Click on the BBC video below and watch it WITH THE SOUND TURNED OFF. Then imagine that you are an anthropologist being sent to observe a strange custom/ritual. How would your notes read?

Leander Paes’ triumph at the French Open was cause for great celebration, especially for me and others members of the Association of Rabid Fans of Doubles Tennis. We threw a party last night and really had a good time, all three of us.

Paes and his partner, Lukas Dlouhy of the Czech Republic, won the men’s doubles title, beating Wesley Moodie of South Africa and Belgium’s Dick Norman 3-6, 6-3, 6-2. (Ignore the first set. Paes was preoccupied, exchanging glances with Martina Navratilova.)

Paes now has nine Grand Slam doubles titles (five men’s and four mixed), just two behind his former partner Mahesh Bhupathi (four men’s, seven mixed). Bhupathi  has won titles with seven different women, including most recently Sania Mirza at the Australian Open. He’s truly amazing. It doesn’t matter whom you pair him with — Mary Pierce, Martina Hingis, Venus Flytrap — he’ll probably win a title.

Paes and Bhupathi won three Grand Slam titles together, the last in 2001, before having some sort of falling out, much to the chagrin of Indian tennis fans. They did get back together for last year’s Olympics, somewhat reluctantly, and lost in the quarters to Stanislas Wawrinka and some guy named Roger.

This is sick. Out of the 41 semifinalists left standing today, 15 of the are Indian Americans. The Kenyans have running. The Cubans, baseball. The Chinese, ping-pong. Indian Americans own spelling.

It was a moment to savor. Of the record 293 participants at 82nd Scripps National Spelling Bee, only 41 moved on to the nationally televised semifinals that start Thursday morning (10 a.m. ET, ESPN)…

Expected to be in that final group are several returning favorites. Fourteen-year-old Keiko Bridwell of Duncan, S.C., back for the fourth time after tying for 17th last year, had no problem with “swivel” and “mahout” (one who keeps or drives elephants) in her oral rounds and breezed into the semifinals.

Is it easier now because she’s a veteran?

“More pressure,” Keiko said. “Everybody wants me to do better.”… [Link]

When ESPN calls you the Spelling Bee favorite it is just like putting an NFL player on the cover of a Madden game. You are probably cursed. Therefore, based on my own intensive scouting I offer up the following thoughts for those people who have bookies in Vegas and want to bet on these young horses. Word of advice: always bet on brown.

The first one I want you to keep an eye on is Vaibhav S. Vavilala from Indiana. Double V as he is known on the circuit is a 4 time competitor. Experience helps, but it can also prove to be a mental block because you can better visualize past failure.

Click for full profile

The next contestant I want you to watch for is Kavya “The Destroyer” Shivashankar. Like Double V above she is a four time veteran. According to her profile the thirteen year old looks forward to becoming a neurosurgeon. The Kavyas we know stop at nothing when the smell of success is in the air.

Click for full profile

The Chargers were charged up and the Challengers just weren’t challenging enough. As a result, the Deccan Chargers beat the Royal Challengers Bangalore today and were crowned champions of the IPLSAE (Indian Premier League, South African Edition).

Deccan Chargers beat Royal Challengers Bangalore by six runs in Johannesburg in the final of the second season of the Indian Premier League.

Having lost captain Adam Gilchrist for a third-ball duck, Herschelle Gibbs (53 not out) and Andrew Symonds (33 from 21 balls) helped Deccan post 143-6.

And despite Roelof van der Merwe’s 32, Symonds took 2-18 and a late collapse left Bangalore six runs short.

The tournament was staged in South Africa because of security concerns.

It clashed with the recent Indian general election and with the government unable to provide security assurances, South Africa pipped England to act as replacement hosts. [Link]

It’s pretty amazing that a tournament of such magnitude could be moved to another country on fairly short notice. South Africa deserves a lot of credit for what Stuart Hess of The Sunday Independent calls a “terrible inconvenience.”

The chessworld is "all agog" about the youngest player to ever upset a Grand Master - 9 year old Hetul Shah -

"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." - Mark Twain

New Delhi (IANS): Nine-year old Hetul Shah created history in the first round of the seventh Parsvnath International Open Chess tournament, defeating Grand Master Nurlan Ibrayev of Kazakhstan on Sunday.

...Hetul was a class act Sunday afternoon as he not only recorded his biggest victory but also ensured a name in the record books. Hetul is the youngest ever to beat a Grandmaster, bettering the Indian record set up by Parimarjan Negi by more than a year.

The Hindustan Times gives us this player profile -

Given our people’s track record in professional sports in the United States (virtually nonexistent outside a small handful), I was pretty surprised to see the following story on the Pittsburgh Pirates signing two Indians, yes Indians, from India — Rinku Singh and Dinesh Patel — as pitchers. From the article:

The two 20-year-old pitchers, neither of whom had picked up a baseball until earlier this year, signed free-agent contracts Monday with the Pirates. They are believed to be the first athletes from India to sign professional baseball contracts outside their country. Singh and Patel are believed to be first athletes from India to sign professional baseball contracts outside their country.

Patel (L) Singh (R)

I think these are probably the first Indians to sign professional baseball contracts period. I could be mistaken, but I don’t think there are even any Indian-American or South Asian American professional baseball players. The way this happened is pretty interesting. Singh and Patel came to the United States six months ago after being the top finishers in an Indian reality TV show called the “Million Dollar Arm. ” The show drew about 30,000 contestants and was trying to find athletes who could throw strikes at 85 miles per hour or faster. One would think this would be possible in a country of over a billion. Hmm, not exaclty. But while neither pitcher threw hard enough to earn the $1 million prize, Singh made $100,000 from the contest and Patel made $2,500, plus his trip to the United States.

I think mutineer Fuerza Dulce said it best when she emailed us this tip:

A brown girl fighting for the world cup? Sweet.

Word!

Hold up, hey—I have to write an entire post? Truly, 20-year old midfielder Anoop Josan is so fantastic that I shouldn’t have to, but FINE. Be that way. Just EXPECT me to paste stuff, why don’t you…

From the official University of Texas, El Paso athletic site:

UTEP junior midfield Anoop Josan has passed through the final roster cuts for Team Canada, and will help her country fight for the championship at the FIFA U-20 Women’s World Cup Chile 2008 from Nov. 19-Dec. 7. The placement to the squad will afford Josan the opportunity to showcase her talents on one of the highest stages in the sport.

The native of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, who is redshirting this year in order to compete at the prestigious event, is no stranger to the international stage. She was a member of the Canadian Olympic Development Team that won the 2007 International Soccer Festival. Furthermore, she has worked out and gained experience at the National Training Center. She also competed at the 2005 adidas cup as a member of the U-18 national team and for the U-17 development team.

“I am so proud of Anoop making the Canadian Under-20 World Cup team,” UTEP head coach Kevin Cross said. “It is a dream come true for her, and she has worked her whole life for this opportunity to represent her country. Not only is she representing Team Canada, but she is also representing the UTEP Soccer program very well.” [UTEP]

Oh, she’s representing all right. GO AJ! <—-That would be her nickname. A nickname I think very highly of. Ahem. ;)

I discovered that bit of Anoop Josan-trivia here, where I ganked the rest of this disjointed information:

…both of her parents were born in India… grew up playing volleyball, tennis, soccer… enjoys watching movies… speaks English and Punjabi… [link]

And once she’s done with the wonderful world cup?

Josan will once again take the pitch for the Miners in 2009, and Cross’ charges will certainly be glad to have her back. She has been an instrumental member of the squad since venturing to the Sun City. In 2006 Josan tallied the second-highest single-season assist total (14) in program history on the way to earning freshman All-America honors. Last year, Josan started 18 of 21 matches. She racked up three goals and three assists for nine points.[UTEP]

Random aside #1- Before this story, I had never encountered a girl named Anoop. I like it. I like that it’s different. Unexpected. Well, to me, anyway. Less random aside #2- brown girls who play soccer are teh hawt. Thanks for the tip, FD!

Every few years we’ve asked why India’s performance at international sporting events is so poor (1, 2 for example).

Since independence in 1947, India has won 12 Olympic medals in 14 Summer Games - three fewer than Belarus won in 2004 alone. [Link]

Diagnosing India’s athletic failings seems to be India’s favorite sport:

Many theories have been proposed to account for India’s failure. Some experts say India has not much in the way of sports culture and few heroes; others blame a “corrupt sporting bureaucracy”. Things have got so bad that in the past, Indian sports ministers have suggested a moratorium on international competition to train athletes who will not be a national embarrassment. [Link]

Recently, two economists argued that a lack of social mobility is the key culprit:

Anirudh Krishna and Eric Haglund… said that the problem for India is … the number of people who can “effectively participate in sports”.

“Ill health and poor nutrition can hamper early childhood development. In addition, lack of information and lack of access can effectively exclude larges swaths of a country’s population. The resulting small percentage of effective participants helps explain more fully why despite such a large population and a large potential talent pool, a country ends up winning very few Olympic medals,” …

Controversially, the paper contends that social mobility is the key to countries’ success at the Olympics. Populations that are better informed and better connected to opportunities, in societies where information and access are widespread “tend to win a higher share of Olympic medals”, they said. [Link]

While they accept that low GDP has something to do with India’s performance, they point out that India underperforms even amongst its peers, arguing that Cuba, Ethiopia, Kazakhstan, Kenya and Uzbekistan have each done far better than India.

Over at Marginal Revolution, Libertarian economist Tyler Cowen places the blame on … a lack of government subsidy. If Tyler’s right, then we should see some changes in the short term, now that Mittal is putting his money behind athletes training for the 2012 Olympics.

The goal is to “put India on the medals grid” in the 2012 London Games by identifying India’s best young athletes and giving them the money to travel the world in search of the best competition and coaches. [Link]

Right now, three of India’s five boxers are advancing to the quarter-finals in Beijing, putting them each just one win away from a medal: Akhil Kumar (bantamweight), his cousin Jitender Kumar (flyweight), and Vijender Kumar (middleweight).

Part time model, police inspector, and possibly India’s first professional boxer.

Given India’s poor showing in track and field, where all the athletes were eliminated in the qualification rounds, and the decision to pull India’s sole weightlifter after (what turned out to be a false) positive on a doping test, there is a lot riding on the performance of the three Kumars.

On the positive side, it’s a historic opportunity for India. Abinav Bindra’s gold medal was India’s first ever individual gold at the Olympics, if any of these three make it to the top, the country will celebrate as if Michael Phelps was their very own.

The fights promise to be exciting as well. Jitender, who is the only novice Olympian of the three, will next face off against three-time European champion Russian Georgy Balakshin in a rematch of their 2007 World Championship fight, where Balakshin prevailed by a single point. (clips from first round, via UB)

All three boxers (plus teamate Dinesh Kumar who got lost in the first round) come from a single boxing club - the Bhiwani Boxing Club in the village city of Bhiwani, Haryana, a place known as India’s “little Cuba”. This is the heartland of Indian boxing:

The place spawns hundreds of young fighters who spar every evening at the five local boxing schools. Here, learning to box is a passport to a secure government job and an opportunity to do something meaningful in life. [Link]

Up till now, boxing has received little popular recognition in India, something that might change after this Olympics:

It is not easy becoming a boxer in a cricket-crazy country. “People here think boxers are violent or mad” … “My blood boils when everybody goes gaga over cricket” says Vijender. [Link]

As a result, Vijender (the middleweight and possibly the most promising of the three) supplements the money that the government awarded him for victories in the Commonwealth and Asian Games with part time work modelling, and a job as a police inspector, all the time dreaming of becoming India’s first professional boxer:

“A promoter like Don King, a ring inside Madison Square Garden, and millions of dollars per bout. That is my dream, that is where I want to be,” [Link]

Who knows, he might just be a contender.

Update: And then there were two. Akhil Kumar lost to Veaceslav Gojan in the quarter-finals of the men’s 54 kg bantamweight category. Given that he narrowly defeated current world champion Sergey Vodopyanov on Indian independence day, this is must be a disappointment. (Video) (HT: Dhoni)

Last night, I unexpectedly ended up at the Legg Mason Tennis Classic, where I watched Andy Roddick struggle early on and then barely defeat Argentina’s Eduardo Schwank (my tennis-obsessed date dismissively characterized it as “outlasting him”). I wasn’t that interested in watching Mandy Moore’s ex- swing, but the next match had me sitting up straight and paying rapt attention— and not just because I was suddenly court-side.

