“Hello Ma’am, how are you?” Herschelle Gibbs said, as he took a seat next to me in the press box of SuperSport Park in Centurion.
I am sure I stared at him for at least a minute before realizing I was being rude. I then gathered my composure and tried to carry on with my live-tweeting of the first Momentum ODI between South Africa and Australia ODI.
I maintained a calm exposure, but there was an internal moral conversation I was having with myself. Aishwarya, the journalist, said: Let him be, he won’t want to be disturbed. But Aishwarya, the cricket enthusiast, wondered: Do I go ahead and introduce myself?
I finally decided I had nothing to lose and blurted out that I grew up watching him play and I never thought I’d sit next to him one day.
“Oh you’re from Chennai! It’s a hot city,” he said, smiling at me. “I am going to sit next to my new Indian friend,” he announced.
I must tell you this: I very rarely react like this when I meet cricketers. I’ve always believed that the most popular cricketers are human beings, who wake up every morning and see the same sun as I do. But Gibbs holds a special place in my journey as a cricket journalist – the first ever cricket series I watched with keenness was that of India-South Africa in 2002. And Gibbs was at his formidable best, diving and making impossible catches from the slips. Though I was rooting for India back then, it was sad to see him retire hurt after the magnificent 116 against India in Colombo.
He was one of the reasons I started loving fielding so much. After Jonty Rhodes, it was Herschelle Gibbs for me. And now he was sitting right next to me.
After I got used to him and other cricketing greats like Kepler Wessels and Shaun Pollock hanging out in the press box, I looked around at SuperSport Park, my first time covering cricket in South Africa, and realized how different it was when compared to India.
There were no long queues outside the stadium, no intense arguments about who was the best cricketer in the world and no shoving and pushing. There is a laid-back and almost calm approach to rooting for the South African cricket team here, and that came as a pleasant surprise. That doesn’t mean the fans weren’t passionate, but it was more “I love my team, but I find no need to prove it,” kind of passion.
They pitched tents in the grass lawn, they brought their biggest umbrellas, they positioned their easy chairs in the most appealing spots around the stadium, especially where they’d get to see cover drives and midwicket sixes. It almost felt like I was watching the Chicago Cubs, Chicago’s baseball team, play in their home ground in Wrigleyville: There was beer, huge flags, pita pockets and sodas. The only thing missing was the infamous Chicago hotdogs and peanuts.
India should take some tips from stadiums in South Africa. The grass lawn in particular is my new obsession. I’d love to prop open my chair and enjoy a game of cricket in M. Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bangalore or Chepauk in Chennai.
On the other hand, I found the makeshift swimming pool and the spa tents a bit much, but I am a purist who watches every ball of a match, so what do I know?
“When will our team play T20s, dad,” asked a kid to his father, tugging at his T-shirt. “Oh, but the ODIs are much better. Watch!” replied the father.
Wasn’t that how every father tried to get their kids excited about cricket? By bringing them to games and pointing to their favorite bowler delivering the perfect yorker?
At the end of the day, cricket is the same everywhere – a religion, a passion, a way of life – the way people showcase their passion might differ, but it is a passion all the same.
*Aishwarya Kumar is a on a three-month internship at The Star
The Star