The World Cup is finally over.. For me it is the end of my night shifts (I'm still trying to figure out if that is a good thing) But if I were to pick out one particular moment that left its impact on me in some way... I would have to call on the Zidane-Materazzi incident. I still remember how I felt that morning when it all unfolded.. We had run a special show at 3:00 in the morning... and the adrenaline and excitement kind of fuelled it.. I felt that I was in some way so close to that event... happening miles away..
Zidane's greatness tarnished by this single act.. Materazzi's unsportsmanlike behaviour (or can we pen it that way really).. When I saw the first replays, I was shocked, angry and upset even... And I immediately shifted loyalties.. How could Zidane have been so foolish and stupid to have thrown away his team.. his country..?? And I bet it was more than that for a player who had worked his way out of all discriminations to become the captain of a country.. to represent one of the best teams in the world.. and then lose it all, playing in the last match of his entire career.. illustrious career! And it comes down to that now doesn't it.. A black mark.. rather a 'red' mark on his football career...
Zidane was never an ordinary guy.. Zizou was the god.. an idol that millions adored...
Then the postmortem began.. And suddenly.. My hatred evaporated and redirected itself... Materazzi took centre stage..
Sledging is an age-old game in itself! I do not know where that phrase was truly born. But If anyone asked me to close my eyes and uttered the word -'Sledging'... Images of Bodyline cricket would appear... Cricket has had its share of the jeers.. The Englishmen probably gave birth to one form of it against the Australians, particularly Don Bradman.. But it is probably the Australians themselves who have perfected it..
Sledging is a sport in football as well.. And Italians have had their tryst with it.. for long now.. Popularly cally 'Furbo' meaning cunning and savvy.. the Italians have found many ways of winning.. I can't help but smirk at this sad reality.. Many would berate this point. But whatever happened to playing fair?
And if only Zidane had kept his head on his shoulders before directing it towards Materazzi's chest.... there would have possibly been another team celebrating.. another country rejoicing.. another captain holding the Jules Rimet in his hands.... Zizou... It could have been you.....
14 Jul 2006
3 Jul 2006
The first times...
There is always a first time. Always. Like when I decided to start this blog. Like when I decided to personalize it. When I decided to do journalism. When I decided to be the best. When I decided to take this road. When I decided to taste beer.. and decided that I hated it. When I decided to wear a skirt.. And actually liked it. When I decided to get into sports. When I decided to be a leader.
There were a lot of firsts that I experienced. Of being a daughter. Of being daddy's little girl. Of being the first child. Of being awarded my first star. Of being a woman. Of being complimented. Of being courted. Of being loved. Of being admired. Of being away from home.. Of being away from family..
There were a lot of firsts that I indulged in. My first walk in the rain. My first crush. My first trip to a beach at 2 in the morning. My first gift to a dear one. My first report. My first essay. My first birthday party.. and I decided I did not like birthday parties for some reason. My first dinner with family outside. My first conversation about the guys in my life. My first letter.
And I have learned. A lot from my firsts.
I do not know how to explain this feeling of experiencing and doing things for the first time. I feel weird in a sense and a little tentative. And then... It goes away... And becomes a part of this whole bunch of memories hidden in some neurons of my big head.. and chooses a place and gets stuck there.. until I feel the same thing or do the same thing.. again.. Then that memory frees iself and come out to hit me again.. And I do not feel the same way I did the first time. This becomes a little familiar..
There are some memories I like.. And some I don't. There have been times, when I wished for that memory never to have been born, because I know I didn't feel right when that first hit me. And I abstain myself from doing or experiencing things that had brought out that emotion..
There is this conscious effort that I take... I do not know if I am stopping some things that are natural.. Or that are meant to be experienced.. But nevertheless, I continue to avoid it.
And I learn... And I have in a sense evolved... But I don't like change. I don't like altering something.. Or maybe I do not like discovering things about me that I never knew probably existed before... Maybe, like my friend said.. That part of me was always there.. And it emerged when that memory was born.. And another facet of mine emerged when I tried to either stash away.. or rekindle it...
I am me... I am what I have been... Or maybe I have been changing...
There were a lot of firsts that I experienced. Of being a daughter. Of being daddy's little girl. Of being the first child. Of being awarded my first star. Of being a woman. Of being complimented. Of being courted. Of being loved. Of being admired. Of being away from home.. Of being away from family..
There were a lot of firsts that I indulged in. My first walk in the rain. My first crush. My first trip to a beach at 2 in the morning. My first gift to a dear one. My first report. My first essay. My first birthday party.. and I decided I did not like birthday parties for some reason. My first dinner with family outside. My first conversation about the guys in my life. My first letter.
And I have learned. A lot from my firsts.
I do not know how to explain this feeling of experiencing and doing things for the first time. I feel weird in a sense and a little tentative. And then... It goes away... And becomes a part of this whole bunch of memories hidden in some neurons of my big head.. and chooses a place and gets stuck there.. until I feel the same thing or do the same thing.. again.. Then that memory frees iself and come out to hit me again.. And I do not feel the same way I did the first time. This becomes a little familiar..
There are some memories I like.. And some I don't. There have been times, when I wished for that memory never to have been born, because I know I didn't feel right when that first hit me. And I abstain myself from doing or experiencing things that had brought out that emotion..
There is this conscious effort that I take... I do not know if I am stopping some things that are natural.. Or that are meant to be experienced.. But nevertheless, I continue to avoid it.
And I learn... And I have in a sense evolved... But I don't like change. I don't like altering something.. Or maybe I do not like discovering things about me that I never knew probably existed before... Maybe, like my friend said.. That part of me was always there.. And it emerged when that memory was born.. And another facet of mine emerged when I tried to either stash away.. or rekindle it...
I am me... I am what I have been... Or maybe I have been changing...
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