Cricket 2007: Awards

It’s that time of the year again. No, I won’t be a cynical prick this time by bemoaning everything that’s wrong with silly New Year’s parties and launching into the ridiculous behaviour of the depressing bunch of people that make up the party-going crowd. Instead, I’ll follow the second most popular trend that people tend to follow at this time of the year – compiling ‘best of the year’ lists. So here is the first of 3 lists that I have come up with:

I. CRICKET:

Team of the year: Perhaps the most yawn-inducing category. Was there even a hint of a challenge to Australia’s supremacy in any form of cricket that lasted longer than 4 hours? I don’t know why opposing teams even bother to turn up against Ricky Ponting’s demons.

Player of the year: An infinitely more difficult category than the first. Do I give the nod to Jacques Kallis’s metronomic brilliance, Kumar Sangakkara’s assured artistry or Muttiah Muralitharan’s mind-numbing consistency? Purely in statistical terms Sangakkara was beyond all competition, but I think I’ll go with Kallis because of the quality of opposition he faced while making all those hundreds and the grittiness of his response to being omitted from the 20-20 squad.

Match of the year: A tough contest between the Australia-South Africa group clash at the 50-50 World Cup, the Sri Lanka-South Africa thriller at the same tournament and the two Indo-Pak battles at the 20-20 World Cup. The Indo-Pak matches - both of them - get my vote for the sheer novelty and thrill quotient of 20-20 matches.

Tragedy of the year: No disrespect to Bob Woolmer, but the pathetic organization of the 50-over World Cup was the unqualified disaster of the year. The forlorn crowds and lack of competition at the event made most cricket aficionados shake their heads and wonder whether this was the worst World Cup ever, only for the ICC to seal the debate by declaring that contrary to popular belief, the tournament was a resounding success. Reality check, anyone?

Goof-up of the year: Without a doubt the cringe-worthy farce at the end of the World Cup final. Seriously, what was Aleem Dar thinking? Honorable mentions to the Jamaican police for their cheap mystery novel antics after Bob Woolmer’s tragic death and Pakistan’s captain Shoaib Malik who was daft enough to be ignorant of the bowl-out rule at the 20-20 World Cup and dafter still to actually express his ignorance to the world.

Guffaw-worthy moment of the year: The winner here is Shane Warne’s George W. Bush-worthy gaffe, wherein he accidentally sent a dirty SMS to his wife which, quite remarkably, was addressed to someone else. Honestly, that guy’s got one thick head. It’s a miracle he actually knew which side of the pitch to bowl to, with a brain like that.

Colourful character of the year: Santhakumaran Sreesanth, how ridiculous art thou? The bat-swinging in Andre Nel’s face (Nel, incidentally, was another strong candidate for this award) last year was adorable, but Sreesanth's incredibly wayward bowling on the England tour, his riveting altercations with Andrew Symonds, his moments of infamy like the one where he tried to unsportingly run Symonds out and his astoundingly intelligent interviews have made him one of the most polarizing cricketers in the world, and also THE cricketing character of the year. Move over Shane Warne, your successor is here.

Debutant of the year: Mitchell Johnson may not have had quite such an eventful Test debut, but he’s shaping up to be a darn good bowler in all forms of the game and there was no other significant debut all year, so an automatic choice, really.

Let-down of the year: Brian Lara’s failures in the ICL, the rebel 20-20 league floated by Kapil Dev and Co may not have tarnished his legacy all that much, considering the very small number of people who took the ICL seriously, but his decidedly sub-par performances were still quite depressing. After all the hoopla surrounding the ICL’s very expensive signing of the legendary Trinidadian, Lara disappointed spectacularly, barely reaching double figures in any innings. A joke went around that Lara’s runs were some of the most expensive in history, what with his paltry 31 runs through the tournament fetching him a reported 1 million dollars. I’m sure Lara wouldn’t be amused.

Quote of the year: The quote I have selected is not particularly witty or humourous, but its emotional appeal, specially for Indian cricket fans, make it one of the most memorable quotes of the decade. Here's Mahendra Singh Dhoni on seeing the tumultuous response given to his World Cup-winning team in Mumbai:
"We are told that Mumbai is a city which is always on the move. See, me and my boys have brought the entire city to a standstill today."

Women's Empowerment: What's The Real Obstacle Here?

Serious Subject Alert: Here I go again, posting a very grave and very long article on my blog, and consequently running a very serious risk of losing all my readership in an instant. But what's life without a few risks?


When Oprah Winfrey decides to endorse Barack Obama and not the force of nature that is Hilary Clinton as her preferred U.S. presidential candidate, you know the feminist revolution that once swept across the world, threatening to obliterate everything in its path, is in trouble. Suggesting that this was probably just a case of the ever-magnanimous (and incredibly influential) Ms Winfrey playing favourites amongst her chosen discriminated groups is clearly a futile argument. Hilary Clinton certainly has tried everything in her rich armory to gain the support of Americans – she has played the understanding wife, the cold, calculating strategist, the empathizing leader, even the caring mother-figure. Everything save for the undignified role of the seductress (a role which she prefers to leave, no doubt, for the Monica Lewinskys of this world). And yet, she seems to be fighting a losing battle that is slipping away from her every single day. For all the talk about the West being more broad-minded and supportive of women’s rights, Ms Clinton’s wardrobe and her desperate attempts to break the bubble of pre-supposed feminine inadequacy have attracted far greater attention than her political policies. And that, no matter which way you spin it, is a sad commentary on the efforts of those countless activists who have been trying to prove to an amused and disbelieving world that equality of the sexes isn’t such a fanciful concept after all.

There is no social issue today, except perhaps for AIDS, that elicits as much attention, both positive and negative, as does the idea of women’s empowerment. Which is why it is particularly surprising, not to mention a little annoying, that so little has changed in the way that society looks at women despite decades of unstinting efforts of thousands of activists the world over. Women have been objectified for centuries together, and they are objectified even today. We may go blue in the face denying this, pointing at the purposeful strides that women have supposedly made in every field, but the fact remains that the prettier women are always the ones making the bigger strides while the not-so-pretty are left to wallow in their glorious wakes, wondering and muttering how things might have been a lot different but for a few quirks of fate. Which was the last popular women-centric movie to come out of Bollywood? Chak De! India earned all the big bucks and, as an added bonus, picked up bucketfuls of critical acclaim too, for its supposedly noble theme highlighting women’s rights. However, I couldn’t help but notice that the prettiest lass from the team not only got the most flattering camera space but was also given the royal treatment in terms of character development. Didn’t it strike anyone else as odd that the midget-like, and decidedly unattractive rival of Preeti Sabarwal (the beauty of the team) was consistently painted as the villain in the fight between the two even though both the characters were equally guilty of wrongdoing? And rather unsurprisingly, audiences across the country gleefully lapped it all up without noticing anything amiss. If you want any further confirmation of what I’m trying to say, you only have to turn on your TV and catch the first fairness cream ad that is aired; nothing that I say here will convey my point better than those lovely ads. And oh, if you’ve got a little more time to spare, keep watching the tube until an ad for a men’s fairness cream shows up. Trust me, if nothing else, it’ll keep you thoroughly entertained.

So what exactly is the obstacle that is preventing women from getting their rightful share from society? There can obviously be no clear answer to this question, but my thinking says that the problem lies not in the basic intent behind the feminist movement, nor in the means used by the feminists to achieve their ends. It’s in the peripheral matters, the issues secondary to the whole purpose of the endeavor, wherein all the bungling occurs. Women are equals of men, say the feminists. Right, we agree whole-heartedly with that. But pray why must they insist on thrusting the idea down our minds that women are identical to men? Women are not identical to men; they were never meant to be. Suggesting that women are, in terms of ability, indistinguishable from men, or, in other words, that women can do everything that men can, is not only inappropriate, but also highly insulting to women, men and humanity in general.

Individuality is one of the strongest qualities of humans, which is why it is only imperative for each human to retain his or her unique identity. This is obviously not taken into account by the convoluted logic behind wanting women to do anything and everything that is done by their male counterparts. We can ignore the realities of the world all we want but there’s no going around the fact there are some things that men do better than women, and some that women do better than men. Men are lousy parents and lousier cooks, but so are women terrible at driving and sports. Ok, ‘terrible’ might be a bit harsh when it comes to sports, but honestly, can women ever compete with men on a sustained basis when it comes to the really athletic games like soccer, hockey or tennis? Let’s get real; the main reason why women’s tennis is as popular as it is today is that the hemlines of the ladies can’t stop getting any higher. And as much as I admire the Williams sisters for their determination and athleticism, there’s no way they can convince me that women play tennis at the same level as men – you’ve only got to watch a three-set women’s match that lasts longer than 2 hours and all the huffing and panting and collapsing will give you a fair idea of just how ridiculous the notion that women can do everything that men can really is. And I’m sure everyone has experienced the undeniable truth that a woman working in a male-dominated field is never taken seriously, which again leads to the objectification and bias that I mentioned earlier.

