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Here is an article linking cricket with nostalgia I thought I should share;
Why does nostalgia for cricket not run deep
By
Manu Joseph
Feb 16, 2015 01:50 PM IST
Who we are is the first generation of Indians whose parents heeded the nation’s call for family planning, the generation with a mob of uncles and aunts but just one sibling. We were born in hospitals, in cities, extracted by male doctors.
Who we are is the first generation of Indians whose parents heeded the nation’s call for family planning, the generation with a mob of uncles and aunts but just one sibling. We were born in hospitals, in cities, extracted by male doctors.
We know who Balwinder Singh Sandhu is, and remember him with bowed reverence for a single moment in the vast history of cricket. And, Javed Miandad is the name of a wound. If you want to know why, my friend, you must read more about national calamities. Many years later, his sad final walk to the pavilion would seem like justice.
We are the urban middle-class generation that made cricket the national sport of India,, and do not wish to apologise. Why we did not take to hockey has many tired explanations, but the one not many would have heard of is that hockey was doomed by the size of the hockey ball. Too small for a fast team sport, too small to be enjoyed in the stadium or on television. You are thinking ‘but a cricket ball is the same size’.
Some people would argue cricket is not a team sport and that at any given moment, its field of play is much smaller than hockey’s. Hence, the size of the ball does not affect cricket as much as it does hockey. The more respectable view, which means sociologists and other very serious people consider it the truth, is that just when Indian hockey’s golden age looked surely over, Indira Gandhi brought colour television to India to transmit New Delhi’s impressive ’82 Asian Games, and as television sales grew, in ’83 India unexpectedly won the cricket World Cup.
Our childhood coincided with the rise of Indian cricket. And children are patriots. There was self-loathing, too, which is often a consequence of juveniles seeking national pride and finding none. So we laughed when we learned what Imran Khan was believed to have said about Madan Lal, “He runs faster than his ball.”
As our lives were largely empty, we spent hundreds of long days watching cricket and nothing much on the cricket field escaped us: the posterior of Roger Binny, for instance, an image with no special meaning but an integral part of our cricket memory. And, we longed for a left-handed Indian batsman because we had none.
As the years rolled by, the fever only increased. Even during the years when world cricket was in the shadow of Steve Waugh’s Australia, when we were at the peak of our youth and the world was exploding with possibilities, cricket could bring us great joy and deep sorrow.
Years later, in 2013, I avenged some of that old sorrow when I was invited to speak at a comedy club in Sydney. Australia had just lost the Ashes 0-3, and I told my audience: “I am glad to be in Australia, once a cricket-playing nation”.
By then, I did not qualify as a cricket fan anymore. I had moved on, like many others of my generation who were once fierce lovers of the game, who were the very heart of the sport. Somewhere, somehow cricket had lost us. It was not disenchantment. It was nothing so emotional or powerful. At least that would have been honorable. We just lost interest.
