India's Parade to Victory

Queen Victoria's Memorial

    Rob Walter sounded like a 20-year-old after his first big night of Tequila shots when he blearily noted there was a ‘one-percent chance’ he would be watching the final and ‘…to even more brutally honest, I don’t care who wins.’ 

    There are a few of us who might recall saying ‘I’m never drinking again’ before gingerly sipping a beer several days later. His sentiments after the semi-final were a close approximation of those felt here, writing this from a comically small room in a Mumbai Airport Hotel.

    Coverage of the final shall be conducted between the television in my caravan room (if anyone can get it working) and a nearby coffee-shop, which will undoubtedly have its television tuned to the appropriate channel. As will most establishments throughout the country.

    Walter was good enough to wish India well and say that it would be ‘appropriate if they won it on home soil’ and that ‘they have been the best team in the tournament’, which is heartily endorsed here.

    As much as the World Cup has felt like an officially sanctoned procession to glory for the home side, with as many unapologetically favourable tweaks to playing conditions and logistics as possible, the players still had to perform and they have been magnificent. They really do deserve to win. (And it would be helpful for the rest of the cricket-playing world if they do.)

    The only astonishing aspect of a favourable itinerary and late switches to potentially convenient pitches is that some people were astonished, or pretended to be. Conspicuous moral outrage is awkward, especially when it comes from ‘Western’ nations. The Pakistan team were treated with shocking disdain by the hosts throughout their campaign yet stoically, and wisely, made no complaint.

    The ‘hosts’ are the ICC. But as one of their hard-working and beleaguered officials admitted many weeks ago, off-the-record: “It’s in name and revenue-share only…this is the BCCI’s tournament. We label it for television.”

    The ICC have officials in place to ensure fairness, an even crack-of-the-whip for all teams. But then what’s the point, from a cricketing perspective, of any host nation bidding? South Africa’s tourism sector might be boosted in four years time but does anyone truly believe that they won’t be playing their most dangerous, or vulnerable opponents on fast, bouncy wickets at the Wanderers and Centurion? Assuming they still have the appropriate attack in four years time.

    The final morning in Kolkata was spent at the Victoria Memorial at the suggestion of Max, another of my dearly appreciated paid subscribers. A first-timer in India, Max (next to me) made the mistake of bringing only a 500-Rupee note for coffee. It may be the equivalent of £5 for London-dwelling Max, but no chai or coffee-vendor ever has sufficient change to break such a vast sum. Fortunately, I had a pocket of small stuff and we were able to gasp, in equal measure, on the sugar content and bizarreness of this Colonial splendour.

    Not only was Queen Victoria’s visage glorified (looking down upon her subjects), but her son, Edward VII, on horseback, and various Governors-General had their statues maintained in pristine condition. On the very gates of the enclave there were many thousands of the city’s seven-million street dwellers washing in pump-water and obluting on the pavement. No judgement or comment. It is India, land of the contradiction, mystery and magic. And frustration. And wealth.

    There may be only 72-hours remaining on this tour, but the editorial board at MoC have prescribed much to come before I depart.