Before anyone takes me for a bigoted male chauvinist, however, I must add that there are numerous things that men can’t do as well as women. Take building and maintaining relationships, for instance. Or being organized and efficient. Or giving shape to the future of humanity by being the ever-compassionate superpower that is a mother. But do we have the men clamoring to prove to the world how they can do all these things as well as women? Definitely not. This, however, opens up another can of worms. Why exactly do women want to compete in male strongholds and not vice-versa? A quick answer would be that the male strongholds are generally the more important and lucrative areas of work, while the things women are good at are just frilly, unimportant non-issues. But is that really so? I defy anyone who says that raising a kid is not important as fighting in a war. In fact, I’d even say raising a kid is actually more important than fighting in a war. What, then, is the real reason behind this disequilibrium? Another unanswerable question, I’m afraid, but I’ll try my best.

To my mind, the single most significant and pivotal reason for the gender inequality that has outlived every civilization in history is the attitude of ALL humans towards the qualities of the two sexes. Bravery, physical strength, decisiveness – all the attributes generally found in males have always been considered the most desirable qualities that a human can possess. ‘Manliness’ is something to be excessively proud about, as is ‘being a man’ or ‘not being a girl’. On the other hand, having qualities like kindness, compassion, patience and love have never been anything to shout about. Being virile is an achievement, even if it is completely inborn, but being girlish is distinctly undesirable. And this is not just the mindset of males; women think the exact same way. That is why, if a woman can cook, something that she’s traditionally supposed to be good at, it’s no big deal. But if a man is a champion at sports, he’s a hero worthy of reverence. Wouldn’t it be a lot simpler for everyone if we just attached a little more value to the abilities and domains traditionally ruled by women? If, for instance, we considered cooking as an admirable career to have, is there any doubt that women would rapidly and completely gain full control of the entire hotel management business all over the world? How about teaching? Or child counseling? Or fashion, for crying out loud? Is it really that shameful to have successful careers in any of these fields?

Alas, for simple logic. Instead of encouraging women to come out of their homes and carve out a distinctive place for themselves in society doing things that they are naturally good at, the so-called feminists are encouraging women to come out of their homes and do things that they’re not naturally good at, thus making their job doubly difficult and triply uncomfortable. Women’s empowerment cannot come from making labored and wince-inducing strides in areas that men are naturally better in, but from making purposeful and confident strides in areas that are suited to feminine abilities and powers. There will always be an Indra Nooyi here and a Serena Williams there to remind us that there can be wondrous exceptions to the rules, but hoping for the exceptions to become the rules is foolish in the extreme. Equality does not mean sameness – men and women have their own unique identities and the best way to reinforce the equality between men and women is to give due respect to the identities and abilities of both the sexes. If we can manage that, there won’t be any need to ‘empower’ women – they have enough power within them already.

Me Bored, So Me Write

I never thought I'd literally see a phrase written all over an event, but it was really hard to keep away the phrase 'too much of a good thing' from my mind while watching the 1st of 3 Test matches between India and Pakistan in Delhi. Honestly, the cricket throughout the match was so vapid and flavourless that it was startling. It didn't help, of course, that the current Pakistan team has about as much talent as a second string New Zealand team. The fizz has clearly fizzled out of Indo-Pak cricket and anyone who still insists that the cross-border rivalry is the definitive cricketing rivalry in the world needs to be rapped sharply on the head with a golfing iron or worse still, be forced to watch the movie Beowulf twice in a row. As a cricket fan, I'd like nothing better than the two countries to go back to their precious bickering and huffy cold shoulders (though only in the cricketing arena). Surely that would bring back the crackling intensity that once made Indo-Pak cricket so thoroughly mesmerizing? And for a short-term solution, how about giving Virender Sehwag a game or two?

Watched Bhool Bhulaiya over the weekend, and I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. Akshay Kumar really has come into his own after all those long, tiring years of insipid roles and lame acting. The show-stealer, however, is undoubtedly the magnificent Vidya Balan who's possibly brought the most engaging charisma and endearing screen presence to the movies since the days of Madhuri Dixit. If only Bollywood was a little kinder to its less beautiful citizens....

Incidentally, if you're at all planning on extracting revenge from a particularly disagreeable adversary, you'd be well-advised to gift him tickets to the movie Beowulf. The poor guy won't know what hit him.

One Time Too Many

We know you like poking fun at Bollywood, Farah Khan, but it's getting a little old now. It all started, of course, with the hysterical Woh Ladki Hai Kahan number from Dil Chahta Hai. Main Hoon Na took Ms Khan's derring-do a step further; the subtlety and the sheer audacity of the humor carried it far beyond the most accomplished Hollywood spoofs in memory and, in my opinion, it can now be bracketed among the masterpieces of the decade. Yes, it's worked before, but that doesn't mean it will work every time. Om Shanti Om, Farah Khan's latest offering, is everything that a typical Diwali blockbuster ought to be, and yet it's remarkably unsatisfying, almost as though she had all the right intentions and cinematic techniques in mind but forgot somewhere during the making that she was making a full-length Bollywood movie, not an MTV gag show.

Om Shanti Om is as extravagant as they get - the huge sets, colourful songs and charismatic stars are all dutifully in place, as are the melodramatic lines and intentional over-acting. The plot is ludicrously fantastical - an unabashed mixture of Madhumati and Karz, if you will. Shahrukh Khan hams like there's no tomorrow, Kirron Kher weeps buckets as the quintessential tragic mother and there's also a disarmingly gorgeous newcomer in the form of Deepika Padukone to keep things electrified. In short, everything that made Main Hoon Na such a delightful charmer is recreated in this nearly 3-hour long saga. If only Om Shanti Om was half as entertaining as its predecessor. I'm sorry, but Farah Khan has some major explaining to do as to why exactly the first half is as boring as it is. The 70's may have been a fascinating time in the Bollywood studios, but Ms Khan's depiction of the same is decidedly not. Forget the tongue-in-cheek potshots at melodrama, lovers playing lousy tennis and garish costumes - if it doesn't keep you entertained, it's all a waste of time.

The second half is considerably better, and thankfully moves at a lively pace, but again you always get the nagging feeling that something's missing. The almost non-stop sprinkling of stars in funny cameos does manage to perk things up appreciably, but things go flat the moment the movie comes back to the central plot. For some reason, the movie decides to take itself more seriously as it approaches the climax, with expectedly disappointing results. A Madhumati-inspired culmination wasn't exactly the brightest idea, and the end credits, with every single crew member getting to dance absurdly for the cameras, is downright annoying. An overdose of MTV, perhaps?

The songs, for once, DON'T slow down the pace of the movie (surprise, surprise!), and that's mainly because all of the songs have a definite purpose and carry the story forward (with the exception of Deewangi Deewangi - but then again, weren't the "31 stars" the biggest attraction of the movie?). Moreover, the fact that Farah Khan is a choreographer par excellence is a major plus point too. Main Agar Kahoon has to be one of the best shot songs in recent times - one of Farah Khan's finest works ever. Dard-e-Disco is a bit of an eyesore, but the rest of the songs are fairly tolerable, and coming from a sworn song-hater (only in the middle of a movie) like me, that's gigantic praise. You've got at least one department of Bollywood filmmaking completely covered, Ms Khan.

Comparing a director's product with his earlier works isn't always the fairest thing to do. However, when the director decides to repeat or even refine his earlier methods, then comparisons are justified and more importantly, inevitable. And I can confidently say that Om Shanti Om's biggest drawback is that its director is the maker of a gem like Main Hoon Na. While Main Hoon Na was fresh in its appeal and made you laugh hysterically, Om Shanti Om looks repititive and only manages to make you chuckle, and that too sporadically. Again, while Main Hoon Na had a concrete, if laughably unrealistic script (as intended), Om Shanti Om suffers from jerky writing and an excess of needless subplots. And of course, someone needs to tell Ms Khan that the whole spoof-cum-tribute thing looked cute the first time; the second time it only comes off as stale and unimaginative. Please, Farah Khan, get down to some serious filmmaking next time; brand SRK can only save you so many times.

P.S. All of these disparaging comments about Om Shanti Om have stemmed mainly from the fact that I absolutely loved Main Hoon Na. If you haven't watched or worse still, absolutely hated Main Hoon Na, then the chances are that you might just thoroughly enjoy Om Shanti Om.

