the MotoGP championship. He has gone two seasons without a championship victory, losing out in 2006 to Nicky Hayden, and to Casey Stoner in 2007. Now I have always been a little partial to Ducati and Loris Capirossi (Stoner's teammate), because I've seen them spend a lot of time with the Ferrari team and Luca Badoer, Michael Schumacer and Rubens Barrichello. But when it comes to pure racing skill, I think Rossi is the biking equivalent of Schumacher. A treat to watch in the rain, with incredible overtaking skills, Rossi really deserves to win more championships. He is not getting any younger, and faces stiff competition from Stoner and Dani Pedrosa. The last season was pretty exciting, and hopefully this one will be the same, or even better.
As March approaches, I'm looking forward to all the action in motorsporting. As of now, I have nothing other than A1 GP and GP2 to follow, but soon, my weekends of 'motorsporting-nothingness' will come to an end.
The spying saga also grabbed a lot of space as Ferrari accused McLaren-Mercedes of having stolen confidential information. McLaren was disqualified, a rather disgraceful result for a team with a rich racing tradition. Ironically, Renault, accused of spying by McLaren, was let off due to lack of evidence. Coming into the new season, there will hopefully not be any more of such nonsense. The teams must compete with integrity; of course there is big money involved, but what is sport without fair play?
There is one comeback I'd like to see this season. I want Valentino Rossi to win the MotoGP championship. He has gone two seasons without a championship victory, losing out in 2006 to Nicky Hayden, and to Casey Stoner in 2007. Now I have always been a little partial to Ducati and Loris Capirossi (Stoner's teammate), because I've seen them spend a lot of time with the Ferrari team and Luca Badoer, Michael Schumacer and Rubens Barrichello. But when it comes to pure racing skill, I think Rossi is the biking equivalent of Schumacher. A treat to watch in the rain, with incredible overtaking skills, Rossi really deserves to win more championships. He is not getting any younger, and faces stiff competition from Stoner and Dani Pedrosa. The last season was pretty exciting, and hopefully this one will be the same, or even better.
As March approaches, I'm looking forward to all the action in motorsporting. As of now, I have nothing other than A1 GP and GP2 to follow, but soon, my weekends of 'motorsporting-nothingness' will come to an end.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Three Wise Men
This is the story of the first day of the Sydney Test between India and Australia, where three supposedly wise men made horrendous decisions to ruin India’s chances in what could have been their best shot at proving themselves in the ongoing Test series.
Umpires Mark Benson, Steve Bucknor and hitherto lesser-known third umpire Bruce Oxenford came up with inexcusable mistakes to let Australia make amends for a batting collapse. True, there is always somebody in the team to make a fight of it and rescue it from trouble. But the people in question were Ricky Ponting and Andrew Symonds. Benson adjudged Ponting not out when he had nicked the ball to the ‘keeper and then gave him out leg-before when he was clearly not out. Justice done to the Indians? Maybe. But he shouldn’t have been allowed to reach his half century in the first place.
Bucknor should have retired long ago. His umpiring in recent years has gone from bad to worse. Symonds was evidently out and started walking, when Bucknor’s decision in his favour made him stay on, denying Ishant Sharma a precious scalp. And then Symonds blatantly admitted in the press conference to having nicked the ball. Should Australia ever again profess that they play a fair, even game, this incident can be brought in evidence against their tall claims. Adam Gilchrist is apparently the only ‘walker’ in the team.
Finally, with Oxenford, a stumping appeal went awry. So the third umpires are not to be trusted either.
Much is said about how umpires are brought under closer scrutiny thanks to the increasing use of technology. That is true, and sometimes allowances have to be made for human error. However, there must be some limit to the number of such instances. Umpires have to up their standards if they feel they are under too much pressure from technology. Technology is here to aid them, not test them.
Three terrible decisions have already had an irreparable effect on the match. What remains to be seen is whether the ICC is going to come out of its closeted comfort and do something about the umpiring standards, or just wait and watch. For there are certain things more important than money- like the game itself.
Umpires Mark Benson, Steve Bucknor and hitherto lesser-known third umpire Bruce Oxenford came up with inexcusable mistakes to let Australia make amends for a batting collapse. True, there is always somebody in the team to make a fight of it and rescue it from trouble. But the people in question were Ricky Ponting and Andrew Symonds. Benson adjudged Ponting not out when he had nicked the ball to the ‘keeper and then gave him out leg-before when he was clearly not out. Justice done to the Indians? Maybe. But he shouldn’t have been allowed to reach his half century in the first place.
Bucknor should have retired long ago. His umpiring in recent years has gone from bad to worse. Symonds was evidently out and started walking, when Bucknor’s decision in his favour made him stay on, denying Ishant Sharma a precious scalp. And then Symonds blatantly admitted in the press conference to having nicked the ball. Should Australia ever again profess that they play a fair, even game, this incident can be brought in evidence against their tall claims. Adam Gilchrist is apparently the only ‘walker’ in the team.
Finally, with Oxenford, a stumping appeal went awry. So the third umpires are not to be trusted either.
Much is said about how umpires are brought under closer scrutiny thanks to the increasing use of technology. That is true, and sometimes allowances have to be made for human error. However, there must be some limit to the number of such instances. Umpires have to up their standards if they feel they are under too much pressure from technology. Technology is here to aid them, not test them.
Three terrible decisions have already had an irreparable effect on the match. What remains to be seen is whether the ICC is going to come out of its closeted comfort and do something about the umpiring standards, or just wait and watch. For there are certain things more important than money- like the game itself.
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