My sport is cricket.

It is a widely established ,accepted and recognized fact that I, Farees ahmed, am a sad person- and I romanticize it. But that’s not the main theme today. This time I’m writing about happiness, my happiness and I think I’ll do a series of posts about the very few things that do make me genuinely happy. I’ll begin with cricket.

Cricket is a complicated sport. (Like what even is the slip?) It is however further complicated by my feelings for it. I can tell you that when A.B comes to bat and I get to my feet, I’m happy. And when he hits that six way into the crowd, I’m happy. Abraham Benjamin Devillers, the people’s champion, the world champion, the champion’s champion. But why is it that when he comes to bat everything disappears into the surroundings. Everything is a haze except that one man. Why is it that nothing exists anymore as if I’m on a drug I can’t get enough of?

And then we have Steyn, my personal favourite. The bowler with killer hair and lethal deliveries and heart warming celebrations. What is it about the way he screams that makes my angst evaporate. Or the way he jumps that makes my stress disappear? When he bungee jumps or sky dives or jumps into a waterfall why do I feel like I can relate to him?

But that’s not cricket is it? Those are cricketers. Two of my all time favs. Typical girl am I not? It’s always the guys not the sport. Let me say it LOUDLY for the people at the back, for the chauvinists, for the boys, for the people with sexism for brains, let me say it in bold: I. Love. Cricket.

If you think I will justify that for you – you are mistaken. Because love cannot be justified. It cannot be put into words. What do I tell you about the sound of bat to ball? About wicketkeepers screaming, or bowlers jumping, or batsmen raising their bats. What do I tell you about why I love sweaty men on hot summer days? How do I tell you? How can I explain why I cry when sanga bats? How can I explain you that the “chip” from the bat hurts me so much at times I am down on my knees half dead, half killed? I don’t have to and I won’t and I cannot.

This is my sport. It gets me through the day. And yes it fails me at times. Every March the 3rd I feel robbed and murdered. I feel as if my right to a life was stolen. I feel punished. I feel hurt. I feel alone. Everything Amir pops on the screen I feel dejected, hope lost on humanity and plain sad. But that isn’t my sport.

My sport is MSD holding up Faf Du Plessis’ leg. My sport is people playing to the sound of guns. My sport is people playing in curfews. My sport is Sanga’s speech. My sport is Aleena, who supports my team and my sport is Zinara who supports my country. Yes those are two very different things. My sport is Rax who I know only becasue of our shared love of cricket. My friend I can’t live without. My sports is love. My sports is happiness.

My sport is cricket.



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