UVA’s beloved Somdev Devvarman, the reigning NCAA men’s champ (two years running!), played someone else and he did it so well, I don’t even remember who his opponent was. He was fierce, unrelenting…just a gritty player. It was mesmerizing to watch (and quite a thrill to out-shout the punk behind us, who was hating on our boy). Suddenly, for the first time in over a decade, I was interested in tennis again.

Behold, shady background info from wikipedia (I’m late for the match!):

Somdev Devvarman (also known as Somdev Dev Varman) is the reigning and two-time NCAA Men’s Singles Champion. As a recent graduate out of the University of Virginia who hails from India, Somdev is best known for having captured the 2007 NCAA Singles Championship by defeating Georgia Bulldogs senior John Isner in the final. In one of the most dramatic finals in the 123-year history of the tournament, Devvarman scored a 7–6 (7), 4–6, 7–6 (2) win over the tournament’s No. 1 seed. A year later, he defeated Tennessee’s J.P. Smith 6-3, 6-2 to take home his second consecutive NCAA Singles National Championship. It was his historic third consecutive appearance in the NCAA singles final.

Devvarman, the son of Ranjana and Pravanjan Dev Varman, was born February 13, 1985 in Assam, India. He has an older sister, Paulami, and older brother, Aratrik. The Dev Varmans originally hail from the north-eastern Indian state of Tripura. Devvarman picked up the racquet as a nine-year-old in Chennai in 1994 and after learning the basics he made it to the Britannia Amritraj Tennis Academy in 2000. [viki]

The video I embedded above will fill you in quickly— cheesy shots of him moving around like it’s a Sesame Street stop-animation-skit aside— about Somdev. He’s humble, cheerful and adorable. We likey. In fact, we likey so much, we may be live-micro-blogging it, via Twitter. If we can tear our eyes away from watching him play, that is…

Watching the Olympics this past weekend has been equal parts exhilarating and depressing. Seeing the American men win the 4 x 100 m swimming relay last night was un-freaking-real! But it also sent me in to full, early mid-life crisis mode. Am I the only one? I kept thinking how I’m now too old and beat-up to be an Olympian and I was feeling kind of jealous of fellow Wolverine Michael Phelps (would my upper body look like that if I growled in victory poolside?). And then this morning my depression lifted some. Even though I woke to the upsetting news that American Badminton stud Raju Rai had lost to a Finn (read here to understand how hard the environment is), I was quickly informed that Abhinav Bindra of India won the Gold in the 10m Air Rifle! It was Bindra that turned out to be the great brown hope.

So how did Abhinav help me to avert my midlife crisis until another day? Just look at our boy. He looks like and ordinary IT guy or an engineer or friendly grad student. He is now a national hero. A Peter Parker of sorts. He is the great common brown guy hope! Not all of us can have Phelps upper body, but some of us can imagine looking like this (I like paintballing for instance ).

From a virtual non-entity to the country’s hottest property overnight, Abhinav Bindra has struck gold. Not just in Olympics. The Chandigarh shooter who picked up India’s first ever individual gold in Olympics is expected to see his brand value shooting up to a couple of crores, riding not only on his historic feat but also his youthful personality. [Link]

Oh, lighten-up you nationalists! I’m just joking around. A hearty congrats to Abhinav! The dude even has over a 1000 comments on his latest blog entry. A feat unmatched by even…me. Well at least I can go after that record.

And for every hero of the day there is the sad story of the day. Poor Sania. Pulled out because her wrist was hurting. That’s what cortisone injections are for woman!

Raj Bhavsar lives on!!!

Update: Raj sports the bronze. Awesome.

A few days ago, I opened up the Chicago Tribune to see this nice story about games of cricket taking place in the Chicago suburbs, which is not a rare occurrence in most South Asian communities. Yet, as I did some research, I found that cricket has an interesting history in the United States that extends far back before the South Asian diaspora. After all the United States was a British colony as well. A disclaimer here: I am proud to say I have a reasonable knowledge of cricket and am a devoted Cricinfo reader, but I can’t say I know cricket as well as, say, the NBA, and thus, I’m sure many of you will know more about cricket in America than I do - please do contribute your knowledge on the subject. Cricket in the United States extends back as far as the 18th century. This great Smithsonian article speaks of some of the earliest recorded history of cricket in the states:

In a diary he kept between 1709 and 1712, William Byrd, owner of the Virginia plantation Westover, noted, “I rose at 6 o’clock and read a chapter in Hebrew. About 10 o’clock Dr. Blair, and Major and Captain Harrison came to see us. After I had given them a glass of sack we played cricket. I ate boiled beef for my dinner. Then we played at shooting with arrows…and went to cricket again till dark.”

Evidently, spending large portions of the day playing and following cricket is a practice as old as the British Empire itself. Not only that, but the Smithsonian has uncovered some Revolutionary Hero interest in cricket:

The rules of the game on this side of the Atlantic were formalized in 1754, when Benjamin Franklin brought back from England a copy of the 1744 Laws, cricket’s official rule book. There is anecdotal evidence that George Washington’s troops played what they called “wickets” at Valley Forge in the summer of 1778. After the Revolution, a 1786 advertisement for cricket equipment appeared in the New York Independent Journal, and newspaper reports of that time frequently mention “young gentlemen” and “men of fashion” taking up the sport. Indeed, the game came up in the debate over what to call the new nation’s head of state: John Adams noted disapprovingly—and futilely—that “there are presidents of fire companies and cricket clubs.”

Disregarding John Adams’ chronic moodiness, cricket continued to have a strong presence in the U.S. throughout the 19th century. The first ever international cricket match was held in the U.S., a match between the U.S. and Canada in 1844, in Bloomingdale, New York. The considerable national interest in this game was evident, as 20,000 spectators attended and the equivalent of 1.5 million 2007 dollars were wagered on the match. The United States set a telling precedent in the match, however, losing by 23 runs. As the 19th century neared its end, baseball began to take precedence, and with that, the primacy of cricket in America’s sporting interests neared its end. One place, however, where cricket was still going strong was in the city of Philadelphia. The Philadelphian Cricket Team carried the mantle as the last remaining bastion of professional cricketing in the U.S., and frequently toured England and Australia, playing against some of the best cricketers in the world. A sign of the declining influence of the sport in America was that the American team consisted of “gentleman” players that had sources of wealth that allowed them to play cricket at no salary. The team had on it the best American cricket player in our national history, Bart King. King was quite the guy:

King was a skilled batsman, but proved his worth as a bowler. During his career, he set numerous records in North America and led the first-class bowling averages in England in 1908. He successfully competed against the best cricketers from England and Australia. King was the dominant bowler on his team when it toured England in 1897, 1903, and 1908. He dismissed batsmen with his unique delivery, which he called the “angler,” and helped develop the art of swing bowling in the sport. Many of the great bowlers of today still use the strategies and techniques that he developed. Sir Pelham Warner described Bart King as one of the finest bowlers of all time, and Donald Bradman called him “America’s greatest cricketing son.”

Bart King and his generation of extraordinary American cricketers could not live forever, though, and baseball only continued to gain in popularity throughout the country. As the 1910’s came to a close, the Philadelphian cricket team played its last game. Cricket in the U.S. became increasingly harder to sustain when the Imperial Cricket Conference was created, excluding non-British Empire members.

Early in high school I weighed about 105 lbs soaking wet. I know, laugh if you want to. I am descended from two bean poles so I was at a genetic disadvantage. This was, after all, long before my collegiate boxing, my climbing adventures, and before I started appearing shirtless in “Boys of Blogging” calenders (ahem…cough cough). So just how does a 105 lb boy make his way in the brutal world that is high school? By laying low, very low. Most people don’t notice a scrawny little kid in high school (as many of our readers might sympathize with). I was also very very very shy.

I hung out with the nerd/geek crowd at the first of the two high schools I attended. It wasn’t much fun as nothing exciting ever happens in the nerd/geek crowd. One day however, my friends and I hatched a plan. The only way that we could raise our station in life was to be on a high school sports team. Even JV would do. This would be our ticket out. But what could I play? Basketball was definitely out. I was a fierce defender but way too short. Baseball? I could play infield but could barely hit the ball out of the infield. Football? Ha Ha Ha. I was pretty good at indoor hockey on the gym floor and rough enough that one kid even tried to fight me for high-sticking his friend until the PE teacher broke it up. However, there is no gym floor hockey team in high school. And then, like a ray of light the answer was revealed. My high school would be holding try-outs for the…Badminton Team.

I was pretty good at badminton and my odds were good because none of the cool kids (who were also the more athletic kids) would EVER be seen anywhere near a shuttlecock. My svelte body would dart back and forth pounding that birdie mercilessly. The fact that it looked like a tiny upside down Apollo capsule re-entering through Earth’s atmosphere was just a bonus (although I could’t say that out loud or even the geeks would make fun of me). The problem was that the competition was cut-throat. All the other geeks were gunning for the same few spots. Many of them were also Asian or South Asian since, for some strange reason, Asians have a fascination with racket sports. Every day I practiced and practiced, honing my skills while huffing like a young Boris Becker of Badminton. Then, the day before the try-outs I came down with a cold and was battling flu like symptoms all day. After watching television while slumped in a couch I got up too quickly, got a massive head rush, passed out, cut my head open on my metal bed frame as I fell, bled all over the place, and had to get stitches in the ER. The doctor ordered me to miss tryouts the next day. I didn’t make the team. This was the single most scarring failure of my life. And that brings me to the point of this thus far depressing post: American Olympian Raju Rai. Geek has been replaced with chic.

Numerous readers have been sending us tips regarding Raj Bhavsar, an alternate on the U.S. men’s gymnastics team who will get to compete for the gold in Beijing after all. The space opened up on the team after star gymnast Paul Hamm was forced to withdraw due to injury.

Bhavsar was an alternate in 2004 as well, but didn’t get to compete. Despite a discouraging few years, Bhavsar continued to practice and train hard this spring and summer on the off-chance that a space might open up. Now his perseverance has paid off, and we wish him all the best. Based on what his colleagues and trainers have said about Bhavsar, as well as his own quotes in USA Today and The Houston Chronicle, he seems like a class act. (The ESPN story on Bhavsar also talks about how Bikram Yoga has helped him learn to concentrate better in the past year, a fact that I find quite interesting.)

NBC also had a nice profile of Bhavsar during the 2008 trials:

And you can see him performing a whole routine on rings here. (The dude has some serious biceps!)

Along with the stories about Raj Bhavsar (an Indian-American), KXB linked in the News Tab to a story in Foreign Policy about the “world’s worst Olympians,” where India actually tops the list (only 17 medals in its entire history). There is an inevitable discussion waiting to happen there, on why India always does so poorly (as I recall we had a version of it two years ago, when the World Cup was on). I don’t have any big answers, other than the obvious ones given in Foreign Policy: lack of sports venues, lack of school sports funding, lack of investment in preparing athletes for the Olympics. I don’t know whether “culture” is also a factor; I tend to think not.

At any rate, this year India is sending 57 atheletes to the Olympics, including the Paes and Bhupathi team for tennis doubles (where I suspect they might have a real shot). We might profile a few of the athletes in subsequent posts, depending on what comes up upon typing their names into the Google. Pakistan, for its part, is sending 23 athletes; Sri Lanka is sending eight (or maybe seven, depending on how we add 3+4); and Bangladesh is also sending a small contingent, to compete for wild card spots.

Stephen Hadley is the National Security Advisor to the President of the United States. By all accounts he’s an intelligent man who should know the difference between Nepal and Tibet. So why did he, while talking to Stephanopoulos last Sunday about whether Bush would attend the Olympic opening ceremony, say Nepal every single time he meant to say Tibet? [via Saja]

As a person who appreciates his time at the gym (and advocates fitness in general), I knew I had to post this story as soon as I read it earlier today. Meet India’s Aditya ‘Romeo’ Dev, the world’s smallest bodybuilder:

Unlike many dwarfs, Romeo is well proportioned, with a head circumference of 15in and a chest measurement of 20in.

Romeo said: “I’ve been training as a bodybuilder for the last two years and by now I think I must be the strongest dwarf in the world.

