Sitting here on my sofa
Watching some cricket on the telly
A smile on my face
And a some food in my belly
OK… Let’s face it. I am bad at writing poetry. And compared to what I am watching, there could be nothing more eloquent. It’s that cricket world cup final. Between India and England. None of the 11 flannelled fools here though.
Just 11 women making me proud.
Win or lose, they certainly have broken that “glass ceiling.” And gone where No man has ever gone before. They might even win this, as I write. What a slap on the face of all those pubs/ bars/ restaurants/ clubs et al that are not showing this on “big screens” with a special World Cup Menu named after our soon to be celebrities Mitali/ Jhulan/ Harmanpreet…
What if we win? What then? The photo ops. The promises galore. Plots of land. Cricket academies. Cheques. Modeling assignments. These will all come their way. But is this what they are playing for?
Contrary to what we’ve become accustomed to, it appears they are playing for national pride. The Tricolour. That fame can wait. First there is a job to do. A match to win. That’s all that matters to them. Hurray for team India.
After nearly 3 decades I can proudly say, I Bleed Blue.
(Oh and that Title – hat tip to Harry Belafonte)