P.P.S. Deepika Padukone might just be the next big thing of Bollywood. If only she had a remotely pleasant voice to go with her stunning looks (and this is assuming that her voice wasn't dubbed for the movie).

P.P.P.S. Akshay Kumar is positively hilarious in his two-minute role. The movie might actually be worth watching just for his brilliant turn.

The Good Side Of Bollywood

I'd almost forgotten how it felt to watch a clean, wholesome and thoroughly entertaining Bollywood movie. Now don't roll your eyes at me as though I'm some Hollywood-crazy wannabe. Bollywood actually has been churning out some pretty insufferable stuff of late; you can't blame me for fawning over every new Hollywood release while only coldly condescending to declare to anyone who'd listen that I have no time for the melodramatic trash that is churned out by Indian filmmakers. But every situation has a saviour, as they say, and I can confidently say that I have found, if only accidentally, the perfect balm to my Bollywood-aversion - the deliciously charming Jab We Met.

To put it very simply, the movie is a top-class entertainer. If Socha Na Tha, director Imtiaz Ali's first venture was a refreshing take on the quintessential Bollywood love story, then Jab We Met is more of the same, only considerably funnier. The plot, admittedly, is nothing much to write home about - there can be only so many variations of the boy-and-girl-meet-on-a-train-and-decide-to-embark-on-a-life-changing-journey-together pitch. Ali's execution of the trite, formulaic story, however, seems something like the wave of a magic wand - all of a sudden the situations seem more realistic, the characters more likable and the journey more fascinating. The dialogues are witty, the visuals stunningly dreamy (just why haven't our filmmakers explored Manali to the fullest?) and the melodrama is kept to a bare minimum. Did someone talk about the definitive Bollywood romantic comedy?

There are many things wonderfully close to perfection about Jab We Met, but none as close as the casting. Kareena Kapoor was born for the role of Geet, the high-strung Punjabi who lives life in its most dangerous and intoxicating fullness, and every single scene in the movie screams this simple fact loud and clear. For someone as prone to over-acting as her, Kareena shows remarkable restraint and poise, and some credit for this must definitely go to Ali. This girl clearly has oodles of talent; why do so few directors make full use of it? As she sprints across the railway station, completely out of breath, screaming, "Besharam, apni wardi utar ke phek de", you know you're watching a potential legend. Shahid Kapoor, though overshadowed by the sheer charisma of his co-star, puts in a thoroughly accomplished performance. The music is melodious and the choreography of the songs is breath-taking; however, you can't help but notice that the songs do more harm than good: slowing down the pace of the movie is NOT a good idea. But I can forgive one blemish in a movie which is otherwise so thoroughly entertaining.

The movie has a certain subtlety to it that transcends the loud Geet and her louder family. It has no sermonizing and no unnecessary tears, yet the difference between living one's life impetuously and taking life too seriously is brought out with mesmerizing vividness. The movie has one of the most heart-warming separation lines in the history of Indian cinema and it can also boast, quite unusually for a movie of this genre, of a brilliantly taut climax. Is this the best Bollywood romantic comedy ever? Ah, looks like I'm going a little overboard now. Blame it on the excitability of human nature. Or on the incredible star appeal of a certain Kareena Kapoor. Don't sneer, watch the movie.

Random Reactions

What have you done, J K Rowling?! You've completely ruined Dumbledore for me! (If you don't know what I'm talking about, you really need to read the newspaper more often.)

Also, I think I made a big mistake by including Kimi Raikkonen in my list of over-rated people. He fully deserved to steal the F1 World Championship from right under the grumpy noses of Lewis Hamilton (who's still my favourite driver), Fernando Alonso and McLaren. And did he do it in style!

ALSO, I hate it when Roger Federer loses, specially in a tournament final, as he did today against David Nalbandian at the Madrid Masters. By the way, has it become some kind of a fashion to defeat the top 3 ranked players in consecutive matches?

A Disease That Refuses To Go Away

I've been told that I write about useless, frivolous things (read: sports and movies) far too often on my blog. And while I'm not usually one to take criticism sportingly, I think being told anything about my blog is certainly an improvement over the cold ignorance that my blog is usually subjected to. So here's my first 'serious' post in quite a while:

Science research studies are in quite a terrific vogue these days. There are scientists doing research on the most diverse subjects imaginable, from analyzing the changes in the average person's favoured pastime to finding out the effects of blogging on general intelligence levels. And then we have scientists speaking disgustingly filthy garbage supposedly backed by some mysterious 'tests' that no one has ever heard of. Ladies and gentlemen, the eminent scientist going by the name of James Watson, THE James Watson, he of the legendary (at least for Biology students) Watson-Crick DNA model, has just become another publicity-hungry Paris Hilton, but without the good looks, of course. Apparently Mr. Watson is aware of certain 'tests' that prove conclusively that white people are inherently more intelligent than people of all other races, particularly those of African origin. Mr. Watson's remarks, pronouncing this extraordinarily dim-witted conclusion, came just days ahead of a lecture in Europe and more suspiciously, the release of his new book (any guesses why he wants all the publicity?) and have predictably sparked an outrage all over the world. He has, since, taken back his comments and apologized, but only after being suspended from his research centre and being forced to cancel his European tour. What I'd like to know, however, is whether making despicable racist comments such as these can be punishable by rigorous jail sentences in any court of law. Also, is there a way to take back the Nobel prize awarded to him in 1962?

We're living in the 21st century, yet the malaise of racism continues to haunt and disgrace us. Just a few days ago Australian cricketer Andrew Symonds complained about being racially abused by sections of the Indian crowds. While reactions to Symonds's claim from the Indian authorities have ranged from the ridiculous ("The crowds weren't doing monkey imitations; they were praying to Hanuman, the deity associated with monkeys") to the silly ("Symonds probably misunderstood the crowds because of language problems"), the Australians should hardly be in a position to cry foul over racist crowds. A year ago a number of coloured South African players were at the receiving end of racial abuse from the typically boorish Aussie spectators, and for years Asians have been mutinously insisting that the regular mistreatment that Muttiah Muralitharan receives in Australia has as much to do with the supposed illegality of his bowling action as it does with the fact that Murali, a true-blue Asian, has forever been close to overtaking the very white Shane Warne in the race to the highest wickets record. But this in no way condones the behaviour of the Indian crowds. Indian spectators, together with those from our beloved neighbour Pakistan, are by far the worst behaved cricket spectators on the planet, and these latest incidents have only confirmed this sorry fact. Most of the Indian authorities, however, would clearly love to condone every Indian spectator in their sight, as comments like "It was all a misunderstanding, we Indians are not racists" amply show. We Indians are not racists? How many times have you seen a North-east Indian walking unobtrusively along a street and a very audible comment like "Chinky chinky chow chow" not coming up from someone on the street? Don't rack your brains for such a memory, it doesn't exist.

I'm sorry, but racism is just as prevalent in our dear country as it is in present-day America or the Hitler-era Germany. We just don't realize it. We fawn over anyone remotely Caucasian or better still, with blond hair, and view every black foreigner with suspicious disdain. We even refer to blacks as 'niggers', blissfully unaware of how offensive the term actually is. We laugh openly at our Northeastern brethren (ever wondered how humiliating that must be for them?), and the worst part is, most of us don't even find anything wrong with that. Which is why I find it particularly annoying when Indians take the moral high ground and claim that "our beautiful culture has no place for racism".

This is, of course, not to say that Indians are the worst perpetrators of this abhorrent sin. Racism, sadly, is about as ubiquitous around the world as water. And no amount of political correctness, superficial 'equality' drives, Academy awards (did Halle Berry even deserve the award for Monster?) and Grand Slam victories (does a day pass by when one of the Williams sisters doesn't receive hate mail?) is going to change that. It comes naturally to most of us, just like the ability to walk and talk. Or as the wonderful Mr. Watson would like to prove, some of are just inherently racist. If the African-American race could be inherently dumb, then why not?

The Shame!

Lies, shame and misery. What is the sporting world coming to? We always thought Marion Jones was one heck of an inspiring lady. She was the woman who had set the 2000 Sydney Olympics alight with her audacious public desire to capture 5 gold medals in the track and field events. Her final medal tally - 3 golds and 2 bronzes - may not quite have matched her bold expectations, but it did firmly ensconce her in people's minds as a champion athlete, a woman to be revered and admired. Which is precisely why her stunning fall from grace, coming as it did in the midst of liberal tears and visible shame, evokes as much pity as it does disgust. Sure, Jones did cut a sorry figure as she tearfully admitted to a shell-shocked public that she used performance-enhancing drugs during the course of her stellar career. But when you think of all the times that you cheered for her apparently indomitable spirit and celebrated her famous victories, you do feel horribly cheated. How could she have had the gall to even smile at her adoring audience after her many race wins, knowing as she did that they had not come fairly? It's disgusting, there's no other word for it.