“I have always been fit but since I started working out, I have become famous for my strength. [Link]

I doubt very much that he is the strongest dwarf in the world, but I do admire his ambition. What I appreciate most about “Romeo” is that he just does his thing with confidence. One big fear some people have about going to the gym is that they will look weak in front of the rest of the “big muscle-bound” guys. As you can see from the pictures, Dev isn’t even afraid to wear Calvin & Hobbes shorts while working out:

Don’t stare without pinhole sunglasses

Finally, the media will have something from India besides the Little Superstar to talk about. At least this guy is a certified pimp.

You may have noticed that SM covered an upstart, professional cricket league’s launch last year. It was the brash, confident, cheerleader-laden counterpart to the then ephemeral IPL (which even then boasted an incredible array of current and former international players) Well, it’s finally time for the BCCI and ICC approved version to commence it’s own charge at the most amazingly cricket-mad market in the world.

It was a dark and stormy night. That’s a lie. It was a mild and unseasonably warm night and I was almost asleep, lulled away by Heidi Klum’s and Niki Taylor’s voiceovers on Bravo.

Then, something insane happened; I received a reality-bending email. But first, some unnecessary prattle back story.

From age 0-3.5, I had a much-adored stuffed bear, like most children my age. Unlike most children, my bear was named Babu, which totally proves that kids born here in the early to mid seventies might as well have been popped out “back home”. Anyway, Babu was wonderful as a confidante, hugging partner and drool-catcher…until we moved to San Francisco. Somewhere between Southern California and Northern, Babu disappeared, never to be seen again.

Last night, dazed and confused by exhaustion, I checked my email one final time…and did a sleepy double-take. There, in my inbox…Babu. The only justification I can offer for thinking what comes next is, um, Benadryl. “My Babu reached out to me from beyond!”, I gasped, and he did so via GMail no less:

Hi Anna,

It’s the biggest story happening in Indian Cricket and you are not covering it….that’s not right :)

Feed your cricket hunger with the story. I’m not sure if you are aware of the suspension of an Indian cricket player over racial abuse. This has created a cricket war between India and Australia. and YOU should write about it.

It has high drama, fight for honor, millions of dollars at stake and the big Indian ego Vs Australian. Australian media is supporting India as well :)

Link, link, link and link.

Well, I didn’t wanna vote in News tab and wait….hehe.. :D

~Babu

Babu, after absorbing tears, snot and Lord knows what else, this is the least I can do.

All right people.

The cricket post I have received eleven requests for (not counting the above-pasted, impassioned plea from my bear) is up next.

The last two days I have been performing back-breaking, grueling, utterly soul crushing labor…in my own house (well, my parents house). Have you guys ever read a news article about some reclusive old guy who had a lifelong hoarding problem (a.k.a syllogomania) and when police finally entered the house they found a rotting, partially eaten corpse buried underneath a pile of junk that was formerly on one side of the only navigable lane through the house? Yes? Then now you know what my dad is like (known as “Yo Dad” to some who read SM). My dad left with my mom for India earlier this week so I flew home to help my brother clean out the house without any resistance. I wanted to solve this looming crisis before my dad made the local news in the “odd news” segment. Over the last two days we’ve been cleaning out stuff (mostly stored in the basement) that spans back 40 years! I won’t bore you with descriptions of 20-year-old used shower curtains or “Indian luggage bags” filled with spiders. I will take you straight to the good stuff. First, check out these two cricket bats. I remember they were purchased on a trip to India in 1982/3 in Ahmedabad (I was ~7). Notice anything shocking on one of them?

Was I an angry militant batsman as a child?

Can someone please explain this to me? Why would a child’s cricket bat say Hitler on it? I can understand why the one on the right has Sunil Gavaskar’s name…but Hitler?? As best as I can guess, the bat makers meant to spell “Hitter” but misspelled it as “Hitler.” Why did my parents even buy me this cricket bat? This could REALLY come back to tank my candidacy if I ever run for office. This is a closet skeleton right up there with GW Bush’s and Obama’s cocaine use.

The NYT ran a story yesterday about how aspiring Ivy league parents are trying to get their children admitted as athletic recruits … in squash:

Squash pros and coaches say that in the last few years the sport has seen a sharp increase in participation by children and teenagers, some of whose parents seem to have one eye on the ball and the other on college applications. [Link]

Grey lady, please. This is so Opal Mehta meets the Spice Girls, that is, this is old news for subcontinental strivers. Here’s an article from the TOI from 5 years ago:

Do you know the easiest way to book a free seat in an American Ivy League college? No, you do not have to secure the highest marks in your GRE/GMAT examinations. Just being a good squash player, should suffice… over a dozen squash players from Mumbai have made it to the American Ivy League, purely on the strength of the racquet sport…Indians stand the best chance with squash, because, there is little competition in this sport. [Link]

Siddhartha Suchde is the top player at the top Ivy School (Harvard has won 13 out of the last 16 squash championships) where he squashes his opponents with gusto:

Siddharth Suchde ‘07 has played at number one in every Harvard men’s match since his sophomore year. Last season he went undefeated in all his regular-season matches and was named Ivy League Player of the Year…

“A turning point came when I was 16 and I got a call from the Indian Squash Federation asking me to play in the world junior championships,” he says. He trained hard and became captain of the Indian junior national team, which finished fifth at the tournament, the best result in India’s history. Suchde has remained on the Indian national team for the past five years. Last December he played at number three for the Indian senior national team at the world men’s team championships in Islamabad, Pakistan. (It meant missing three weeks of classes.) India finished eleventh in the tourney, one of its best performances ever. [Link]

If squash becomes an Olympic sport in 2016, we’d finally have a sport that either India or Pakistan would have a chance of medalling in! w00t!

An upstart cricket league is launching in India today (thanks, Brij01), the Indian Cricket League. I know very little about cricket, but I know good marketing when I see it:

There are six teams: Kolkata Tigers, Mumbai Champs, Delhi Jets, Chandigarh Lions, Hyderabad Heroes, and Chennai Superstars. Each team has a number of players from the local city or region, two players from the national team, and a smattering of foreign players. They’re using the Twenty20 format, which means games will last just about three hours.

Speaking again as a cricket neophyte, I think it’s a great idea — the short games, regional flavor, and general non-stodginess might finally be enough to get someone like myself interested in cricket.

Of course, the quality of play has to be good for it to work. And they’ll have tough competition from another new league starting in April, the Indian Premier League (which is sponsored by the BCCI, and has many more star players than does the ICL). Do cricket fans think the ICL has a chance? Are you excited about this?

(Oh, and I forgot to mention: they have scantily-clad cheerleaders; more smart marketing, or a bit sleazy? Perhaps both at once…)

The always interesting Freakonomics Blog, hosted on the New York Times website, asked its readers a very critical question Wednesday (one I’ve laid awake many a night thinking about as I carefully weighed my career options): Why aren’t there more Indian American Professional Poker Players?

Whenever I see a poker tournament on TV or wander through a casino, I am always struck by a particular absence: there seem to be very few Indian-Americans playing poker. Considering that there are so many Indians of poker age in this country who thrive in finance, computer science, engineering, and other fields that incorporate math, probability, risk, etc. — i.e., the kind of fields that produce a lot of amateur and pro poker players — why should this be so?

I guess there are two separate questions:

1. Am I right in my perception that Indians are underrepresented?

2. If so, why is that the case?… [Link]

The author of the post, Stephen J. Dubner, first asks three people, including two “notable” Indians, to break it down for the audience:

Rafe Furst, our poker-playing friend, truth-seeker, and all-around smart guy; Sudhir Venkatesh, our sociologist friend who isn’t a big gambler (as far as I know), but is an Indian immigrant and perceptive observer; and Shubhodeep Pal, an 18-year-old from Dehradun, India, now studying at Singapore Management University (and who just happened to recently send in an interesting question by e-mail, having nothing to do with the topic of gambling). [Link]

Unfortunately, both Venkatesh and Pal give the obvious-half-of-the-answer without digging below the immediate surface. Also, from Pal’s answer it is clear that he is thinking like an Indian (which he is) and not an Indian American, a critical difference to this particular query that I hope is not lost on Dubner or his readers. Here are their responses:

If it’s Monday, you must be as hung-over…err… depressed…tired as I am— but wait! It’s a brand new week and surely there will be much fighting/gnashing of teeth/troll-feeding to do in the days ahead. Isn’t that daunting? Well, fret not, my pets.

The best thing about Mondays at the Mutiny is being able to play The Caption Game, a nice, easy warm-up for the week. You may not be able to touch your toes, but you can injure your funny bone trying to outwit Dravidian Lurker, MoorNam, PingPong et al. (Rahul…I’m pouring out some Old Monk for you, son. You are the missed.)

This picture, which was thoughtfully submitted by Jeet a few days ago (thanks!), is just pleading for a different label— look at what it’s been saddled with:

Harbhajan Singh’s joy is apparent as he catches Kevin Pietersen, England v India, Group E, ICC World Twenty20, Durban, September 19, 2007. [link]

Oh, come now. You mutineers can do better than that! Especially since the boys in blue have made some of you verrrry happy, right? :)

Confused?

Irritated?

Think this silliness is something new for the mutiny? How wrong you are, my sleepy friends. Lo, previous editions of the captioning game will prove that this isn’t a one-time timesuck: Ikk, Dhoe, Tinn, Char, Panj, Chhay, Suth, Utt…

In response to Abhi’s appeal from last year, there was a desi entrant in this year’s World Beard & Moustache Championships. Meet 30 year old Rundeep Singh, from the UK.

Can you believe Rundeep lost to Jack Passion (on the right) who took first place in the “natural beard” category? C’mon now - which is the better beard? What an outrageous call!

Heck, Rundeep Singh didn’t even place - this guy got second (for what is admittedly a very impressive beard) but this guy got third place. I dunno - neither the first nor third place winners seem as impressive to me as brother Rundeep.

What gives? Next time I want to see a desi who wins by more than a whisker .

I’ve known for a while that India does poorly in the Olympics, but I had never realized exactly how poorly:

The world’s second most populous nation … ranks dead last worldwide in the number of Olympic medals won per capita. Paraguay, Niger and Iraq have done better. [Link]

This statistic seems to only count countries that have won at least one medal, which leaves India better off than countries without medals, but that’s slim consolation.

Now it may be unfair to compare medals on a per capita basis since that pits India against countries much smaller in population size and Olympic winnings are hard to scale up. However, even if you look at the two largest countries in the world, China has won over 100 times as many medals as India in the past few decades:

Since 1984, when China rejoined the Olympic Games after decades of isolation, the Asian superpower has won 320 medals. India, its political and economic rival, has won three… [Link]

And in a century of Olympics, India has won just 16 medals (fewer than that other nation of a billion, China, typically wins at a single [sic] Games) and only eight in the last 50 years. [Link]

But, you object, China has a communist-era olympic medal factory which even tries to breed athletes. Fair enough, but even amongst Commonwealth countries in general, India lags so far behind that the officials of the Commonwealth Games have scolded India for not doing enough to avoid embarrassment when it next hosts the games in 2010 [Link]. No matter how you cut it, India is at the bottom of sporting countries worldwide.

It is true that India does better in some sports than in others, but India’s best sports all require little physical exertion:

“India is doing very well in chess. And pretty well at cue sports like billiards and snooker. And for the past couple of years, Indian golfers have done very well on the Asian circuit…” [Link]

If womens boxing becomes an Olympic sport in 2012, the Afghan women’s boxing team is set to become the new feel good story, the Jamaican bobsled team if you will.

These women have a lot of heart, just to train, given restrictions on women even in post-Taliban Afghanistan:

The training is sponsored by a peace group who want to give women more self-respect, and reclaim boxing as a sport in a country scarred by conflict - making martial arts constructive and not destructive. They call it “fighting for peace”. Between training sessions the boxers sit down and discuss non-violent approaches to conflict resolution.

The NGO backing the project, Co-operation for Peace and Unity, is headed by Kanishka Nawabi. He says they are teaching women to be confident and regain self-respect in a male-dominated society. [Link]

Of course, there are some men who will be threatened for precisely that reason - they don’t women playing sports, especially not violent ones, and they definitely don’t want them to become to assertive. This is why it’s a subversive action. After all, this is what is happening to women in regular schools:

In the southern Afghan province of Helmand, the Taliban is waging war not only on foreign and Afghan troops, but on education. Of 224 schools that opened after the Taliban fell, at least 90 have been forced to close because of threats and attack — especially schools that teach girls. [Link]

and the girls from the Kabul Beauty School have been threatened with death for defaming the country (not because of their beautician work but because of the other things the book says about them).

