Day: March 5, 2012

RIP Runako Morton

Over the last two weeks, I have lost one friend and one mentor, who left this world way too young. So, I have been forced to think about death a bit more than I would have liked to. Now, with the news of Runako Morton’s untimely demise, it is confirmed: it is open season for angels and demons.

I have not really followed Morton’s career closely; so I cannot offer an objective analysis of his game. The only thing I do remember about him was his match winning 90 against Australia in the 2006 Champions Trophy. Nobody expected Australia to be challenged by the lowly West Indian side, but Morton ensured an unlikely victory and triggered expectations of a great in the making. Sadly, he never attained those heights.

Apparently, he had a troubled background and it showed in his numerous disciplinary problems in a brief career. Still, the man stuck at it and made a modestly successful career of it in First Class cricket. Going by the reactions of the West Indian cricket fraternity, he was well liked by his fraternity too. There is also a level of poignancy, that his death occurred as he was returning from a cricket match.

Tragedies like these always remind us to keep things in perspective. At a time, when fans are getting more and more demanding of the players and sporting bodies, it is wise to take a step back and reflect. These players have a short shelf life in which they are obligated to play well, entertain us and always be gracious to fans. We tend to forget that they are human too; capable of making the same mistakes and failing at certain areas, as the rest of us are prone to. So, let us be thankful to the thousands of nameless players, cutting across sports, gender, nationality and background; who make our pastime and their profession, that much more interesting, with their warts and all.

Rest in Peace, Runako.

Thoughts from the Dustbin

The man wandered alone through the open field that was the triangular ODI series. He was lost and tired; his feet bled from the wounds of many days without rest. His throat was paper dry with thirst and cursing at channel 9 commentary, his eyes were bloodshot from being open so long.

As he passed the Indian team, prostrate upon the grass and wet with sorrow, clutching stuffed kangaroos and plane tickets, he looked into the distance and thought he could see a glimmer there. Could it possibly be the end of the series? No, he thought, it must be a mirage. He would not allow his hopes to be risen only to then be smashed, as fragile as eggshells, upon the hard, cold ground.

He would continue to walk and watch, aimlessly hoping for salvation. To waste the time, he would ponder the people he had met and the…

View original post 232 more words