Sportspersons, I believe, have a greater duty than all others to be honest and fair when they're competing, for the simple reason that people consider sport to be the exemplification of the human spirit. I can forgive a businessman defrauding his way to success or an actor manipulating his way to the top, but when I see a sportsman celebrating the moment of his triumph, I know, or I assume, that there's an awe-inspiring story of toil and struggle that has led to his crowning glory. When we talk about sport, we talk about a phenomenon that is stripped to the bare essentials, a phenomenon that is a pure and fierce battle of wills - on the playing field, nothing else matters except your ability and desire to keep fighting. Besides, the fact that most sports events these days are televised makes everything all the more poignant. On so many occasions we actually see the sweat, blood and tears that go into the making of a champion, and that is why when we applaud the accomplishments of a sportsperson, our applause is truly heartfelt. And that is also why when a sportsman comes forward and confesses that he didn't actually deserve to be a victor, or more distressingly, that he swindled his opponent out of his well-earned success, we feel a sense of betrayal like no other.

The Marion Jones shame saga is not the only distasteful event to have disturbed the sporting population of late. Tennis is currently in the throes of its own match-fixing scandal, with no less than the No. 3 men's player in the world, Nikolay Davydenko, being at the centre of it all. What started as an isolated investigation into the irregular betting patterns over a match in which Davydenko retired against a hopeless opponent has, predictably, snowballed into a murky and far-reaching episode of conniving gamblers and suspiciously naive players. Scores of players, some rather well-known like Dmitry Tursunov and others remarkably unheard of, have come forward claiming that they have, at some point during their careers, been offered to throw matches by bettors. Of course, all of these distinguished players have proudly declared that they were conscientious enough to refuse the offers, but would it have killed them to report such incidents earlier? No one knows right now just how much of the tennis world is infected with the match-fixing disease, but honestly, will we even care when all the investigations are finally done and dusted? I hate to imagine tennis going the way of cricket - we have too few glorious sports to let them be eternally tarnished with nauseating evils like match-fixing. Sadly, however, the signs are all in place. The next thing we know, we'll be thinking things like, "Did Roger Federer really lose to Rafael Nadal?" I know, it's sickening.

10 Things We Learnt From the 20-20 World Cup

To call the recently-concluded Twenty20 World Cup anything less than a roaring success wouldn't quite be a shameful blasphemy, but would certainly be mighty close to it. We should know, the ICC officials wouldn't be grinning from ear to ear if the event was anywhere near as bland as the 50-50 World Cup in the West Indies. So what were the things that we learned from this very special event? Taking a cue from the innumerable movie message boards across the internet, I'll do my own list of the 10 most significant lessons that the Twenty20 World Cup taught us:

1. An Indo-Pak match is an Indo-Pak match is an Indo-Pak match: Maybe this isn't such a new lesson. No matter how strange the format or how neutral the venue, India and Pakistan really do know how to produce electrifying cricket matches with more twists than your average Bourne flick. If the first round encounter between the two turned out to be historic, what with the bowl-out and all, the final that these two teams put on show is already being heralded as the best finale to a major tournament in cricketing history. The Ashes? What's that?

2. South Africa are chokers, but never expect Graeme Smith to admit that: Honestly, Mr. Smith, the cricketing world is tired of bringing up that semi-final of the 1999 World Cup whenever your team crashes out of a major tournament inexplicably. Why not spare us the trouble and not raise everyone's expectations by performing so brilliantly in unimportant matches?

3. Stuart Broad can do a Daan van Bunge: I know, I should probably concentrate on Yuvraj Singh's jaw-dropping splendor in that unforgettable 6 sixes-over, but pray why has no one thought of taking a poke (or several pokes) at the bowler who made it all possible, Stuart Broad? The fact that only one international bowler (a Netherlands bowler, no less) in the history of cricket has ever let such an embarrassment come to pass should be a fair indication of how poorly Broad bowled in that over. Ah, the English! They can be quite freakish sometimes. And that brings me to the next lesson.....

4. The English can be pathetic at every innovation that they bring into cricket: Ok, 'pathetic' may be a little harsh here, but the English side was supposed to have a better shot than most at winning the tournament, armed as it was with a battalion of '20-20 bits-and-pieces specialist cricketers' and because, well, they started 20-20 cricket. Which is why the solitary win against Zimbabwe must hurt, perhaps even more than their customary insipid performances at the 50-over World Cups. 'Skill' is still the most important virtue for a modern cricketer, dear Englishmen.

5. Santhakumaran Sreesanth will perpetually try to be the Shahid Afridi of the bowlers: 21 runs off his first over, 0 from his second. Was he trying to create some kind of record? To be fair to him, he did bowl brilliantly against Australia and he played a big role in India's victory over Pakistan in the first round. But I do know that if India had lost the final to Pakistan, forgiving Sreesanth would have been a pretty hard thing to do. How do you let a batsman like Sohail Tanvir hit you for 2 sixes in a single, desperately crucial over?

6. Mahendra Singh Dhoni can make singularly inspired decisions: The tournament made a strong case for Dhoni to be appointed the Test skipper to go with his newly-acquired one-day responsibilities. His choice of players to bowl in the bowl-out was fantastic to say the least, and his handling of remarkably inept bowlers like Joginder Sharma deserves applause of the highest order. Maybe if he regained some of his batting magic the selectors will give him the chance he so thoroughly deserves?

7. It's never too late to announce your arrival on the international cricket stage: At 33, Misbah-ul-Haq is 3 years older than Mike Hussey was when Hussey first started to show the cricketing world that there can be better finishers of a match than Michael Bevan. And yet, Misbah batted so breathtakingly well throughout the tournament that one was almost tempted to give him the title of 'Best finisher in world cricket', or even 'Mr. Cricket', if you will. Unfortunately for him, only 'almost' - the cute chip/nudge/glance or whatever other name you wish to give to the ungainly shot that Misbah played on the last ball of the tournament will haunt him for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, Misbah undoubtedly was the most unlikely star of the World Cup - he sprang up from virtual nothingness and played not one, but two innings for the ages during the tournament; I'm sure Mohammad Yousuf isn't quite so wild now that he lost his place in the team to a nobody like Misbah.

8. Australia are not invincible in every format of the game, and Ricky Ponting can get REAL cranky about that: Just as we were getting over Graeme Smith's child-like condemnation of the tournament's format that was supposedly responsible for his side's early exit, Ricky Ponting came out and blamed everything in sight for his side's rather unexpected early exit (on a side note, it's a mark of Australia's supremacy in all forms of the game that a semi-final loss is dubbed an 'early exit'). Lack of match practice, his openers being too prolific for his side's own good, luck, the cruel scheduling of Australia's matches in distant venues.....the list was endless. Dear me, have the elements all of a sudden turned their back on the Australian cricket team? Or did Ponting listen to one Serena Williams press conference too many?

9. You can score a century in a 20-20 match, and still end up on the losing side: Poor Chris Gayle, he was in such a violent mood in the very first match of the tournament, bludgeoning 10 sixes and blowing the South African attack to pieces, that it seems he scared his own bowlers. I'm sorry, but the West Indies bowling attack is really quite ridiculously spineless, and it wouldn't surprise me if Chris Gayle ended up on the losing side even if he made a double century. Honestly, nothing about this West Indian team can surprise me any more. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

10. Twenty20 Cricket is THE FUTURE: Daniel Vettori and Adam Gilchrist can turn their noses up at the format all they want, but it is clear that if cricket wants to have any semblance of an existence on the world sports stage, then it's got to invest in Twenty20. Get rid of 50-over cricket within a year, I say. And puh-lease, get rid of the ludicrous dancers/cheerleaders too.

