The Cup of Joy

It was written.

This was destiny. It had to be.

For the little man playing in front of his hometown crowd. The purveyor of magic. The balm for all ills of a nation. The answer to a billion prayers. The bearer of loads Atlas would have found tough to endure. In what was in all probability his last world cup game. The Gods, even in their most punishing avatars, couldn’t possibly conjure a punishment which is direr, than to deny him his last title shot ending with glory. 

Even fairly tales couldn’t possibly be scripted to finish with a more extravagant flourish. Reality is, indeed, stranger, and much more awesome, than fiction.

No one could begrudge us this victory. No one could possibly complain of being at the wrong end of lady luck. Even in hushed tones, no one could grumble about being a better team than we were, and denied the opportunity to prove so. No one deserved it more than we did. We clinically dismissed, even if not as much as steamrolled, whatever was thrown at us. We were the best, better than anyone else in the world.

This matters, and don’t believe anyone who says it doesn’t. A nation exhaled a collective sigh of happiness when soothing balm was applied on a 28-year itch. A generation of single-minded fandom which grew up on near misses and the ‘oh-we-were-this-close’ heartbreaks got its long due shot at pure, unbridled joy. For that fleeting moment when the captain lifted the last ball of the world cup into the glittering Mumbai skies, none of our ills mattered. We were the kings of the world, and no one could deny us this happiness.

But the greatest joy the Cup brought, and indeed, each of the last three matches, was to see M happy. Almost for that alone, the victories were worth it.  

-----

P.S: Boston.com has captured the emotions and the ebb and flow of the Cup very well here. Pictures any day tell a better story than written text, and if ever a collective expression of joy was enshrined for posterity, it has to be this motley collection of photographs.

P.P.S: Four years ago (wow, that long, huh :)), I had written this piece. It was written in a state of extreme dejectedness, I am not proud of it, and in hindsight, cannot believe that I had lost my faith back then. If there ever was a way for the Gods to reclaim their pantheon, this has to be it.