Click on the image below to go to the video newsclip. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to embed it, but the video is fun, enlightening and short.

Like Tori and some rather old rodents (oh, like any of you are old enough to remember them), “I don’t like Mondays”. I thought you might feel similarly about today; if so, then perhaps you, too, will find this picture irresistibly smile-provoking. Marinate in the exuberance:

England’s Monty Panesar (R) celebrates with Ian Bell after dismissing the West Indies’ Corey Collymore during the fourth day of their first test cricket match at Lord’s in London May 20, 2007.

Now if you wanted to play our favorite caption game with this photograph, I don’t think anyone would object to such fun. And finally, to all the patient-with-a-novice, possibly-in-withdrawal cricket heads out in Sepia-land…I told you I was no fair-weather-padawan. :)

What, you thought I was a fair-weather cricket pupil? ;)

Mutineer Sandeep sent in this tip after having one of those, “Hey. What the-? Brown??” -moments in front of his television:

Saw this commercial while watching NBC primetime TV, and thought I recognized that typical Dravid earnestness saying “actually, it’s 229 million…”. was kind of surprised when I paused and found desi cricket ishtars Rahul Dravid and Mahendra Singh Dhoni part of reebok’s new ad campaign…

As for other notables in the ad:

Stevie Williams rides his skateboard. Cricket players MS Dhoni and Rahul Dravid run together. Soccer player Thierry Henry and actress Emmanuelle Chriqui are paired. Tennis player Nicole Vaidišová is on the cell phone. Football players DeAngelo Hall and Chad Johnson run together. Track athlete (heptathlon) Carolina Klüft runs in yellow. Basketball player Allen Iverson and football player Vince Young run together. Track athlete Aries Merritt runs across a skywalk. [splendAd]

Finally, something about Reebok to appreciate. :D

When I first agreed to delve in to the World Cup for the mutiny, I did so because I knew it was important to South Asia, our diaspora and several cute commenters here…but I had no idea how powerful the sport truly is, until now.
Apparently cricket can do what diplomacy, prayers and tears cannot (all quotes via Reuters, Thanks Karthik):

Cricket fever has gripped Sri Lanka after their team secured a place in the World Cup final, diverting attention — at least for the time being — from a worsening civil war.

Cricket-mad fans sat glued to their television sets until the early hours of Wednesday morning to watch Sri Lanka defeat New Zealand by 81 runs in Jamaica.

The success of the cricket team in the Caribbean has provided a welcome distraction from the worsening military conflict between the government and Tamil Tigers, which has left a 2002 ceasefire agreement in tatters.

The two-decade civil war, which has claimed around 68,000 lives, has intensified in the past year with almost daily battles, denting business confidence and contributing to spiralling inflation.

One higher power, many paths; one fervently-desired wish, many prayers:

Multi-faith religious ceremonies are being planned in the lead-up to Saturday’s big game to bless the team, and President Mahinda Rajapaksa will even fly to Barbados for the final.

Yo, this is serious:

The Excise Department has even delayed the start of an alcohol sales ban for Buddhist Wesak holidays by one day. It will now come into effect after the World Cup final.

I got my hopes up…

Even many Tamil Tigers, who control swathes of land in the north and east of the country and are fighting for independence, are watching.

“There are people in the controlled areas watching,” rebel military spokesman Rasiah Ilanthiraiyan said by telephone.

Then felt them sink, even though I’m not Sri Lankan, Tamil, or particularly conscious of this violent, on-going tragedy:

But he added: “Our activities will not change because of these matches. These matches are not going to make any difference.”

I hope he’s full of it. I stupidly and naively hope that cricket really will do for Sri Lanka what nothing else has been able to— give diverse communities a reason to stop killing each other, at least for a little while. As far as I know, it’s difficult to cheer effectively if you’re holding a gun. Yes, that was paneer-laden…but I’m serious. In 1996, Sri Lanka destroyed Australia to win the World Cup; I hope they do so tomorrow, too. If ever there were a country which deserved some cheer…

Each player, of course, matters in every match. Jayasuriya is the most-capped one-day cricketer in history, a flamboyant opening batsman whose fearless stroke play can give an innings unstoppable momentum, and a useful spin-bowler as well. Vaas is the master of new-ball bowling who can destroy an opponent’s innings almost before they start. Murali is the unorthodox wizard of spin who bamboozles the most gifted, in-form batsmen.

Their importance on Saturday also rests on their presence in a match played 11 years ago: They are the three survivors of the team that beat Australia in the 1996 World Cup final in Lahore, Pakistan.Link

When: Tomorrow, 4/28, at 12:30

Where: Eight Mile Creek, NYC

Why: To watch SRI LANKA KICK ASS!!

The game starts around 9am EST, and a Sri Lankan crew will be there, holding it down, if you don’t want to miss a minute.

FYI: Eight Mile Creek is an expat Australian bar/restaurant, so we’re taking the meetup into enemy turf. Should be a screaming, cheering, hair-raising good time. Come ready to show your colors!

One of the great pleasures of following the Cricket World Cup this past month has been the chance to spend time with cricket fans and glimpse the global and diasporic affinities that simultaneously connect them and set them apart, in a metropolis like New York, from the mainstream culture of the city. Cricket is a niche sport even in immigrant-rich New York, since, after all, only a fraction of those immigrants come from cricket-playing countries. Yet the diversity of the cricket community, drawn as it is from all corners of the former British Empire, and the fact that all those places have a critical mass of expatriates or immigrants in New York, has produced in this World Cup season a kind of hyper-cosmopolitan sub-culture; one that, in its own way, illustrates the cross-hatching of differences and solidarities that makes life in the city complex and stimulating.

I’ve tried to capture some of that joyous complexity in a radio story that ran yesterday. The reporting (only a fraction of which made it into the piece, radio being like film a craft where most of your work ends up on the cutting room floor) led me to such arduous research environments as the Australian pub 8 Mile Creek, where expats of various nationalities were toasting the home side’s demolition of England with six-dollar bottles of Cooper’s Sparkling Ale. But it also gave me an introduction to the Indo-Caribbean community in Richmond Hill, Queens; and the revelation to my new-to-New-York eyes of the sheer size of that community, let alone its history and apparent present dynamism, will be the lasting memory of this World Cup in my personal experience.

When I was younger, I was always jealous of the other Asian kids. Why? Because they had kick-ass unarmed martial arts. A Chinese kid could say “Hey, don’t mess with me - I know Kung Fu like Bruce Lee!” What was I going to say in response - “Well, I know Ahimsa like Gandhi?”

And it wasn’t just the Chinese kids. If you were Korean, you could say you knew TaeKwanDo. If you were Japanese, obviously you could claim to know Karate. Sure, India does have martial arts like gatka, wrestling, and Kalaripayattu but nobody had heard of those and I couldn’t even pronounce “Kalaripayattu.”

In fact, the physical activity that India is most known for is Yoga. I like Yoga but it’s not very macho, and how on earth are you going to use it to defend yourself?

In fact, this amazingly paneer filled clip from Yoga vs. Kung Fu is the only time I’ve seen Yoga used in a movie to beat somebody up:

[Yes, it’s dubbed into French. IMHO, that just makes it all better.]

Of course, you could always try to sell Yoga as the perfect adjunct to a more bloodthirsty activity, like shooting guns:

You shoot better when you realize that your soul is a leaf falling through time, and that work shouldn’t equal struggle. And yoga never aligns you with the universe better than when your forearm is still tingling from the buck and recoil of a .357 bullpup.
Someone needs to open a combination shooting range and yoga studio. I’m serious. Maybe I should do it. Hose off a few clips of Glaser safety slugs, then see how deep you can go into Warrior II. The murder rate would go down. No, wait — it would stay the same, but people would realize it’s all part of a bigger plan. [Link]

Maybe that’s the best way to make Yoga more effective as a tool for avenging the wrong done to your master - do Yoga softly, but carry a big Dandasana.

Monday was Patriot’s day, the date of the annual Boston Marathon. While the streets of Boston were wet, the most famous desi entrant was shielded from inclement weather in her special climate controlled gym. While some had to pound hard pavement, she ran the marathon many times higher than a kite, floating on air. And while it took her 4 hours and 24 minutes to cover the 26 miles, in that same time she circled the globe twice.

I refer here to Sunita Williams, of course, who unofficially ran the marathon with bib 14,000. Although she was spared Heartbreak Hill, her race wasn’t just a walk in the park. In order to complete the run she had to be harnessed in place (so she didn’t just float away) on top of the Space Station’s Treadmill Vibration Isolation System, which, believe it or not, served to keep the space station steady while she ran:

you know when you run on the ground or on a treadmill at the gym, you are stomping on the ground/treadmill pretty hard - right? Well, the ISS can’t really take that stomping around. We’ve got huge solar arrays, radiators, module attachment systems, etc., which will feel the load of that stomping… The engineers came up with a vibration isolation system for both the treadmill and the cycle. The treadmill rides on a gyro which spins up and takes the loads of the runner. [Link]

This apparently isn’t easy on her body:

“That harness gets hard on her back and her shoulders or her hips …. Her foot was going numb because the strap was on her hip so much…” [Link]

But honestly, the hardest part of this experience would seem to be the inability to bathe or shower afterwards:

… astronauts wash their hair with no-rinse shampoo, their bodies with cleanser-soaked gauzy fabric, and their hands with baby wipes. [Link]

Wow. And she’s not going to be able to shower until she returns to earth, at the end of summer at the earliest. I guess the good news is that they won’t be able to smell the atomized wasabi any more.

Evil Abhi: Oh no. Not another f*cking cricket post. Just kill me now.

Abhi: Come on, don’t be so mean. Some SM readers actually like cricket.

Evil Abhi: Why? Unless you trying to save your rainless Indian village from the British Empire, cricket sucks.

Abhi: Dude, you need to chill. You are insulting a game loved by millions as well as its fans.

Evil Abhi: All these cricket posts are ruining our prrrecioussss blog.

Abhi: Ok fine. I’ll just post an interesting picture then. I know you’re cool with pretty pictures.

Evil Abhi: Oohhh, look at the hobbittses.

Abhi: Dude, Sri Lanka just whooped new Zealand.

Evil Abhi: Hit it brown. Hit it.

I’d like to give massive props to my Bengali brothers for their epic smacking of South Africa yesterday. “When the Banglas bat well, they’re just briliant,” wrote the Guardian’s over-by-over commentator toward the end of Bangladesh’s innings, in which they scored 251 led by a fantastic 87 from 22-year-old Mohammad Ashraful, pictured here doing his thing. That set up South Africa with a sizeable target to chase in the afternoon, and instead they disgracefully folded, surrendering four wickets by the 20th over and two more in the 27th, and playing out the rest without spark nor art to a total of 184 all out.

The win not only confirms that Bangladesh are no longer by any standard “minnows” of the game — in case their win over India at the start of the cup and previous successes hadn’t already made that clear — but it also injects some new excitement into a competition that was first quieted by the early exit of two of the main contenders with the largest and most enthusiastic global support, India and Pakistan; then stunned and embarrassed by the death of Pakistan coach Bob Woolmer (still unresolved officially, with no theory ruled out, including that of an accident); and then dulled by the tudding superiority of title holders Australia and the emergence right behind them of New Zealand, Sri Lanka and South Africa, outclassing everyone else and hurtling toward the semi-finals.

No longer. Now with the eight-team round-robin Super Eights about halfway through, the remaining matches have regained excitement thanks to the Bangladesh victory, as South Africa no longer look inevitable semi-finalists, and three sides — England, Bangladesh, and host West Indies — are all very much back in the tournament. Which means that we are looking at several huge games coming up. Today, England go up against titanic Australia, a tall order but not out of the question; Tuesday, West Indies face South Africa with the winner taking a serious option on the semi-finals, and most of the world will be rooting for the hosts, who are due for a breakout performance; and Wednesday it’s England versus Bangladesh.

