Leander, the Great Gladiator

If there is ever a man who can be christened ‘great’ from an Indian sporting context, it should be him: Leander Adrian Paes. The longevity at the top is just a case in point. This is his 26th year at Wimbledon. Soon, he will be competing in his 7th Olympic Games at Rio. And he is the only player after the legendary Rod Laver to win Wimbledon titles in 3 different decades. Phew! 

When he started out in 1991, there were many chinks in his armour. His serve was as fast as a geriatric taking a walk in the park; the strokes were wrought with flaws. But he had something in abundance: determination and the will to improve by leaps and bounds. And you saw it first at the Atlanta Olympics in 1996. He had become incredibly fast, with volleys that struck like lightning. His eyes glowed with determination and playing for the country (always) brought out the adrenaline-infused, manic gladiator in him. Leander won a bronze at Atlanta – an individual Olympic medal for India after 44 years! 

Today, he has so many Grand Slam titles under his belt. But for a goose-bumpy ride as a spectator, you need to see him play the Davis Cup for India. He transforms into a Superhuman, playing like a man possessed with fire on his feet, ever ready to light up and release the pressure-cooker-like atmosphere around him. May your tribe live on, Leander!

Can Roger do it once again?

Roger Federer’s grass court play is gloriously precise – just like the Wimbledon grass that gets an 8 mm trim every day. In the last few years however, his creaking body has been showing signs of fatigue. It’s painful to watch genius slowly capitulate before our eyes, much akin to a great painter falter with his brush-strokes. That he is the last remaining patron of that incredibly lithe and artistic ritual – the serve and volley – is perhaps, the reason why the lawns need him more than anyone else. At a Wimbledon press conference yesterday, when asked about his injured back, Federer said: ‘My back is better. It’s won me 88 titles for all its worth!’ So, was it coincidence that London’s teary skies opened up after that? 

Maybe. 

So, here’s what I would say to the naysayers. Before you write his epitaph, lend your ears to that man on the microphone, who in his clipped British accent says: Quiet please, thank you!

Kapil Dev - Talent Incomparable

When the 5th wicket fell in the 80s, be it in Tests or One-Day matches, India never lost hope. The atmosphere in the stadium didn’t descend into a pall of gloom. Instead, the collective anticipation of the nation was suffused in pride and joy. Because, one of the finest all-rounders of the game was yet to wield his mace. Yes, in his hands, the bat turned into one quite often. Kapil Dev Nikhanj – is arguably, the most talented cricketer India has produced. He was India’s first (and perhaps, the best) genuine fast bowler. His smooth run-up and side-on action had such fine rhythm that could leave a Mercedes engineer wide-eyed in awe. He was no Kohli, who intimidates the opposition with tattoos and fiery eyes. Kapil stood in the middle with his toothy-smile, his body-language resembling a lumberjack ready to pulverize the opposition. His look just said: Are you man enough to take me on? It was under his marshaling that India tasted victory in the world stage for the first time. When Kapil lifted the Prudential World Cup on June 25, 1983, the nation shook away its garb of self-doubt. And adorned a new avatar of trust and belief. That picture of him, smiling with the cup in the Lord’s balcony, was flashed across newspapers the next day. It was the day when our country took to his genius, like moths to a flame.

STEFFI, THE COMPLETE CHAMPION

7 Wimbledon titles. 6 French Open titles. 5 US Open titles. 4 Australian Open titles. And a Golden Slam in 1988. Stefanie Maria Graf won them all. Martina was a champ on fast courts. Chris Evert was the queen of the slower courts. Steffi reigned both surfaces like no one else did. The Louvre or Tate may not display her work. But her work nonetheless was nothing short of art. The alacrity of the feet, a refrigerator-cold stare, an ethereal mix of grace and brutality from the baseline, the bewitching charm of that backhand slice – yes, she was born to slay. Her most potent weapon though, careened out of her racquet like an enigma wrapped in a mystery. The opponent, on most occasions, couldn’t decipher how it was prepared, constructed and executed. The yellow ball often resembled a searing bullet. And the stroke in question: the big, powerful forehand – nicknamed the Fraulein Forehand. With so much going for Steffi, she decided to call it quits when she was 30, in 1999. That year she won the French and reached the Wimbledon final. And took a final bow with that glorious 5-word cry that befits a champion of her calibre: I-can-still-do-it!

  

The High Art of Spin

The spinner on the cricket field appeals to your head and heart. He is a purveyor of beauty who can leave you in a state of dizzy with his hallucinating turns. He also wears the hat of a chess grandmaster - with a brain that’s ticking away with numerous possibilities that feed on an arsenal of tricks up his spinning sleeve. Fast bowlers run in to maim the batsman; spinners amble in to fox the poor sod. Fast bowlers swing, cut and move the ball; spinners drift, dart and flight it. Fast bowlers can make the batsman shiver; spinners can do much more – they make the batsman look incredibly silly in front of thousands of spectators. For proof, look up the Mike Gatting dismissal by Shane Warne in 1993. That genius delivery is simply referred to as the ‘ball of the century’. A spinner is an aesthete’s best friend, a classicist’s delight and an artist’s muse. It’s a craft that touches a few, but astounds the entire cricketing universe.

BETWEEN RED SHALE AND GREEN GRASS

It’s that time of the year when tennis pros transcend. Now is the time when the stalwarts of tennis knock off the shoes that kissed the red clay for ones that can embrace green grass. Players will willingly put behind the carefully constructed long rallies of the French Open, which resembled a marathon. At Wimbledon, these rallies would be fast and abbreviated; it’s time to run the shorter sprints. At the French Open, the main court was Philippe Chatrier. And at Wimbledon, the British stiff upper lip is firmly in place even in the way the main court is christened. It’s simply called the Centre Court. That’s where the champions genuflect. It’s tennis’s Holy Land. In a few days, about 30,000 kilograms of strawberries would be consumed, the sky would turn grey and the fans would go hush. As the umpire calls play and the player tosses the ball up for a serve punctuating that deathly silence, history will be born. Once again.

Sultan of Swing

The finest left-hand fast bowler in the world has walked the earth for 50 years, as of today. And when he started running in to bowl in the mid-80s, the cricketing world was awe-struck by his genius. A shade more than 900 wickets in Tests and One-Days, as overwhelming as it may sound, is just a numerical reference. Brilliance cannot be so starkly written down, wonder can’t be reduced to sheer numbers. A Wasim Akram delivery is pure aesthetics in motion. In that giant theatre called world cricket, he carefully constructed the plot to out-think the batsmen – through swing, speed, stealth, cunning and control. If Sarfraz discovered the knack of swinging the old ball, Imran polished the skill further and Wasim mastered the art like none. He made the ball talk in cryptic tongues. And when he felt like it, he could even make it sing – by moving the ball both ways in one delivery. Here’s wishing you a very happy birthday, Wasim!