Foot-brawl
Time and Conditions: 6th of July, 2010. 6:01:23 a.m. It was the time when the Fifa World Cup 2010 was going on. The goals, fouls, corners, fixtures, saves, fights, sorrows and all the other sentiments were at everyone’s lips waiting for a long-suffering ear that could take in all that crap which never came. So they shared it among each other giving everybody a fascinating example of ‘Harmony in Unity’ or better call it ‘Self-satisafction in some crazy cravers’. I was not among one of them. But I loved the game.
Origins: A survey puts out that it is an international fact that children in India generally grope at the game which is going on in a worldwide basis… and hence football in this parable.
Location: 26°7202′N to 26°8654′N and 88°4246′E to 88°4987′E. A semi-developed mixture of town and city in the eastern part of India spelled Siliguri and mis-spelled Shiliguri. It is 48.5% rural, 26.5% residential, 10% agricultural, and 15% others.
Temperature: 23°C. Not hot enough to drench someone in sweat and make him stink.
Rainfall: Light rainfall with occassional intervals.
Humidity: N.A.
Atmospheric pressure: N.A.
The story: I woke up. The telephone had rung for a second and stopped… wire complications! I picked the phone. It was Aditya. “Hello.” I hated being woken up but the thought of football kicked all my hatred into the goal! “Why were you not answering the mobile?” Aditya asked. “Wire conundrums,” I simply answered. “Wire what?” he asked confused. “Conundrums,” I repeated. “Man you are being woken up on a Sunday at six! You are not there on a stage giving the details of the annual budget!” he said. “Yeah… by the way, you have called in my landline,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. Are you coming or not?” he asked. “Of course I am coming. What is the time?” I asked. “Six, I told you-” he began. “Six! And you couldn’t call me earlier! I am coming in two minutes. Hang on!” I cried. I dashed out of my room, washed my eyes and ran upstairs to say my mother a quick bye. She was in her room. “Mummy, I am going!” I said from outside. “When did you get up?” asked my mother. Her voice was faint. “At five-thirty, mummy, as usual,” I answered. “Have you been to the washroom?” “Yup.” “Brushed?” “Check.” “Washed?” “Check” “Hair?” “Combed. Check.” “You may go.”
The ball (certainly not jabulani): It is my ball… made of concrete… flooded with water… ‘A foot-breaker’
Back to the story: The ball lay in the middle. Thirteen players were on the right and on the left were fourteen. No referee. The captains had their toss.
The toss: ‘Degrassatation’, if there is such a word, took place. One of the captains pulled out a sheath of grass, crumpled it in his palm and kept the hand over the shoulder of the other captain. He opened the palm and let the grass fall. Then he folded his palm and brought it in front of the other captain. Someone whispered a faint “Outs,” to the other captain. “Outs,” he said and so he won the ‘grass toss’ undetected.
The aim: The team who would score fifteen goals first would win the match. Conditions apply.
Conditions: Play would be suspended if there was violence in the field. The game would end if the players would start falling in exhaustion. The game would end if the number of goals would not be reached in the time limit.
The time limit: One hundred and fifty minutes.
The story again: The ball was passed once at the kick-off and that was the best pass of the game. After that, the ball went straight into the hands… oops… legs of the striker of the other team and he went forward with it. The ball was sent into a pool of water by the defender. Three burly, fat, heavily built, brawny, hefty, robust, sturdy and stocky players named Rohit, Ramesh and ‘Motu’ came forward in a bulls attack from three different directions. I hated loud noises- especially those mirchi bomb, aloo bomb and what gajar muli bomb they burst in Diwali- and so I pressed my ears by my hands. Aditya, who was opposing me, also covered his ears… a good precaution against noise pollution. The winner among the three stood in the waters gloriously… but it was not a human being but a ball. The concrete ball had defeated the ‘Clash of the Titans’, time for some celebrations. I looked proudly at my ball and teased the three Titans in my mind… of course… I am not off my rocker to shout aloud the teasers. Neither was there any rule that play would end if there was an urgency of hospitalizing any of the players. A fourth player came and kicked the ball hard. He fell down and the ball did not move more than a few inches. His name was Pappu. He clutched his foot and cried, “Oh God! Someone help me! Curse the ball.” I quickly took the ball and took it slowly towards the goal. Once there, I passed it to a certain Sahil bhaiya behind me. He hated being called bhaiya and abused me for calling him one. I didn’t mind it. He kicked the ball but the keeper stopped it. I kicked the ball when it was safely in the keeper’s hand. The ball slid from his hands and went into the goal.