For today’s match England have won the toss and decided to bat first. The Guardian’s over-by-over is here. Just like their football live commentaries, it’s funny and worth checking out whether you understand the game or not. If you want to geek out with the technical details you’ll want to follow the Cricinfo OBO here, but in that case you probably know that already. If you’re at all curious about the game and eager to understand it with a little context, today is Sunday and a fine day to head to your local desi, Trini, Guyanese, Jamaican, English, Australian, or Kiwi pub, tavern, lounge, jerk shack or roti spot and check out the game on television. If you’re in New York chances are Eight Mile Creek is already packed with soon-to-be-inebriated Ozzies. But Brooklyn and Queens have numerous Caribbean and desi joints that are showing the matches. I’m sure that in any of the major US cities you can find a spot without too much sleuthing. Feel free to pass on tips in the comments!

Well.

All I have to say is thanggod Shodan-san commented all off-topic in the wrong thread, because if he hadn’t, I would’ve never seen this delicious bit of Punjabi mancandy. MeOW. The second Sikh to play cricket for England after Monty??? That TOTALLY deserves a post. Well, that and I would like to stare at his picture some more; I’m sure other mutineers will too.

FYI- all of the below is from his wiki entry (because it’s Holy Wednesday and I’m late for church!):

Ravinder Singh (“Ravi”) Bopara (born 4 May 1985, Forest Gate, Newham, London) is an English cricketer who plays for Essex. Although originally a specialist batsman, he is now improving his medium-pace bowling and developing into an all-rounder. He is the second Sikh to play cricket for England, after Monty Panesar.

Bopara made his first-class debut for Essex in May 2002. In 2003 and 2004, he played several matches for England Under-19s, including in the Under-19 Cricket World Cup 2004.

In the 2005 season, he scored 880 first-class runs, including his first first-class century. He also hit 135 in a non-first-class match against the touring Australians, putting on 270 for the second wicket with Alastair Cook…

In January 2007 Kevin Pietersen sustained a rib injury in England’s first One-Day International against Australia, keeping him out of the remainder of the series. Bopara was called up as his replacement, and made his ODI debut on 2 February. Later that month, he was named in the England squad for the 2007 Cricket World Cup,[2] and he played his second ODI in England’s second match of that tournament.

More soon…if only so that there can be more pictures of cricket-playing yumminess. ;)

It’s not the timeliest bit o’ World Cup mutinousness (oy, I meant to have it up last Wednesday…sorry Anonymous Tipster), but once I realized that a) the cricket stadium I’m about to discuss had already been mentioned on SM almost two years ago, by one of our earliest readers and b) it dealt with Guyana, a part of the diaspora we don’t get a chance to cover all that often, I couldn’t resist blogging it, tardy though I may be. :)

Read all about India and Guyana’s construction-lovechild, via this article in the Malaysia Sun:

Inaugurated by Indian Vice President Bhairon Singh Shekhawat during his official visit to Guyana in November last year, Guyana’s new international cricket stadium, which will hold as many as half a dozen matches in the Super Eight stage, has been billed as the stadium of friendship between India and Guyana.

India gave the Guyanese government a grant of $6 million and a concessional line of credit of $19 million for the purpose.

The new facility was built by Mumbai-based firm Shapoorji Pallonji.

It sounds impressive:

The new picturesque Guyana National Stadium is set on the east coast of the majestic Demerara river, which flows into the mighty Atlantic just a few miles away.

The new stadium seats over 10,720 spectators and accommodates another 4,280 on a grassy mound…The wide area around the stadium has seen hotels sprouting up which are expected to boost Guyana’s tourism industry.

Even numismatists get some love ;)

The Bank of Guyana has also issued a special gold coin to mark the opening of the new stadium.

Day 16 of my miseducation in Cricket: for a hot minute, I do not love my India, not after our Red Snapper reports that crap like this was stated with a straight face:

Just heard a reporter on NDTV interviewing disappointed fans in Bombay say to the camera — ‘It’s been a World Cup of tragedies, none bigger than India crashing out of the tournament’[Link]

Yes, that’s totally worse than someone’s neck getting snapped under the shadiest of circumstances. An anonymous tipster left a link to a BBC article by Mukul Kesavan—who has a book about cricket coming out in India later this year— on our news tab. I found it illuminating; I know next to nothing about this sport which Evil Abhi loathes so. ;) Here’s a random assortment of what your favorite bimbette Bedi-impersonator learned and/or found fascinating at the Beeb:

For the television channels that bought rights to beam the tournament to these fans, Friday’s defeat was a financial disaster.

Since the Reliance World Cup hosted by India in 1987, South Asia’s cricketing nations have become more and more influential in the conduct and administration of the one-day game.

…India won the Cup in 1983, Pakistan and Sri Lanka have won it in 1992 and 1996 respectively.

Mainly, though, the balance of power in world cricket has shifted from England and Australia towards the sub-continent for commercial reasons: the dawning realisation that India owns the only mass audience there is for the game.

India and Pakistan had resumed cricket relations after a long chill in 1978, just as limited-overs cricket was starting to take off.

The compulsive need to confront the old enemy led to the creation of a cricket circus in the Gulf sheikhdom, Sharjah, where, on neutral ground, the sub-continent’s blood feuds were re-played as one-day tournaments for the benefit of increasingly feverish and volatile audiences.

I’m still processing the bilious sortie by Shashi Tharoor, the Indian diplomat and author, outgoing undersecretary-general of the United Nations and failed candidate for the top job, in the opinion pages of last Friday’s New York Times. It’s the one where he announces that America and Americans are congenitally incapable of comprehending cricket, that the condition is incurable, and that after valiantly performing such educational mitzvahs as diagramming cricket play possibilities on bar napkins for baseball fans during breaks in World Series games, he has now given up; and hereby retreats to the world of connoisseurs who will gather, he tells us, to watch the final at the home of an expatriate where “of course there will be no Americans.”

Here’s his parting shot:

So here’s the message, America: don’t pay any attention to us, and we won’t pay any to you. If you wonder, over the coming weeks, why your Indian co-worker is stealing distracted glances at his computer screen every few minutes or why the South African in the next cubicle is taking frequent and furtive bathroom breaks during the working day, don’t even try to understand. You probably wouldn’t get it. You may as well learn to accept that there are some things too special for the rest of us to want to waste them on you.

Lovely! Elegant! Thoughtful! Um… diplomatic! Ever considered working for the United Nations?

Alright, so everyone has an off day. And sure, yeah, most people in the U.S. don’t get cricket. Not exactly a novel observation. So why not leave it at that? Instead Tharoor decides to actually argue the case, justifying his dismissal of this thing called “America” with an array of absurd statements. Americans, he says, “have about as much use for cricket as Lapps have for beachwear.” They follow baseball instead, which “is to cricket as simple addition is to calculus.” Tharoor has “even appealed to the Hemingway instinct that lurks in every American male by pointing out how cricket is so much more virile a sport.” All to no avail. But thanks to satellite television and the Internet, now “you can ignore America and enjoy your cricket.” After all: “Why try to sell Kiri Te Kanawa to people who prefer Anna Nicole Smith?”

But all of this is mere appetizer for the main dish, the Comparative Analysis of National Character. Take it away, maestro:

Day 13 of my Cricket tuition: I’m feeling a bit woozy from all the head-spinning developments regarding certain tragic events of this World Cup. Surely there is no better moment to focus on sweeter aspects of the game, specifically how an essay penned by my erstwhile intern Amar Shah showed up on ESPN the other day. I felt nothing but consummate delight when I followed the link which was submitted repeatedly to the bunker’s hotline; there in baby blue, with his gorgeous wife too, the boy whom I had been surprisingly fond of, even before we had ever met.

It was 2002 and Amar Shah was a student from the University of Florida. I was in a windowless office at Preston Gates, near the White House. I began receiving persistent instant messages from someone with a memorable, if young-sounding screen name. Typical questions about what his internship would be like and how he should prepare gave way to actual conversation and fellowship. Who was this kid? That first day of our program, I remember that though I was excited about finally meeting all of my interns, I was extra-curious about the one who would later jump up in a hyperactive and spontaneous moment mid-orientation and show off how he already knew not just our names, but our AIM screen names, as well. And I thought he had just been chatting with me. ;)

That summer, I held his hand as he crushed on the unattainable: a girl so stunning, she looked as if she had stepped out of a Moghul miniature. I fretted over him while he bounced around the Hill; I kept him company when he was the last of my baby birds to fly away, that tear-drenched August day. It was fitting that Amar’s would be the final flight to leave DC; it was a small comfort that I had a few extra hours to spend with someone I had grown so attached to, someone who since then has always made me proud.

…wherein Whose God is it Anyways? inspires a second cricket post in a row!

The education of my cricket-ignorant kundi continues; I shall torment you with my progress, much like a toddler rushes back to a parent to exclaim, “I did it in the potty!” Like aforementioned kid, I, too would like a cookie and a pat on the head. Thanks, you’re the best.

So. WGiiA left a comment on my last World Cup post which piqued my kitten-like curiosity:

ok. just got very emotional seeing inzi get out and leave the field for the last time in an ODI. he deserved better circumstances under which to leave. [link]

I immediately assaulted consulted one of my cricket tutors, the one who kindly told me a bedtime story via speakerphone last night which starred Sachin Tendulkar— look, when one runs out of Ambien, one reaches for desperate alternatives— and expressively typed “?” in his GChat window. I didn’t expect to like or care about what I’d learn, but I wanted to find out more nonetheless, if only because I’m a sentimental wench and anyone’s last __ always makes me a bit verklempt.

What a World Cup. And I say that as a cricket neophyte.

Stunning upsets, out-of-control fans, stocks in effigy companies spiking…and murder?

Bob Woolmer, 58, is dead. They found the unconscious coach of Pakistan’s team in his hotel room this weekend and he died soon after that at a hospital. At first, I was told by my cricket tutors that it was probably a heart attack; after a bruising defeat, it seemed entirely plausible. Woolmer’s family seemed to agree, from various reports that I had read. But what really happened to him? Did he die of unnatural causes (Thanks WGiiA, Anon and Anil)?

Police are now treating Bob Woolmer’s death as suspicious, Mark Shields, the deputy commissioner of police, told a news conference in Jamaica. A full-scale investigation has been ordered.

…”Having met with the pathologists, our medical personnel and investigators, there is now sufficient information to continue a full investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death of Mr Woolmer, which we are now treating as suspicious.”

However, unconfirmed reports suggested Woolmer might have been murdered because marks were found around his neck. [Link]

Hmmmm. I’ll keep you posted. Well, you’ll probably keep ME posted, but you know what I meant. The education of this dilettante cricket fan continues…and really, it doesn’t need to be THIS interesting.

Cricket mania in India has produced a new Indian superhero, ‘Sachin Tendulkar - the Master Blaster’:

India’s Sachin Tendulkar is set to appear as a superhero in a new range of comic books, animation and games. The cricketing legend has linked up with Virgin Comics and his character will wear body armour and wield a flaming cricket bat. [Link]

Ummmm …. guys? You’re not helping the rep of desi men any. He’s short, has a stiff bat on fire, and is associated with Virgin? Great … But wait, it gets even better:

… two years ago had a stage musical about him called Main Sachin Tendulkar [Link]

Just imagine little Rajiv, playing in an American sandbox with his Sachin Tendulkar action figure.

Joe: I’ve got a GI Joe! What’s that short geeky looking thing?
Rajiv: I’ve got a Sachin Tendulkar! He plays cricket!
Joe: GI Joe has a gun. See, he can shoot bad guys with it.
Rajiv: Sachin has a flaming cricket bat! And when I play, I sing songs from his musical. Isn’t he awesome?

Doesn’t Gotham Chopra know how many years of therapy poor Rajiv is going to have to pay for?

Wot’s this?? Apparently, boycandy Sreesanth will not be part of India’s opening line-up at the World Cup (damn you, Khan, Agarkar and Patel…damn you all!).

Paceman Shanthakumaran Sreesanth looks likely to miss out on a starting place for the World Cup but said that could be the best thing to happen for him.