The Fine Art of Over-Rating

Every age has a favourite darling. And every darling has a golden age. And when the darling becomes the favourite in the age that is golden, the result is an insufferable dose of good, old-fashioned over-rating. In today's post I'm going to list some of the people, mostly famous people, who I personally think are hugely over-rated by the media and subsequently (or consequently) are rewarded with a large amount of undeserved hero-worship by an adoring but intensely gullible public. So here are the most overrated (in my opinion, at least) people of our generation:

Abhishek Bachchan: Since his name starts with an 'A', I thought he'd be a nice place to start with. And even if the people on this list were ranked in order of most undeserving, he'd definitely be at the top or very near it. Since the past 6 years I've been trying to figure out why he's constantly been lavished with so much acclaim by critics and fans alike for his supposed 'acting abilities' and 'charm' when it has been clear to me from the outset that the only thing charming about him is the fact that he has great genes. The man cannot act to save his life (and neither can Fardeen Khan, another star-son with alarmingly low artistic powers - but at least Fardeen is showered with his fair share of flak from time to time), and yet the media and critics go on and on about his 'powerful' screen presence and restrained execution of his roles. There's a difference between restrained acting and NOT acting. If only the people of this country understood this simple fact.

Kimi Raikkonen: He was supposed to be the youngest world champion in Formula One history. He was also supposed to be the sparkling new heir to Michael Schumacher's throne of F1 dominance. Perhaps someone should have told these two oft-repeated truths to a rampaging Fernando Alonso, who not only stole the 'youngest champion' title from Kimi but also usurped Schumacher's throne while the legend was still in business. I'm sorry if sworn Kimi fans are offended by this, but the fact remains that when Kimi was at McLaren, the team was desperately floundering and in the depths of doom. This year, Alonso joined McLaren, and all of a sudden they're comfortably leading the drivers' standings. Engine problems, bad luck, a sub-standard car - what's the latest excuse for Kimi's continued failure to live up to the expectations? A team that is too perfect, perhaps?

Martin Scorsese: I must confess that I haven't seen many of the most-acclaimed movies of this supposedly genius of a filmmaker, but if the praise that some of his latest movies garnered is anything to go by, I haven't missed much. Gangs of New York was quite intolerably boring, The Aviator was really nothing great and The Departed has to be one of the best examples of how an unnecessarily long second half can completely ruin a movie. Honestly, I think the Oscar jury, for once, was right in denying Scorsese the glory of the Best Director award for as long as they did in spite of the nearly two decades of sustained critical acclaim that sat so prettily on his resume . Just goes to show the critics don't know everything.

Saurav Ganguly: Sure, he led India to the final of the 2003 World Cup, and beat the visiting Australians at their own game in 2001, but has there ever been a more self-centred player in the history of Indian cricket than Sourav Ganguly? Two years ago he almost brought Indian cricket to its knees with his ugly altercation with coach Greg Chappell, and this year he was at it again, creating divisions in the side which very probably led to India's humiliating early exit at the 50-50 World Cup. And don't even get me started on his glaring shortcomings as a batsman in the longer version of the game. I, for one, am really at a loss to see why a man who is clearly afraid of the short ball, creates ungainly camps in the team and is as much a team player as Shoaib Akhtar gets such enormous and unwavering support from his countless fans. Perhaps it's just the Bengali tendency of over-hyping every single person who hails from the state of West Bengal at work here.

Almost every fashion designer on the planet: This one's my favourite. Just when you think that clothing designs can't get any more bizarre, out comes a fashion designer showing off to an unsuspecting public an outfit that tightly binds your two hands together in a manner that forces you to constantly keep your hands outstretched and parallel to the ground. I honestly felt very sorry for that unfortunate model. Tell me, how many of the outfits that celebrated designers showcase in the scores of fashion shows across the world are actually wearable? It's one thing being creative and letting your imagination run wild in a field that prizes innovation and inventiveness, but quite another to put your admiring patrons through long periods of discomfort and embarrassment. Some would say there's no difference, but others (including me) would say there's all the difference in the world.

Pete Sampras: Alright, this may be a shocker for some - Sampras is the one who's won the most Grand Slam titles in history, right? Pete Sampras was a great tennis player, I agree. The only reason he's on this list is because roughly half of the tennis following population considers it appropriate to call Sampras the GOAT (or Greatest Of All Time, for the uninformed) in spite of the dazzling four years that Roger Federer has just put on show in front of an awe-struck audience. Federer is a better and more complete player than Sampras ever was, period. I know this may sound childish and a touch harsh on Sampras who was indeed a wonderful champion, but I can't understand how a player whose only major weapons were a monster serve and a terrific volley - ok, I'll add the running forehand to that frighteningly small list - and who never even made it to the finals of the claycourt Grand Slam can be talked of in GOAT discussions with as much reverence as is Sampras. Maybe this time it's the American tendency of over-praising the sons of its soil at work.

Heavy metal/hard rock bands: One of the biggest mysteries I've ever come across - why would loud, mostly unpleasant noise (that is actually supposed to be 'music') and generally crude and frustrated-with-life lyrics command millions of devoted fans all over the world? Does the fact that most rock musicians are shabbily dressed, cocaine-snorting, potential suicide candidates somehow add to the charm of rock/metal music? As I said, one of the biggest mysteries I've ever come across.

Ayn Rand: Ok, her books make for fairly interesting reading, but that's just about as good as it gets. Her strangely self-glorifying philosophies, fierce trumpeting of Objectivism and generally scathing views on generosity and charity that are prevalent in most of her major works are nothing short of laughable when thought about for more than a minute. Moreover, the effects that reading an Ayn Rand book can have on an impressionable youngster are quite disturbing to imagine. Quite why every celebrity worth his or her salt likes to declare that The Fountainhead is the best book they've ever read (it's not even the best book that Rand's written - Atlas Shrugged is, in my opinion, a better read) is beyond my comprehension. Maybe they think it makes them sound smart. In Rand's case, nevertheless, there is one small comfort: literary critics have, by and large, dismissed her writing as melodramatic and unimportant. Maybe the critics do know some things sometimes then.

Shilpa Shetty: She became a household name in the UK by claiming to be a victim of racism, and for that is held up in our country as a shining example of an Indian making waves internationally. Do I need to say any more?


Whew! That's a long list. And yet I haven't mentioned even half of the many names that came to my mind while starting this post. We do seem to have perfected the art of over-rating. How wonderful.

Cricket Gets Its Saviour, Tennis On The Lookout For One

As Chris Gayle got down to some seriously savage ball-thwacking in the first match of the Twenty20 World Cup between West Indies and South Africa, all I could think was: why are they still playing 50-over cricket? If any cricket follower still feels the need to defend the logic of holding 50-over tournaments in the face of the adrenaline-rushing, maddeningly exciting blur that is Twenty20 cricket, then I have to fear for his sanity. Cricket needed something to save itself from the embarrassing doldrums that it was plunged into after the match-fixing saga, and it has got one. Twenty20 is fresh, innovative, thrilling and intense: just about everything you'd ask for in a modern sport. Thankfully, Twenty20 is also a money-spinner, and that would probably be a good enough reason to induce the bunch of dolts that is the ICC, which had the gall to insist to an outraged cricket community that this year's World Cup in the West Indies was a 'great success', to do some progressive work for a change. And while they're busy slobbering over the enormous mounds of money that they're bound to make through this new golden egg, will someone advise the idiots to push for Twenty20 cricket to be included in the Olympics?


Speaking of Olympics, I'm sure the fact that tennis is an Olympic sport must have alerted a lot of tennis followers to the deliciously fascinating possibilities the next year holds for a certain male tennis player. Roger Federer has achieved just about everything there is to achieve in tennis, having this week added yet another Grand Slam title to his already bulging collection by defeating Novak Djokovic in the US Open final, but a 'Golden Slam' might just be the one thing that firmly and eternally closes the GOAT debate. It's never been done before by a male player - Steffi Graf managed to win the Olympic gold medal in addition to the 4 Grand Slams in 1988, but no man has ever even come close to such a feat. Of course, Andre Agassi does have a career Golden Slam, but his career spanned two decades, so there. (On a side note, isn't it simply fabulous that the only two players in the history of tennis to have completed Golden Slams, whether in a calendar year or a career, ended up being married to each other?). The French Open remains the most worrying obstacle for Federer to achieve this Holy Grail-like accomplishment, but I like to believe that he's been saving it for the year when the full force of his achievements will hit the tennis world like a tornado. Yes, a Golden Slam next year would be totally stunningly terrific, and honestly, if anyone could ever do it, then it's got to be him. Federer will, however, have to watch out for an outlandish young player who likes to do silly impersonations of his well-respected peers, looks to the crowd instead of his coach when in need of advice whether to challenge a call, and who goes by the name of Novak Djokovic.

