Cup of joy. And woe
If you are a keen follower of top-drawer sport, then the weekend before last would have had you inextricably glued to your idiot box. Wimbledon was taking over my life. If the Ladies’ Singles final whetted one’s appetite for the blockbuster Men’s Singles match-up on Sunday, the Euro Cup football after midnight was to be the icing on the cake. As King David says in Psalm 23 of the Bible, ‘My cup runneth over.’ My feelings, exactly.
It matters not a whit who won what. None of them was from India. The young lady from the Czech Republic, whose name is difficult to spell, let alone pronounce, won the women’s affair. The Birdman of Alcatraz put paid to Serbia’s pride and joy, the Djoker in the pack, in an anti-climactic straight-sets affair on Sunday. I shall not be drawn into the details of these encounters. Suffice it to say that I was deeply disappointed. My chilled mug of the frothy stuff was not even half consumed when the chair umpire declared, ‘Game, Set, and Match, Alcaraz 6-2, 6-2, 7-6.’ When Carlitos served for the match with three championship points in the kitty, we thought it was curtains for Nole, but the young Spaniard fluffed his lines, lost his nerve, and serve. However, our hopes for a strong comeback from Djokovic were belied. That was that.
One then had to kill a tad over three hours for the Euro Cup kick-off between Spain and England for the trophy and non-stop bragging rights. In the event, as everyone and his uncle expected, Spain prevailed while England went home without the silverware. It was Spain’s evening in England and in Germany. Vamos!
So why was I disappointed? What have the results of these sporting climaxes got to do with me or my country? Except our cricket captain Rohit Sharma was seen smartly turned out at Centre Court. One of the few who did not attend the ‘omigoshawful’ wedding bash in Mumbai. Well done, Skip. I applaud your good taste. You see, the thing is, I wanted Djoko to win his 8th Wimbledon title and be on equal footing with his pal, Federer. So, when Kate Middleton asked Alcaraz if he would accept the trophy, an infectiously smiling Carlos said, ‘Roger.’
As for the football, I was rooting for England only because they were the clear underdogs. World Cup after Euro Cup, the English press talk up their teams to such heights that soccer giants like Brazil, Argentina, Germany, and France are seen to be not even in the reckoning. I have derived a perverse kind of pleasure over the years wanting them to bend it like Beckham, knowing full well when they get a heaven-sent chance, Kane will shoot over the post. Will 1966 redux ever happen for England?
As I consolingly told my English friends, ‘Take heart. The pubs did a roaring business even if the furniture was smashed to smithereens.’