…”I like it this way,” he said at a team net practice near Port-of-Spain on Wednesday. “I like to struggle and get something rather than get it easily. I’m sure I will get the opportunity.”[Reuters]

I dig a good chase too, but if my sweet little neyyappam ain’t playin’, suddenly, I am way less inspired to impersonate Mandira Bedi poorly. Many of you might recall that my fling with Cricket commenced with a post which celebrated Sreesanth’s glorious obnoxiousness towards Andre Nel:

After hearing about Mallu hotness Sreesanth (thanks, DTK), I had to visit ye olde YouTube to find out about this right-arm fast-medium-pace bowler, who is a right-handed tailender. Apparently, excessively lippy South African Andre Nel questioned Sreesanth’s heart/courage/skillz after Sreesanth evaded something called a bouncer. Sreesanth responded by hitting Nel for a six and then performing a dance I’d normally associate with an end zone. Oh, that was just brutal to write. I can’t imagine how many men I’ve just annoyed. ;)

I may not know a damned thing about what is arguably the most popular sport in all of South Asia, but I know the art of trash talk well and if anything could get me to fall in love with this very Brown game, it’s the video I’ve posted…[SM, biatches!]

…

…just like most of you do. Me? I heart Google Doodles, those logo variations which Googler Dennis Hwang wittily creates to celebrate holidays or significant events. It takes very little to thrill me. Close your mouth, darling…flies will make a home there…that and it’s not polite to be so shocked. ;)

This doodle wasn’t on the Amreekan search page (desi, please*), oh no. Obviously it was on Google.co.uk as well as Google’s Indian page. Interestingly enough (though I’m sure there will be a hugely obvious reason as to “why” which I will be edified with via comments in, oh, four or five minutes) Google’s pages for Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka were not so festive.

Since I famously and rather foolishly promised to attempt to cover the World Cup, I thought I’d commence this mutinous cricket mania with an easy post; besides, my cricket tutors have all been wayyy too busy to field my frantic and stupid questions. ;)

I work with twenty people, eighteen of whom are men; recently, I’ve been privy to outrage and debate regarding the following scandal (when I’m not ignoring boasts regarding bracketology, that is). I didn’t realize that there was a Sepia angle to the Adam “Pacman” Jones controversy until Anantha kindly alerted us to it, earlier today. I’ll get to that, but first, let’s catch up other non-ESPN-addicts with what the hell I’m going on about:

It’s Feb. 19 in Vegas and, two miles from The Strip at a club called Minxx, the three-day party that is the NBA All-Star Weekend is about to end.

With gunfire.

According to witnesses, Adam Bernard “Pacman” Jones sits in a VIP booth with seven acquaintances, six of them women, the other his bodyguard. They’re drinking Dom Perignon champagne and Patron tequila, which goes for $600 a bottle. Pacman watches as Cornell Haynes Jr. — America knows him as the rapper Nelly — and music producer Jermaine Dupri (whose girlfriend is Janet Jackson) “make it rain” dollar bills for several songs. Jones, the Tennessee Titans cornerback who considers himself a major player, wants a piece of their action. Pacman asks an employee to convert $3,400 in larger bills into smaller denominations and approaches the stage. Wide-eyed, almost childlike, he showers fists full of dollars on the dancers.

What happened next, in the context of the law, might not be determined for months, if ever. But when the gunshots ended, a security guard, a former WWF wrestler named Tommy Urbanski, was on the ground with his spinal cord shattered by a bullet. Two others, another bouncer and a female patron, were also shot.

To be clear, Las Vegas police consider Jones a WITNESS, not a person of interest; the trouble-magnet of an athlete claims he’s not the one. The club owner says he made threats and knows the gunman, who has yet to be found. But just in case…

Even though he hasn’t been charged, Jones hired an attorney, Manny Arora, from the same Atlanta-based law firm that defended Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis on charges of murder and aggravated assault in 2000.

The entire ESPN article is a fascinating read and I say that as someone who is almost entirely bored by sports (unless it’s something else fascinating…like cricket). I’m not saying I have any sympathy for Pacman (who got his nick because of the enthusiastic way he housed bottles of milk when he was a wee thing) or the devil for that matter, but after reading a backstory like this:

Misfortune is something that has touched Jones early, and often. His father, Adam, was shot in the back of the head and died when Pacman was 5. His mother, Deborah, spent three years in prison. An uncle died from a knife wound. He’s seen some of his peers die. He was raised chiefly by his grandmother, Christine Jones, and she died of cancer after he graduated from high school.

I can’t say that I’m brimming with enthusiasm about the Super Bowl, what with (a) my team not being in it, and (b) the two-week break that precedes it, which really kills the post-season viewing momentum in the name of cramming in seven more days of bullshit corporate hype. Having said that, though, this seems an appropriate time to spotlight the work of Aditi Kinkhabwala, a real-life desi woman sportswriter, who had a Super Bowl-related piece this week at Sports Illustrated’s website. In it, she proclaims her love for Indianapolis Colts linebacker Gary Brackett, whose path to football stardom was several times barred by family tragedy:

Less than a week later, [Brackett’s father] Granville passed away, his heart finally having given out.

Brackett finished that season with 25 tackles. Then shortly after the Super Bowl, in February 2004, [Brackett’s mother] Sandra was rushed to the hospital for an emergency hysterectomy. She never left, an operating-table stroke putting her into what would be a fatal coma.

Brackett went back out to Indy that summer, until, just before mini-camp, he found out his brother Greg had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant. Gary told head coach Tony Dungy the outside shot of staving off Greg’s leukemia was more important than fighting for a roster spot and he skipped the camp.

A few weeks after he made the donation Brackett fought his way onto Dungy’s roster. He again played special teams, before pounding Denver for 11 tackles in his one start in January. And before Greg, despite the transplant, succumbed to the cancer in February.

The other reason Aditi loves Brackett, besides his triumph over the odds, is that he played his college ball at Rutgers. In addition to her column at SI.com, Kinkhabwala is a staff sports writer at the Bergen Record in New Jersey, where her beat is Rutgers sports. She covered the unlikely success of the Scarlet Knights football team this past season, and is now deep in the men’s and women’s basketball seasons.

It’s well known that washed-out crooners and comedians end up in Las Vegas. The same role is played in the international soccer world by a few wealthy backwaters where once-glamorous players on the far side of their prime can poke the ball around a few more years against subpar opposition. For some reason Qatar, principally among the Gulf states, has been such a haven for a decade or more. Japan is another such venue. But the place you really want to end up if you’re a footballing once-great is — following the path that Pelé and Beckenbauer once trod — the good old U. S. of A.

Before you pounce: Yes, I know that the U.S., Japan, even Qatar are all soccer powers on the rise in an international scene where talent is more and more evenly spread. And it’s arguable that some of these early retirees have contributed to this leveling, although I’m more inclined to believe that when they get off their arses and coach (like Zico for Japan last year), as opposed to collect large checks and come on in the seventy-fifth minute to please the adoring masses.

In light of these considerations I guess we should refrain from judging in advance the impact that the arrival of Golden Balls himself, David Beckham, in the U.S. to play for the Los Angeles Galaxy will have on the development of the sport. But considering the amount of money that’s being shelled out for him — $250 million over five years, the richest contract in American professional sports — it’s fair to say that someone out there has great expectations.

One constituency that has to be happy is Los Angeles realtors, as the establishment of a West Coast Beckingham Palace is sure to reflate the market for Beverly Hills mansions. Victoria Beckham (I know, how did I manage to take this post so far without mentioning her?) has been spotted scoping out properties in the company of Katie Holmes, the latest Tom Cruise brainwashee spouse. It seems Katie and Posh are BFFs — who knew? — and so I suppose we can expect numerous stories ahead of TomKat and Posh & Becks double-dating shenanigans, hopefully in all possible permutations.

But what does it mean for the desis? Tipster Kamala is on the case. She sent us a link to this picture that Sports Illustrated ran a couple of days ago on its website. She notes:

observe Beckham’s left hand. If my hindi is right, his tattoo says Victoria in Hindi, in huge letters. It’s so clearly visible. Hmm.

Hmm is right, my sister! Well, it’s been documented before that Posh and Becks like to get their India on — it’s apparently a common malady among the Brit celebrity set — and beside, who could resist that sinewy Devanagari script, it’s so sensuous and exotic. Between this and the whole Bend-It thing, perhaps Posh and Becks could help us re-open our recently-shuttered Los Angeles bureau.

We’re also going to need some investigators and paperazzi of our own (Taz, Shruti, I’m looking at you). For now we’ll have to make do with this Los Angeles perspective from Defamer, which has opened a new category (“Celebutard Immigration Issues”) to mark the event and offers here its “official position” on the arrival of Posh & Becks:

We are wholeheartedly against the idea of foreign attention whores stealing away scarce Lohan-diddling and vagina-flashing opportunities from our homegrown celebutards, and we’d rather see our native paparazzi burn down Los Angeles rather than forfeit their turf to the coming wave of alien guerrilla photographers who will soon be dispatched to document the Beckhams’ every Starbucks visit.

Meanwhile, Las Vegas just got a whole lot closer. Spice Girls reunion tour, anyone?

Kenya is one of those rare Commonwealth countries that has a large Indian diaspora population but where cricket isn’t so popular. It used to be. Kenya is only an associate member of the International Cricket Council, as is the United States, and so does not play test cricket, but thanks to some good qualifying tournament play, it has made it to the World Cup. It did so in 1996 and 1999 under the leadership of Aasif Karim. The spin bowler came out of retirement when his side qualified again in 2003 for the last world cup in South Africa. He had served as captain of the 1999 side.

When I met him in his home, we tried to determine if his Indian descent and national team captaincy represented any sort of “first.” We wondered if he was the first desi to captain a national team (other than a team from the subcontinent) in a world cup (any cricket-mad mutineer know differently?).

Kenya won total of five matches in 2003, and Aasif was named Man of the Match for his performance against Australia (the world champions), even though his side lost. He enjoyed playing at the highest level but after the cup decided it was time to move on. Kenya’s commitment to cricket was small (professional sport here is hardly funded at all; even soccer, the most popular sport, lacks facilities, organization, and a commitment to development). But wouldn’t he like to be Kenya’s Brian Lara, perpetual captain and national cricket icon? “Better to go when they ask, ‘Why did you retire?’ and not ‘When are you going to retire?’”” he says.

Sreesanth Swinging His Bat…. Dhoom Machale?!

It’s my first time, Mutineers, so be gentle. I’m a total Cricket virgin and if you’re mean to me about what is sure to be an amateurish post, I’ll be scarred forever— whether I end up a frigid fan or not is in your hopefully kind and capable hands. ;)

After hearing about Mallu hotness Sreesanth (thanks, DTK), I had to visit ye olde YouTube to find out about this right-arm fast-medium-pace bowler, who is a right-handed tailender. Apparently, excessively lippy South African Andre Nel questioned Sreesanth’s heart/courage/skillz after Sreesanth evaded something called a bouncer. Sreesanth responded by hitting Nel for a six and then performing a dance I’d normally associate with an end zone. Oh, that was just brutal to write. I can’t imagine how many men I’ve just annoyed. ;)

I may not know a damned thing about what is arguably the most popular sport in all of South Asia, but I know the art of trash talk well and if anything could get me to fall in love with this very Brown game, it’s the video I’ve posted above. Set to some probably-famous song I’ve never heard before (“Dhoom Machale”), it’s way more fun than the other YouTube clips which came up when I searched for the new object of my lecherous (he’s eight years younger) affection. Not since I was kicked off our co-ed IM team in grad school for illegal (and may I add, utterly justified and deliciously violent) tackling during a flag-football game have I been so delighted by the immaturity of declaring “in your face!”. Gopu, I heart you. :)

UPDATE: The Google Video seems clearer, so I swapped it.

I could barely restrain my glee yesterday when I switched on the TV during the day, and found myself witnessing the 15th Asian Games in Doha. Why, you may wonder? Because I found myself watching (wait for it)…international, competitive, kabaddi.

One of the more eclectic sports, and for people such as myself who know nothing about the game other than its featuring scantily-clad, oiled-up men chanting, kabbadi is played by two seven-player teams, which take turns raiding each other’s side of the court. One scores points either touching an opposing player and returning to your own side, or by an opposing team managing to prevent a raider from returning to his side.

I mean, I sort of know what it’s all about, but my experience with kabaddi was limited to having heard about it, seen the occasional match while channel-surfing at 4:00 a.m., and once or twice, driving past Clifton Beach in Karachi on a Sunday evening and seeing what I was informed was a match in progress. I certainly had no idea that kabaddi had hit an international level, and even less aware was I that Japan and Iran are also into the sport. I also had no idea that (a) this existed, and (b) that there were some hotties involved in the game: Am I just clueless about this, or did I somehow miss the (re?)surgence of kabaddi? Best of all though, I can’t help but feel somewhat vindicated by this image. On behalf of all brown men everywhere who enjoy getting oiled up and tussling with other oiled-up men in skimpy clothing, I say carry on my brothers! We shall overcome!