They said Federer didn't win the US Open final as much as Djokovic lost it, and for once they were right. When you get 7 set points spread over 2 sets, 5 of them on your serve, and fail to convert a single one of them, it says a lot about your poor mental strength, but if you're playing Federer, it also says a lot about your huge talent. Federer played awful for long periods during the game, I agree, but at times he was also outdone by Djoker's range of shots, his amazing movement, his effective serve and his exquisitely potent backhand. He's almost like a mini-Federer, to be very blunt. Of course, Federer managed to withstand all of Djokovic's weapons without so much as a grunt of frustration, armed as he always is with his own, much more important weapons like the ability to play the big points alarmingly well and an almost indefatigable serve. And that's precisely why he is THE Federer, all glory and perfection, and not a 'mini-Federer'. But Djokovic, it cannot be denied, is an irresistible talent, and it seems clear that from now on Federer will have not one (we've almost forgotten Rafael Nadal, haven't we?), but two great rivals. All the more motivation, I think, for Federer to raise the bar even higher, even if age isn't exactly on his side, and go for something that no man has ever dreamed of before. And oh, Pete Sampras's record is just a formality now, don't you think? 14 Grand Slams? If I were Federer, and that's a big 'if', I wouldn't settle for anything less than 18. Maybe even 20. Scary? You bet.

Of Sportsmanship and Showmanship

So, one half of my US Open nightmare has come true. Justine Henin has just capped a stunningly successful, almost Federer-like year with an incandescent showing at the year's final Grand Slam, destroying three former champions - Serena Williams, Venus Williams and Svetlana Kuznetsova in succession to a well-deserved 7th Grand Slam trophy, and I'm not smiling. Sure, Henin may be an aesthetic shot-maker and her backhand may be 'a thing of beauty', as many people like to put it, but her lack of personality and charisma make it very hard for me to root for her in any match that she plays. Of course, her 'incident' in the 2003 French Open semi-final against Serena Williams, when she raised her hand during Serena's service motion leading to a serving fault, and subsequently refused to back Serena's perfectly legitimate request for another first serve may have a big part to play in my unqualified prejudice against her. Unfortunately for Henin, that incident isn't the only one that people like to twirl about when vociferously pointing out how un-sportsmanlike Henin can get. The 2006 Australian Open final, when Henin retired while trailing Amelie Mauresmo 6-1, 2-0, thus denying Mauresmo the unadulterated glory that comes with a maiden, hard-fought Grand Slam triumph, is still fresh in everyone's minds, perhaps much more vividly in mine. I suppose you might say that talking about these past fallacies in the face of the unquestioned brilliance that Henin has put on show this year is childish, but is it that difficult for Henin to muster up a belated but much-warranted apology, specially about the French Open incident? Ok, I think I'm starting to sound like the sore and cranky statistician that I always do after things don't go according to my liking in a sports match, so I'll just let Henin be for the moment.

While we're talking of un-sportsmanlike sportspersons, the name Serena Williams can't be too far away, can it, particularly since she chooses to state in her press conference after getting whipped by Justine Henin that she lost because "Justine played a lot of lucky shots". Alright, I know that press conference made Serena sound really bad, but that doesn't quite explain the unmistakable hatred that most tennis fans (well ok, when I say 'most tennis fans' I only mean most of the people who visit internet message boards) have shown in spelling out their distaste at Serena's words. Serena Williams has been, in the words of her father Richard, an arrogant "pit bull" for the whole of the 10-odd years that she's been on the women's tour. In fact, most tennis analysts in the past have admitted that her stubborn refusal to believe that anybody could beat her when she was playing her best had a major part to play in her 8 Grand Slam trophy wins. Which is why it is plain irritating to find people still giving her grief about the 'lack of respect' that she gives her opponents. Even though I personally wish she took a leaf or two out of her sister Venus's book who has matured considerably over the years, I can totally understand if she still wants to doggedly believe that she can be the best player in the world anytime that she really wants to. After all, isn't 'believing in yourself' the favourite mantra that mentors like to throw at their charges to inspire them to greatness and beyond? There is, of course, also the inescapable fact that Serena is every bit as good a tennis player as she claims - she can be hideously overweight, sorely bereft of match practice and completely lacking the agility and speed that made her such an irresistible force back in her glory days, and still manage to win a Grand Slam ranked 81st in the world. I'd like to see Henin try that. Serena is still the woman with the highest Grand Slam tally among current players, and has been the best player of the decade according to many tennis experts. So why all the malicious Williams-bashing then? I don't like to bring up the R-word, but it's very difficult to comprehend why a Martina Hingis, who is fair, pretty and lissome, can get away with downright offensive remarks, alarmingly childish tantrums and embarrassingly loud sobs after her losses while Serena Williams is labeled a disgrace to the sport of tennis for unwaveringly believing in her own abilities, unless there was some sick and disgusting attitude at the back of it all. For those of you who didn't get it, I'm talking about racism. And before this post gets any more sordid, I think I should move on to less unpleasant things.

The men's final will begin in a few hours' time, and I just can't wait for it because it's going to be a cracking match, if the level of play of the two finalists throughout the tournament is anything to go by. There's been a lot of talk about this being the first 'interesting' US Open final in years, and while I'm willing to give Novak Djokovic the credit for bringing 'interest' back to US Open finals, I just don't see him putting it past Roger Federer barely two years into his thus far impressive career. Remember, we're talking about defeating the man who's won 11 Grand Slams in the space of 4 years, and who managed to defeat Andy Roddick, a former No.1 player and US Open champion, in straight sets, in spite of the fact that Roddick was probably playing the best match of his career. That's unreal, unbelievable fantasy, that's GOAT stuff, that is. Djokovic needs to improve his serve a little, and learn to be more aggressive, and for heaven's sake he needs to drop all of that ludicrous showmanship and arrogance. It's amusing, even entertaining, to watch an up-and-coming tennis prodigy doing imitations of well-known tennis stars to thunderous applause from the crowd, but it's simply unacceptable for a potential Grand Slam champion to be doing that. Get a grip on yourself, Novak, you want to earn a little respect from tennis enthusiasts. And oh, while you're preparing yourself for the final, you might want to have a nice long chat with Rafael Nadal and collect a few tips from your physio about the best way to survive a marathon, lifeforce-sapping encounter in the New York heat. Against Federer, you'll need all the help that you can get.

By the way, if you're wondering what the 'other half' of my US Open nightmare is, it's Djokovic winning the men's title. So much for a stress-free US Open final.

Bad And Worse

Right then. This has got to be one of the first US Open tournaments I have ever watched. The horror show started yesterday evening, just the 5th day of the Open, a time you wouldn't normally associate with heartbreaking losses. First Marat Safin, that charming little volcano-man, went down with disappointing tameness to Stanislas Wawrinka. Then Novak Djokovic, that outrageously gifted but hideously arrogant peacock of a man didn't go down to an inspired Radek Stepanek, instead eking out a scary five-set marathon. I say scary because it is clear to me now, if it wasn't already before the Open began, that Djoker has it in him to give a mighty challenge to the Grand Slam dominance of Federer-Nadal. And that was just the start of my miseries. The big blow came next. Lleyton Hewitt, the one sportsperson I have stood by through injuries, atrocious lack of form and repeated humiliating whippings at the hands of Federer, gave me yet another solid reason why I should probably move on to a new favourite player. I mean come on, Hewitt has become so nondescript now that the tennis websites didn't even bother to write anything about his defeat, which by all means is still significant considering he's a two-time Slammer. I've been trying to find the story covering his match all day, hoping that there perhaps must have been a legitimate reason why he lost to a decidedly over-the-hill claycourter like Augustin Calleri, like maybe an injury or something, but haven't had any luck so far. And much as I hate to admit this, there probably is a legitimate reason for the tragedy - that Hewitt is just not good enough anymore. Sad, sad.

Things just got worse today. Maria Sharapova, the defending champion, lost to a player whose name I can't even spell, let alone pronounce. It was someone called Radwanska, I think. Yeah, I know, Sharapova cannot lose to a Radwanska in the 3rd round, just a year after her glory days of defeating Amelie Mauresmo and Justine Henin back-to-back. But guess what, the blonde Russian has regressed by around two years instead of moving anywhere forward since January. If you thought being regularly dismantled by a Williams sister wasn't bad enough, look what's happening to her now: being bounced out by 17-year-old Radwanskas. Poor Maria, the avowed anti-Pova club members aren't going to be anything less than scathing in heaping their gleeful scorn on this latest embarrassment. Incidentally, I don't think I can visit a tennis discussion forum anytime soon, considering how vociferously I have been battling these distinguished anti-Pova members for the past month. I'm sorry, but reading a thousand-odd statements like "Look where the overrated brat is now", "She's just another Kournikova" or "HAHAHAHA" is just not my thing.

