Envy

Had I been born with as much talent and control as Warne I'd have bowled leg-breaks all day till I dropped dead. Right now that's what I feel like doing. Bowl. Bowl for hours under the Sun.

I would have made the batsman think that the ball is a juicy full-toss, flighted just above his eyes. He'd wait for it and then realise that he had misjudged the flight it's a yorker. Then he'd be deceived to think that it's a tempting over-pitched one and would lift his bat that extra few inches, preparing himself for that lusty drive. Then he'd realise that he had been deceived by flight a lot more than he had thought, and would have the dreaded realisation that it's actually a length ball and he's not as forward as he should've been. Then the ball would swerve at the last moment towards his left, and take a sharp ominous turn, beating the bat. Since he had not reached out completely, he'd lose his balance trying to reach out where the ball had pitched, and stumble...


... and after that telltale Howzzat he won't turn back to see what had happened. It's an inexplicable orgasmic feeling for a leg-spinner.


I wish I could do this on a consistent basis. I'd have bowled till I dropped. I'd have bowled like I was the last living creature on this planet. I'd have bowled on and on, braving the Kolkata heat, trying to invent unheard-of deliveries, dismissing invisible non-existent batsmen all day. And I wouldn't have needed a single living creature in the world for survival that way.


I envy you, mate, for making me drool whenever I watch you in action.