There was a big uproar for which I was unprepared. Instead of keeping the ball at the center, the keeper kicked the ball from his place. The play began. Pappu wanted to take the ball but fell down into the dirt in the process. There was a certain Punjabi who was known as Pappi. He scored for the other team. There was also a frail and fragile looking boy called Mayank who was in my team. When the ball was kicked to me by the keeper, I tackled Aditya and then Pappu, who fell with a thud into the mud. I passed the ball to Mayank and he crashed into the strong Pappi. I couldn’t see what happened properly but what I saw gave me a shock. Mayank was apologising to a wailing Pappi. Sahil had the ball then. “Sahil bhaiya, pass the ball to me,” I said. “Why do you call me that?” he asked stopping the ball with him. Meanwhile, the opposing defender took the ball from him and went forward. He shot at the goal. The ball hit the defender’s leg which only increased the velocity of motion of the ball and brought no change in direction and according to Newton’s first law of motion, it finally led to their second goal… no, sorry, it was our first own goal. Note the word first, for the same defender scored two more times but in our own goalpost… The best player of our team! “Hat-trick!” I cried to him. Once, our keeper went forward to stop the opposing striker who kicked at the same moment. The ball was stopped by the hands of our great defender who shouted to my captain, “I have conceded only three goals! This is yet not a goal.” But soon it became.
I scored again. This time I did it myself and without the help of Sahil bhaiya… I would never learn! In the process, six kingly legs passed by the ball unsuccessful in moving the ball away from my legs. Pappu fell down into the dirt. One of their strikers became very angry and began pushing me. But I kept my balance and kept dribbling with the ball. “You are pushing everybody! You don’t know how to play! Take this and this and this,” he shouted and put in all his effort. But I was not to be deterred. I shot the ball which went in.
Half-time: The score was 7-5. We were leading by two goals. The time was 7:45. I was very tired. My bones were aching. Most of the energy had been spent. I thought I would have to sleep another night after the match. Our captain was speaking, “We have played well and will continue in this way.” He turned to the defender and said, “You will play forward now.” There came a gleam of happiness in his eyes. The ball had taken in even more water and was now water-packed. Yet, the game was to be completed. Aditya was lying on the grass. “They say they are going to play until nine! What should I do? I am already half-dead!” he said to me. “Relax, boy. Nothing much can happen to you except that you can die by the time the time is up,” I replied.
The other half: It began with the fall of Pappu. The Punjabi scored again. I was with the ball near their goalpost. “Take it!” I cried to Sahil. “Sahil bhaiya,” somebody said. “Don’t call me that!” he cried and let the others take the ball. “Aditya said it! I didn’t!” I cried to him. The ball went into a thorny bush and the players ran for it. Both the playuers came out sucking their bare feet and crying in pain. By 8:30 five players were down, due to ‘Painstakingly bringing ball from prickly, barbed, spiky, sharp, bristly, spiny bushes’. Once, the ball went out of the field. A heavenly old man walking along the pavement tried to help us… he thought of his childhood days… football… dirt… fun and then he kicked it. But after he kicked the ball he was no more heavenly. All the ‘on-their-feet’ twenty-two players had to suspend match and go apologising after the limping man who finally took a taxi home… or hospital! I lay down in the grass too tired to open my eyes. Even the ‘red bull’ couldn’t save me now. I was very tired. At last, it was nine. The score was 7-7. I thanked all the deities. Though they had not been of much help, it is always very enjoyable to thank them because when others see you doing it, they admire you. Then rang my death alarm- “Penalty shootouts!”
Penalties: I missed the first. I felt bad… bery bad but I was too tired to feel much bad about it. They scored. We scored. They missed. It became equal and I relaxed! We scored again and they missed. But then we missed and they scored. Equal again. Sahil scored for us. He claimed to be the keeper. All the Godly powers were put to test but everyone failed in front of bhaiya. He was so determined that, if he wished, he could say that he would take all the shoots, or have fresh penalties, or have a fresh game!He saved the goal. Pappi, Pappu, ‘Motu’, Ramesh, Rohit and ten other players climbed onto Sahil who crumpled under the weight exceeding five hundred kilos… if only I would have known the atmospheric pressure, adding it to the pressure exerted by 670 kilos would tell me what pressure bhaiya was bearing. I thanked God that I hadn’t scored.
I felt very happy that it was over and I retreated very fast. My body was aching yet I moved quickly to avoid them. But when I was halfway through the ground, they called me back… I prayed to God… I implored to him but nothing worked… they said to me, “Let us have a fame of rugby.”
Moral of the story: Don’t mix with street-brawlers and don’t even think of playing rugby with them…
Reason behind the moral: After the game of rugby which lasted for two hours and in which Pappu fell twenty-nine times, I had to be hospitalized for three months because my backbone had broken and I suffered bedrest for six months.