So could things get any worse after these tragic few hours? Well yes, they could. Sania Mirza could get overawed by a higher-ranked player and put in a completely listless performance in her 3rd round match. And she did precisely that. To be honest, Anna Chakvetadze is probably a much better player than Mirza and will likely defeat her 4 time out of 5, but that doesn't make the loss any less sad. Mirza needs to do well at the Slams if she has any hopes of being counted as a world-class player, and clearly she hasn't done too much of that yet. Chakvetadze, on the other hand, suddenly finds herself in a very favourable position now that Sharapova is out, and I'm willing to bet that she'd be the one to come through the bottom half of the draw and book that final against a Williams.

Right then. This is now officially the worse US Open I have ever watched. All I need now is for Roger Federer to not win the men's trophy. Or for Djokovic to win it. Or for Justine Henin to win the women's trophy. Wow, the US Open is fraught with more potential disasters than the regular Hollywood blockbuster. Maybe I need to stop following tennis and watch more movies instead. Hollywood blockbusters.

Birth Of An Industry

First up, I want to give out a disclaimer for all those who think there are too many movie reviews floating around blogosphere and the world in general: this is NOT a movie review of Ratatouille. This post is dedicated not just to one movie, but to the whole wonderful realm of animation. It's about time I did this too, considering just how much I love animated movies. So anyway, has anyone noticed that animated movies are no longer just a sporadic summer attraction that appeal exclusively to kids? Hollywood has been pumping in the big bucks into all things animated, and the creative minds of the world's biggest movie industry have, by and large, responded magnificently. The best part about this revolution of sorts is that moviegoers across the world have given their whole-hearted approval to the Hollywood bigwigs' inclinations towards expanding the genre which once had a very limited appeal into a full-fledged, multi-million industry.

Consider the facts: Shrek 2 is the 3rd highest grossing movie in the history of US cinema and the 8th highest grossing movie worldwide. Shrek The Third, despite the mostly poor reviews, came through most of the intense summer competition this year unscathed, and ended up making more money than Pirates 3, Transformers and, gasp! Harry Potter 5. The Lion King and Finding Nemo hold their own steady places on the all-time box-office list, while last year Happy Feet gave James Bond and Casino Royale a run for their stylish money. And get this: as many as 8 animated movies find a place on imdb's list of the Top 250 movies of all time. Clearly, the animation business is booming. Of course, there are many who've been protesting that there's been an overdose of animated movies the past couple of years, and I do admit that churning out Madagascar and The Wild, two movies with almost identical visuals and storylines, in very quick succession was a bit of a perfect personification of the word 'overkill'. But then again, animation is not just a genre any longer - it's an industry; it has its share of lean periods, as I'm sure does every other film industry in the world. And just when duds like Surf's Up and Barnyard were starting to give the naysayers solid justifications for their nay-sayings, out comes a little gem like Ratatouille.

Most critics have used horribly predictable words like 'sumptuous', 'feast', 'delicious' and a whole lot of other food-centric adjectives to describe Ratatouille, so I think I'll steer clear of those tasteless clichés. Ratatouille is not delicious, delectable or luscious; it's a marvellous example of high quality cinema that will, in the long run, prove to be the standard by which all other animated movies are judged. For once, imdb's users aren't wrong in their ratings - Ratatouille fully deserves its 8.5 rating and 77th rank in the Top 250 list of imdb. If not for anything else, the movie deserves credit for going beyond the genre-specific, or should I say industry-specific premises that have been so thoroughly exploited by other filmmakers. For instance, there's no faithful-but-dumb sidekick here. Nor are there too many pop culture references or crude, childish jokes. And considering the very mature handling of the story, it would've been truly embarrassing if Remy, the protagonist, had found a facile love interest at the end. The movie has an actual, identifiable storyline, which is very rare for an animated movie. And that's precisely where it scores handsomely.

There's something delightfully elegant and classy about the pacing of the story, the visuals, and of course, the fantastic dialogue. Maybe it's the French element in it, I don't know. Then there's the quality of the animation itself. I watched the movie with a friend who's doing engineering, and even though he was a little bored that "it wasn't outrageously hilarious", he couldn't stop raving about the precision and level of detail in the visuals. Of course, Pixar has set very high standards for animation with the ultra-realistic Cars and the beautiful The Incredibles, but that doesn't stop us from being amazed, every time, at how efficiently and perfectly the computer geeks do their job. The background score is indescribably fantastic, and since it is indescribable, I'm not going to attempt to describe it. The subplots are well-crafted, the actors chosen for the characters almost perfect. The ending is innovative and pleasant, and the monologue by Anton Ego (voiced by Peter O'Toole) at the end has to be one of the most beautiful and meaningful speeches I've ever heard in a movie. Frankly, I couldn't really find anything to complain about the movie, except perhaps that they could've made it a little funnier. But Ratatouille would've been a very good movie even if it didn't have a single gag in it. That, however, is not the case, which must make it obvious, really, that this is one movie that no one should possibly miss. Personally, I'd definitely rank this as the second best animated movie I've ever seen (I'm sorry, but nothing beats Shrek for me).

Now look what I've done - I've ended up writing a review of Ratatouille in spite of the bold (and pretentious, now that I think of it) disclaimer at the start. But honestly, I couldn't help it. I just had to write something in praise of such a heart-warming yet skillful attempt at movie-making. Oh well, I think I'll have to put in something now to make this sound less like a movie review. How about a Top-10 list of my favourite animated movies of all time? Yeah, it's cheesy, and it's unsophisticated, but what's life without a little cheese and a little unsophistication? Ok, I'm not even sure 'unsophistication' is a word, so I'll just get this over with without further ado. Here goes:
1. Shrek
2. Ratatouille
3. Shrek 2
4. Monsters, Inc.
5. The Incredibles
6. Ice Age
7. Flushed Away
8. Madagascar
9. Chicken Run
10. Shrek The Third

Cheesy Gets Fun

What is it with Steven Spielberg and aliens? Just about every significant movie about aliens, weird creatures or supersmart/monstrous/robotic freaks of nature in the past decade (and maybe even the decade before that) has had some connection with the legendary filmmaker. Which is not to say that he's always been brilliant at the gory extra-terrestrial dramas. War of the Worlds was a positively dull (and incomprehensible) CGI-reeking mess, while Men In Black had a tad too many gooey/slimy/disgusting creatures for my liking. The fact remains, however, that Spielberg loves extra-terrestrials. Which is why it is not surprising that the man has a firm connection with the big movie with even bigger aliens, Transformers, as its executive producer. Of course, Michael Bay is the captain of the ship here, and though it was totally expected of him to continue with his tried-and-tested formula of making thrill-a-minute entertainers with no depth whatsoever, I thought Spielberg's involvement would have made some difference here. Well, I was wrong - Transformers is as mindlessly entertaining and frivolous as Hollywood could ever get. And hey, I'm not exactly complaining. It's alright if filmmakers go for the Star Wars/Spider-man effect for their blockbusters at times; we don't expect a Batman Begins every single time. And even if we did, we wouldn't really be granted our wish, would we?

The visual effects in Transformers are, to say the very least, stunning. The level of detail and sophistication, together with the scale and magnitude of the cinematography makes 300 look amateurish in comparison. One just wishes, however, that they'd slowed down the camera in some of the fight sequences - it's almost impossible to keep up with the lightning pace of the transformations and stunts. On the flip side, the plot of the movie is about as ridiculous as Roger Federer losing to Guillermo Canas twice in a row. I don't know about you, but the whole 'allspark-code-grandpa glasses' angle almost made me burst out with laughter. But the thing that really had me in splits was the line "I AM MEGATRON!!!" - not exactly the first words you'd expect to hear from a robo-alien that has been defrosted after a hundred years. Nevertheless, the flick was great entertainment - the over-the-top theatrics (especially the unfathomable attachment that the lead characters feel for the far-from-lovable robots), the melodramatic humour and the ultra-cool Megatron (aside from his ludicrous opening line) bring more than a few smiles to your face. You almost want to forgive the childish dialogue and lack of depth in the plot and characterizations. Transformers is immensely likable, and is one of those rare movies that you can watch any number of times without getting bored. So three cheers to frivolous cinema!

"Ba ba blu bley"

There are very few things that I never get tired of. One of them, of course, is Harry Potter. Possibly the only other is (and I hate how this makes me sound so childish) - Friends. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: here comes another Friends-infatuated teenager who can't see beyond the immature and slapstick humour of a cheesy, run-of-the-mill, mass-oriented comedy. But you're wrong, so very wrong. For one thing, I'm not a teenager (wow, it feels so great to say that!). For another, I defy anyone to watch a single episode of Friends and not go down in peals of laughter at the crazy antics of Monica, Chandler, Ross, Rachel, Phoebe and Joey. And yes, I never do get tired of watching the same old Friends episodes over and over again. Nor do most of my friends, if their constant insistence at borrowing my Friends DVDs (and their reluctance to return them, may I add) is anything to go by.