Today’s Michigan Daily has an interesting story that sheds light on the evolving politics within the larger Asian American community. There is a secret society at The University of Michigan known as “Michigamua.” It is pretty much modeled after “Skull and Bones” at Yale, right down to their use of Native American artifacts. It existed at time I attended Michigan and my Indian friends mostly disapproved of its existence, although a couple of acquaintances of ours were in it. Many see it as an elitist organization modeled after other such organizations that help to maintain a white male patriarchy. Others see it as a way for minority communities to become part of the “establishment” by wielding the supposed power and influence that comes with membership (President Gerald Ford was a member). Recently, both the president of the Indian American Students Association and the co-chair of SAAN (where I was invited to speak earlier this year) were outed as members of this secret society. This prompted the following demand from the United Asian American Organizations, an influential umbrella group on campus:

United Asian American Organizations, a congress of 37 Asian/Pacific Islander student groups, passed a resolution last month insisting that the senior society meet five demands by the beginning of winter semester.

If it does not, UAAO promised to oust two member groups - the South Asian Awareness Network and the Indian American Student Association…

“Michigamua fails to prove to the campus community that they are no longer a racist establishment. The only way they could prove this is through transparency, a method they do not employ at this time,” UAAO executive board members wrote in a statement. “Because of this lack of transparency, United Asian American Organizations has taken steps to ensure the safety of the student of color community to which we belong…” [Link]

Let me translate and paraphrase in my own words: “You stand either with the racist establishment or you stand with other Asians of color.” It doesn’t appear likely that the browns want to quit though:

Members of IASA declined to comment for this article, but it appears their group does not intend to force Pai, the group’s president, to quit the society. It also seems unlikely that they will force him to resign.

SAAN has no intentions of barring its leaders from the society, said Shah, SAAN co-chair and society member.

“At this time, SAAN’s central planning team has decided to give the opportunity to the organization formerly known as Michigamua to implement the changes it promised last year,” he said. [Link]

Also, a second quick note about Michigan:

Chris Sharma is the best rock climber in America, and probably the best sport climber in the world:

When he completed his long-time project Realization in Ceuse, France in 2001, the route was arguably the hardest in the world…

Sharma [has] won the World Cup of Climbing, [but] it was later recalled after he tested positive for THC, although THC is not a performance enhancing drug. He returned the cup. [Link]

Sharma has continuously pushed the limits of the sport, climbing routes more difficult than virtually anybody else:

Chris Sharma, the 24-year-old monkey boy who in 2001 introduced the world to 5.15 climbing (the sport’s hardest grade), recently cobbled together a new boulder problem, across the roof of an Ozarks cave, that some say is one of the hardest lines ever completed. [Link]

I got really excited when I first heard his name. This guy who climbs like a mountain macaca … could his name really be Krishna Omprakash Sharma? I mean, that pot thing is so Harold & Kumar.

Nope. Despite his desi middle and last names, he’s neither [racially] desi nor hadesi, he’s actually a hidesi [desi with either Hippie or Hindu convert parents]. His parents are disciples of Baba Hari Dass, “who has not spoken since 1952 and communicates by writing on a small chalkboard.”

I want to start by saying that I DO NOT condone child marriages. In this case however, for the good of Mother India, I think we should all consider the merits of such an arrangement. In the past we have blogged about young (4 year old) Budhia Singh who was running upwards of 30 miles on an average non-competition day. Some overly cautious adults banned him from running marathons in the state of Orissa and charged his coaches/handlers with abuse. Officials said that they didn’t want him to be exploited but I’ll bet it was to protect the other runners (who may have had friends in the government) from embarrassment. Now we get word of another young runner. Meet the hard charging Anastasia Barla:

A 10-year-old tribal girl from a remote village in Sundargarh district ran 72 km in eight hours on Monday but failed to break Budhia Singh’s record.

Five-year-old Budhia had run 65 km non-stop on May 2 in his bid to enter the Limca Book of Records, while Anastasia took a five-minute break after running 58 kms.

Anastasia Barla’s target was to cover 105 km. She began her marathon run from Sundargarh stadium at exactly 5 am amid cheers from a large crowd.

But she stopped at Rambahal near Rajgangpur at around 1 pm, after covering 72 km.

Her coach Dominque Lakra said Anastasia could not achieve the target today as she had ran on hard surface. “The girl is comfortable on soil which is soft…” [Link]

Look, if India wants to get serious about competing athletically on a global stage then they need to start making some tough decisions now. Even if Budhia and Anastasia are held back by the corrupt Indian system, at least their offspring might have a chance to be the great brown hopes. Can you imagine the running abilities of their kids given the genetic stock of Budhia and Anastasia? An arranged marriage seems to this blogger to be the most reasonable course of action. Damn any caste differences if they exist. A modern India calls for pragmatic solutions.

There are a great many serious issues I want to write about this week but my time is scarce and I will leave it to the other bloggers to tackle them. Instead, I offer you terrific news out of New York from this past weekend. As most of you probably heard, Indian tennis player Leander Paes and his doubles partner Martin Damm (a Czech) won the U.S. Open Tournament.

Leander Paes won his first Men’s doubles title at a grand slam in five years by wresting the US Open crown with Martin Damm of the Czech Republic here on Saturday.

Paes and Damm scored a shock 6-7 (5-7), 6-4, 6-3 victory over second seeds Jonas Bjorkman of Sweden and Max Mirnyi of Belarus in the final at the Flushing Meadows. Paes, 33, last registered a grand slam triumph in 2001 at the French Open with Mahesh Bhupathi, with whom he also won the French Open and the Wimbledon in 1999.

This is also Damm’s first ever major title. Paes has also won three mixed doubles titles in grand slams. Paes and Damm pocketed $400,000 as winner’s prize money. The lengthy opening set was a power struggle that stayed on serve to force a tiebreak. [Link]

Paes’ previous Grand Slam victory came at Wimbledon in 2003 where he won the mixed doubles championship partnering with tennis goddess Martina Navratilova. As you can see from the pictures below, when you got love for your teammate(s) you are nearly impossible to beat. Congrats to Paes and Damm!

“I can’t quit you.”

Every year on the second Saturday in August, the town of Allapuzha (or Allepey), Kerala — the “Venice of the East” — hosts the Nehru Trophy Boat Race. The boats used in the comptetition are traditional “snake boats” or “Chundan Vallam”. The boats have as many as 120 oarsmen, and have a large hood in the rear that rises twenty feet in the air, which resembles a cobra’s head. I’m not quite sure what the function of this hood is from a “boat science” perspective, but these boat races are both ancient and highly ritualized, and I get the feeling no one is thinking about a fiberglass redesign. Anyway, the snake boats look pretty cool; see more snake boat images.

For the first time this year, a team of 10 foreign women of various nationalities came from Dubai to participate in the women’s race. The foreign team was led by a British woman named Julie Amer, who describes herself as an “adventure tourist.” The team from Dubai worked together with 25 local Allapuzha women — and their boat came in first in the women’s race.

Two thoughts: 1) It’s cool that the women race in Saris (or are they Mundus?). 2) I love the umbrella; I wonder if it’s only for the women’s boats?

The winner in the men’s competition, for the third year in a row, was the “Payippad Boat Club.” Threepeat! The “Jesus Boat Club” came in second in its first appearance, according to the Hindu.

About 300,000 people went to Allapuzha to watch the race this year. Among them were about 5000 foreigners.

Because I can safely be described as a masochist, I am always on the lookout for masochistic stories with a desi angle. This one comes to us as a tip from former SM heartthrob Apul. It seems that there is a race that takes place in New York called the The 3100 Mile Race. Allow me to explain:

The Sri Chinmoy Marathon Team is proud to offer the Ninth Annual Self-Transcendence 3,100 Mile Race. In this grand test of endurance and survival, a small group of athletes attempt to negotiate 5649 laps of a .5488 of a mile course (883 meters) in the time-span of 51 days- an amazing challenge. This is the longest certified footrace in the world; runners must average 60.7 miles per day to finish within the 51-day limit. The serious athlete must have tremendous courage, physical stamina, concentration and the capacity to endure fatigue, boredom and minor injuries. The predecessor of this very race was the 2700 Mile Race (held in 1996), in which five intrepid runners finished the distance well within the 47-day time limit. In 1997, Sri Chinmoy, race founder, upped the distance to 3100 miles. Two runners finished the inaugural 3100 Mile race in less than 51 days, showing that athletes indeed believed in self-transcendence. Last year nine finished 3100 miles out of 12 starters… [Link]

There are two things that I find particularly interesting about this race. The first is that the founder, Sri Chinmoy, doesn’t appear to have the classic runner’s build. See for yourself:

He looks like he is about to fall asleep

Second, I found the “route” to be sort of mundane. Imagine circling the same city block repeatedly for 3100 miles! After some inquiries in dawned on me that this would also be a great route if you were a pedophile. What am I implying? Nothing. It was just an observation.

Kevin Garnett, the long-suffering anchor of the never-quite-there Minnesota Timberwolves, has been pumping up India’s basketball prospects while on an Asian publicity tour. (Thanks, tipster Kumar!) Garnett said he felt a lot of enthusiasm for the sport in India, and suggested the country might emerge into the world game in the same way that China has started to do behind Yao Ming.

Of course, until some Indian school or club produces a 7-foot freak of nature with half decent ball handling skills, this scenario will lack a crucial component for take-off. Better perhaps to take the grassroots approach, as another major American sports organization, Major League Baseball, is doing. In November, after the US season is over, MLB’s Envoy Program will send a team of coaches to conduct a month of baseball clinics in five Indian cities: Delhi, Bombay, Chennai, Calcutta, and Imphal.

Uh… Imphal?

I know you don’t need me to tell you where Imphal is! It’s the capital of Manipur, of course, a largely “tribal” state in India’s far northeast. Seems like baseball has been thriving in Manipur for several decades, ever since (it is thought) American troops deployed there introduced it during World War II.

“Thriving” is a relative term, of course, since there isn’t a single dedicated baseball diamond in the state. However there are 26 organized men’s baseball clubs, 4 women’s teams, and a governing association; they play a regular season, improvising diamonds on fields borrowed from other sports.

A New York and Imphal venture called First Pitch is working on promoting Manipur baseball and raising funds to build a dedicated baseball stadium and equip the teams. A local club has already donated land. The project’s American chair, Muriel Peters, and Manipuri executive director, Somi Roy, both come from the film world. Director Mirra Bank is filming a documentary. A five-minute promo by a Manipuri director set to a translation of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” is here.

Perhaps a part of this venture’s appeal in the philanthropic world is that it’s just that little bit hokey. But who knows? Perhaps a generation from now, Manipuri players will be commonplace in the American game. That’s why they call it Field of Dreams…

A couple of hours from now, 22 handsome men of various shapes and hues will peel off their sweat-drenched jerseys and exchange them, amid hugs and kisses and mussing of hair, before a crowd of tens of thousands and a television audience of billions. And just like that, the World Cup will be over.

As the sporting winner emerges from the final pairing of France and Italy, so shall the competition’s winning narrative, the storyline of storylines that best succeeds in taking events on the field and giving them interpretive power to tell us something about the world we live in.

It is interesting that we are having discussions right now at the Mutiny about nationalism, jingoism, patriotism, anti-nationalism, and matters of that sort, at the same time that the world’s quadriennial celebration of national identities wraps up. The World Cup is a curious beast, it is a time when national loyalties are expressed, loudly and even virulently, yet in a choreographed manner and by universally recognized rules of engagement and fair play, for a limited duration and all at the same time.

It’s as much a celebration of the porousness of national barriers as it is of their continued relevance. It’s an event that inherently applauds globalization – the demographic flows, the internationalization of the business of sports, the diffusion of popular culture, the technological advances that permit billions of people to watch the same high-quality image feeds, the ease of travel that permits delegations of supporters to travel from the far corners of the planet. And it’s also an opportunity to wrap oneself in one’s flag – or that of another country to which one feels loyalty, or kinship, or just a whimsical fancy.

Freshly back from Germany where he attended several first-round matches, reader “Farouk Engineer” shares this photograph of an Australia fan encountered amidst the swirling hordes of international merrymakers currently roaming the land of Goethe and Bratkartoffeln.