I got acquainted with the Friends phenomenon very late, I think around the time of the 8th season, somewhere around 2002. Prior to that, I just had some vague idea about a wildly popular TV show that starred a certain somebody called Jenifer Aniston, who, going by the frequent appearance of her name in the glamour section of newspapers, was in some way related to Brad Pitt. Heck, I didn't even know how Aniston looked, and for the first couple of episodes I kept confusing her with Courtney Cox. Fortunately, however, our dear old Star World and Zee Cafe never managed to air the latest seasons, so I watched the earlier seasons first and not the 8th season (which was the least funny of all the seasons, in my opinion, and would probably not have got me so completely hooked to the show). But once I got started, there was no looking back. The show was just so irresistibly funny! It may have been nothing more than loud, slapstick humour at times, but oh my God did I laugh while watching it! I don't think I've ever laughed so hard at a piece of fiction as I did during those countless 7.30 slumps on my couch (ok, maybe I did laugh harder while reading P.G. Wodehouse's Right-Ho Jeeves, but let's just confine 'fiction' to TV and movies for the moment, shall we?).

All the characters in the series were so well-etched out that you couldn't help but precisely understand all of their actions and reactions. When Joey bought a boat at an auction that he couldn't afford, you could understand why; when Phoebe decided to spy on her twin sister's stalker, you could empathise perfectly with her; when Ross put on a British accent in one of his classes for no rhyme or reason you had no problems in comprehending the innate rationale of it all. Of course, a major reason why the show was so amazing was the strength of its actors. I seriously doubt that as many as six actors with such fantastic comic timing as Matt LeBlanc, Courtney Cox, Jenifer Aniston, David Schwimmer, Matthew Perry and Lisa Kudrow will ever be assembled together, whether on the big screen or the small. It's no wonder the producers had such a hard time getting them together for the last few seasons.

We all have our favourite Friends characters. For me it has always been the ridiculously hilarious Phoebe, who together with Nina Vanhorn from Just Shoot Me and Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes is the funniest fictional character I've ever come across. No matter how many times I watch the episode where Ross plans to play the bagpipes on Chandler and Monica's wedding, I always laugh hysterically at Phoebe's line "Eeee Peee Teee" in response to Ross saying, "You guys know the song - sing along!". In terms of acting ability, however, David Schwimmer and Jenifer Aniston stand out as the most accomplished. I'll probably never forget Aniston's expression when she says "Oh my God" in response to Joey saying that one of his moves on a date was to get the champagne served by a fan. And Schwimmer jumping around with Rachel and Phoebe when he gets his new apartment was simply, wonderfully priceless. Chandler, Monica and Joey all had their terrific moments too; Chandler's expression when he says "I'm leaving you" to Monica when Monica and Ross kept gushing about a tacky gaming show nearly had me in tears. Joey and Monica were probably the least funny of the characters in my opinion. I know Joey is a favourite with most fans, but he was just too dumb for my liking - you'd be hard pressed to find a man who doggedly keeps spewing out "Ba ba blu bley" when asked to repeat a French line "Ju ma pel Claude" (at least that's what it sounded like) in real life. But his impersonation of Chandler at the costume party was unforgettable, as was Chandler's reaction to it.

There are so many lines, so many funny situations, so many priceless expressions throughout the series that one blog post would be WAY too short to narrate them, even if I restricted myself to only the very finest ones. I know I have spent countless hours discussing the countless side-splitting gags with my friends, and like I said before, I honestly never get tired of doing that. It's immeasurably sad that plans for a movie version of the show didn't materialize; that movie would have had a mind-boggling run at the box office. Friends may have been only about crude and vulgar tomfoolery at times, but you always ended up laughing your heart out at the irresistible hilarity that was at the bottom of it all . If sheer enjoyment was the only yardstick for measuring such things, then Friends would have to be the greatest TV show ever. But that's obvious. Or, as Monica would say, "I KNOW!"

A Monumental Moment

So it has come to an end. It seems hard to believe, even harder than laying hands on the book in the wee hours of the morning of the 21st of July, almost overwhelmed by excitement and happiness. The time has come to look ahead at a life in which we'll never again be enchanted by the magic of Potterverse; in other words, to look ahead at a depressingly unmagical life. How brilliant a writer would J K Rowling have to be to inspire such sadness amongst her fans just because she has ended a story, a ludicrously hard-to-believe, unrelatable fantasy? I took more than a day to read the book, withstanding numerous distractions, a truly awful digestive disorder and a splitting headache (all of which were entirely unrelated to the quality of the book), but never even for a moment during those 24 hours did I think I was being silly or childish in setting such great store by a mere book. It's almost immaterial whether the book is good or bad (for the record, I think it is the best book of the series); just the thought of never again experiencing the unadulterated joy of reading a new Harry Potter book is almost too dreadful to imagine. I know this may sound frightfully juvenile, but right now I'm very tempted to call J K Rowling the best writer ever. You can sneer all you want, but you'll find that much harder to do when half of the world's population backs me up on my statement.

So how satisfactory a conclusion to an epic journey is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows? I must confess that when I first heard that the book was going to be only as long as Half Blood Prince, I became extremely apprehensive, not to mention a little irritated at JKR for cowing down to the greedy demands of the publishers. How could she possibly explain everything in such few words? God knows we Potter fans had done enough research on the first 6 books to know that there were more than a few loose ends that demanded detailed and convincing explanations. It seemed ridiculous, almost impossible to believe that JKR could squeeze in clarifications about things like the mysterious Veil in the Department of Mysteries, the many interestingly weird delicate instruments in Dumbledore's office or why it was important that Lily Potter's wand was good for Charms when, in all fairness, it was incumbent for her to devote all space to Harry's epochal quest to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. After reading the book, however, I've realized that it doesn't matter in the slightest that Ms Rowling chose to leave a million things unexplained. What she gives us in place of tying up loose ends is so gripping, so fantastically enjoyable that you can only marvel at her incredible knack for not disappointing her fans in spite of their colossal expectations.

JKR had said before the release that many would loathe the bloodbath in the book, and at times it does seem like she killed off characters just because there were so few deaths in the previous books. We have people dying left, right and centre in this one, and almost all the characters are perpetually injured, but that is to be expected in the final instalment of a series. There are many fight sequences and a grand battle at the end, and though you do tend to think about how spectacular these will look in the movie, the less-than-satisfactory adaptations that have come up till now make you appreciate JKR's writing even more. Dumbledore is a dominating presence in the book in spite of being dead, and the bit about his questionable doings in his youth is one of many masterstrokes from JKR. He always was my favourite character, Dumbledore, but this book makes sure that he will be remembered as the most intriguing Potter character of all, usurping the position from Severus Snape, who's given a bit of a raw deal this time round after his stupendous role in Half Blood Prince. The book moves at a lightning pace throughout, and this is not surprising given the depth of material JKR had to cram in even without the insignificant explanations the lack of which so engaged Potter fans for the last two years. The book is, to use a very clichéd term, a thrill-a-minute page-turner, as were all the other Potter books, but this being the last one makes everything that much bigger and better. The climax is monumental and awe-inspiring, and the fact that JKR manages to explain every little blood-Horcrux-hallow complication so convincingly even with Harry and his companions in the heat of the battle, fighting for their lives, speaks volumes about her narrative skills, though it must be said that the re-opening of the Harry-Voldemort mind connection is a little too convenient and leaves a tiny plot hole. The epilogue, however, is a big let-down, filled with cheesy dialogue and cheesier circumstances, but I guess we can forgive Ms Rowling one minor blemish; heck, I could even forgive her a hundred blemishes, after all that she's given us.

I can go on and on about every little thing that was so wonderful about the book and the very few things that were not, but the bottom line remains that this is the end, the sad and surreal end. No more looking up fansites for new theories, no more arguing with friends whether Snape is good or evil, no more rapturous delight at every new revelation by JKR in one of her interviews. I'm sorry if I'm sounding too gloomy, but believe it or not, there are probably thousands of people around the world who are crying their eyes out right now because the series has ended. Most certainly, this is a monumental moment, a tragically monumental moment. One thing's for sure, however: no matter what subject JKR writes about in the future, or how trashy her writing becomes, every one of her future books will be an instant best-seller. And I, for one, will not be complaining; she's thoroughly earned every bit of her reputation. In the meantime, I suppose we'll have the Potter movies for another 3 years to keep our spirits up. Ouch.