In just a few hours from this writing, we’ll know whether the sister’s impossible dream of seeing the Socceroos hoist the World Cup lives another day. Australia takes on heavily-favored Italy at 1700 CET. But the result is no foregone conclusion. Australia have earned admirers for their fluent, enthusiastic football. Made up mostly of journeymen who play for not-quite-marquee European sides (Middlesbrough, Alaves, Dresden…) Australia are a sort of deluxe version of the US team that held Italy to an ill-tempered 1-1 draw. Their coach, flying Dutchman Guus Hiddink, was the artisan of the 2002 South Korea side that rampaged through a series of upsets of highly rated Mediterranean sides including Portugal, Spain, and, yes, Italy. Meanwhile, Italy will play without their veteran defensive anchor Alessandro Nesta. I still like gli Azzurri to take this one, but if Australia can drag it into extra time, a famous upset could be in the making.

In other news, yesterday’s Netherlands-Portugal slugfest had to be one of the uglier matches ever, with Russian referee Valentin Ivanov losing control of proceedings early and reduced to gallivanting about the field brandishing yellow and red cards. Sixteen of the former and four of the latter amounted to a disgrace of a game in which the referee’s card-happiness provoked the players into great petulance, and vice versa.

Amid all this Holland lost 1-0 and they had it coming to them. The Dutch are much-loved in the football world, but much of it is based on past glory (the 1970s “Total Football” side anchored by the great Johann Cruyff), more recent elegant but underachieving sides, and good public relations. At the same time, Holland has some of the roughest hooligans (the pitched battles between Ajax and Feyenoord ultras are legendary) and vulgar, inebriated supporters. “Farouk” reports running into squadrons of middle-aged Dutch men in Germany dressed in nothing but clogs and orange women’s bikinis with their private parts casually dangling out. Lovely!

Via our News tab (thanks WGiiA) we get a tantalizing glimpse of what might have been if only India had fielded a World Cup Team…of Hindu ascetics. From the Associated Press:

Peep the footwork on the right. Put this guy in for Ronaldo.

If I worked for Addidas I would have my new ad campaign right here. Those feet just need some free shoes.

India did make it to the world cup, once. Kind of. Well, not really:

No, don’t rub your eyes in disbelief. India did make it to the 1950 World Cup finals. Well sort of. Four countries from Asia were invited to participate in the qualifiers. Burma, Philippines and Indonesia all withdrew, so India qualified automatically.

India was placed in Group 3 with Sweden, Italy, and Paraguay. But their request to play barefoot was turned down by FIFA and they withdrew! [Link]

Sadly, this was back in the hey day of Indian Soccer, too. Until some South Asian team makes it to the world cup, we’ve always got Vikas Dhorasoo and his action figures, right?

You’d be surprised at how often we get these kinds of questions come in over our “Contact Line.”

Message:

hey where did you buy the vikash dhorasoo jersey from? i’ve been looking for it everywhere

What do we look like…Google? Someone want to help this dude out? In the meantime I have another item that may interest Vikash Dhorasoo (a.k.a The Great Brown Hope) fans. The official Dhorasoo action figure from his regular team Paris Saint-Germain:

Now I know it may not look exactly like him. The skin color should be darker. But who really cares? A few years ago I actually looked into making bobble-head dolls and action figures of me. I thought, “what a great gift to give to friends.” Who couldn’t use a bobble-head Abhi to kick around? My action figure would have been extra-muscular though. And I’d finally have perfect hair. You have to buy in bulk though and I just don’t have that many friends.

The people have spoken! And they want more Brazilian hotties World Cup coverage. Armed with this unambiguous mandate, I offer you the Sepia Mutiny update on the World Cup, now that one-third of the first round is over and we have seen every team in action at least once.

First, the Desi Angle (TM): your Great Brown Hope, the Mauritian-Indian French midfielder Vikash Dhorasoo, came on for the final ten minutes of an insipid and stultifying France-Switzerland match that produced the two teams’ third draw in their last three confrontations. Brought on to give France some much-needed energy, Dhorasoo did well in the short time he had, and nearly scored with a searing shot from range that just missed the far post. Watching amid a thin, pessimistic French crowd on the otherwise lovely rear patio of Brooklyn restaurant Jolie, Mr Kobayashi and I nearly choked on our merguez sandwiches as we watched the potential First Desi Goal in World Cup History skim barely wide. It was not to be, but with the French first-stringers not showing much verve, the Hope may well see more playing time in the next two matches against South Korea and Togo.

Via that brother at Ultrabrown, here is a YouTube video of Dhorasoo’s entrance and shot. I couldn’t find a still photo — if anyone out there has found one, holla at me.

And that concludes the Desi Angle (TM). Now for the true heads, here’s an appreciation of the tournament so far, with a Daljit Dhaliwal tie-in for those who read all the way to the end.

There was a funny but true quote from a woman interviewed for this article (thanks, Technophobicgeek) on World Cup mania in India:

A young woman sold on soccer pointed out: “I like soccer because the men playing the sport are strong, fit, aggressive and much better-looking. Cricketers on the other hand are softies in comparison, and it is quite incomprehensible how 10 people can just stand and watch while one bowls and the other bats,” she argued.

In her view, the only exception is Dhoni, who combines strength with sensitive looks and style, the ultimate Beckhamesque combination. She said Dhoni started off being a soccer player, in any case. (link)

My significant other, who is very knowledgeable on these matters, agrees on the question of the appeal of cricketers vs. soccer players. (The question of which sport is better may be a different matter, of course.) The article also mentions the predicted 150 million (cumulative) Indian viewers for the games, which will be broadcast in Hindi all over the country, bringing in scads of advertising revenue. And incidentally, the “Dhoni” the interviewee mentions is Mahindra Singh Dhoni, and he’s the most eligible batchelor in Jharkand, apparently (also, pictured right). A bit Beckhamesque, is he not?

There’s a similar comment (minus the cricket) in a Slate piece by Bryan Curtis where he explains why intellectual American men seem to be drawn to soccer. Part of it is that they’re (ok we’re) “internationalist” coffee-drinking, Richard Linklater-worshipping poseurs, of course. But maybe it also has to do with this:

In a weak moment, the soccer intellectual might even admit that the sport’s stars are aspirational male role models. Most soccer players are not human grotesqueries like NFL stars or attenuated beanpoles like NBA players. They’re possessed of attainable physiques, strong and compact—the kind that might impress intellectuals and the women who love them. (link)

Yes, I always prefer my sports to have aspirational role models — and maybe voiceless velar plosives as well.

Every four years, the entire world pauses to watch very hot athletes play a game I find irresistible. We could get all armchair (or, more likely, office chair) psychologist on my kundi and consider that Soccer was the only sport my august father ever played, but it’s also the only sport I ever played.

One glorious summer a few years ago, I decided to sack up and work through all the issues I still had with forever being picked last to do anything in elementary school P.E. I played my heart out four nights a week and I had bruises the size of watermelons on my legs (playing indoors can be brutal) and a permanent ankle injury to show for it. Despite being black, blue and purple in addition to my usual brown, I’ve never been prouder of myself or my resolve to do the impossible: front like I’m actually coordinated.

This Friday, if you are so inclined, write exactly 55 words about: FIFA, footie, Footballers’ Wives (whose most memorable star from this past season was half-desi hotness Laila Rouass, pictured left), soccer camp, Adidas gear…whatever floats your World Cup boat. As always, kindly leave your flash fiction in the comments below or provide a link to where we can find some. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to attend to my mobile; Ennis keeps blowing up my spot with text messages which say “Goooooooooooooaaaaaaaal!” :D

P.S. If you haven’t been watching Footballers’ Wives on BBC America, you’re so missing out. Laila Rouass plays “Amber”, erstwhile Bollywood star and sort-of-estranged wife of a Beckham-ish “Conrad Gates”. I won’t spoil the rest for you since they recently commenced re-running the entire season on Sunday nights at 10pm and 1am (at least that’s how Comcast does it here in D.C…YMMV, obviously). Watch. You won’t be disappointed. ;)

On July 29, 1911, the gentlemen to the right lifted their first IFA Shield as Mohun Bagan defeated the East Yorkshire Regiment by two goals to one. Founded in 1889, Calcutta’s Mohun Bagan are Asia’s oldest football team, and to this day a major force in Indian soccer, along with perennial in-town rivals East Bengal and Mohammedan Sporting. Calcutta remains a hotbed of Indian football, with the most famous clubs and the most ardent and knowledgeable international football fans.

A memory: Midway through the US-hosted 1994 World Cup, I learned that my grandmother was ill and unlikely to survive. I flew to Calcutta from Boston, where I had attended two 1st-round matches and one 2nd-round (the Nigeria-Italy of tragic memory). For two weeks, my father and I held death watch in the family house. Our sole distraction was the World Cup matches that beamed in to the ill-tempered black-and-white television at ungodly hours of the night. In this nether state we saw the heroics of Romania’s Georghe Hagi, Sweden’s unlikely run, and Branco’s 30-meter free-kick that broke the Brazil-Netherlands tie. At 8 a.m. the armada of doctors would appear. They too had risen at 3 to watch the games. We’d analyze Colombia’s strange collapse or Brazil’s atypically dull style as they hovered over my grandmother, our own drama sadly easier to predict than, say, the fact that Brazil would beat Italy in the final on, of all things, a missed Roberto Baggio penalty.

Minutes away as I write this, Germany and Costa Rica will kick off this year’s tournament. In Calcutta, LCD and plasma television sales have doubled, says the Telegraph. The paper provides its readers with an invaluable feature on World Cup viewing tips which will be useful to sepia aficionados worldwide.

It covers dress:

The price may be a little steep at Rs 2,700, but Adidas is seeing team jerseys of Argentina, Germany, Spain and France fly off the shelves in city stores. Ditto for Nike jerseys of Brazil, Portugal and Holland, priced at Rs 2,495.

Posture:

The TV set should be at eye level, at a distance of at least five to six feet. Sit upright in straight-backed cushioned chair with head and lumbar support….

That Calcutta is becoming more conscious of the cramp and the cringe is clear from the queries reaching gyms about what to do during World Cup viewing.

“An erect posture should be maintained while sitting for such long hours because if the posture is faulty back trouble is inevitable. Reclining chairs are not advised,” says Divya Himatsingka of Gold’s Gym.

Exercise:

I self-identify as a gym rat. My body begins to feel ill and lethargic if I go even a week without working out. I have been working out at a gym regularly for the last eleven years. I consider going to the gym an almost spiritual duty. I believe in a personal philosophy that you must keep your body in the best shape you possibly can at all times so that it will be clean and ready if called into service for a greater cause (whatever that might be). I know that might seem silly to a lot of people but I really mean it. It isn’t about vanity. I actually eat four servings of fruits a day also, because being in shape isn’t just about going to the gym but about taking care of your health in general.

When I am at the gym I do not socialize. I only know the first names of one or two people at my gym. I always workout alone, I wear headphones, and 80% of the time I am there I don’t even make eye-contact with anyone. The gym is my “me” time. It is where I meditate on the things bothering me as well as on the things I am happy about. I toss around ideas for blog posts and also consider whether I should ban that one commenter who has been bugging me for months. It is my hour and a half of refuge from the storm outside.

An article published this week at Slate.com has got me reconsidering everything. Far from living a good example, maybe I, and those of you like me, are just a bunch of freaks in the making:

There have been three major terror attacks in the West over the past five years—9/11, the 2004 train bombings in Madrid, and the 7/7 suicide attacks on the London Underground. For all the talk of a radical Islamist conspiracy to topple Western civilization, there are many differences between the men who executed these attacks. The ringleaders of 9/11 were middle-class students; the organizers of the Madrid bombings were mainly immigrants from North Africa; the 7/7 bombers were British citizens, well-liked and respected in their local communities. And interpretations of Islam also varied wildly from one terror cell to another. Mohamed Atta embraced a mystical (and pretty much made-up) version of Islam. For the Madrid attackers, Islam was a kind of comfort blanket. The men behind 7/7 were into community-based Islam, which emphasized being good and resisting a life of decadence.

The three cells appear to have had at least one thing in common, though—their members’ immersion in gym culture. Often, they met and bonded over a workout. If you’ll forgive the pun, they were fitness fanatics. Is there something about today’s preening and narcissistic gym culture that either nurtures terrorists or massages their self-delusions and desires? Mosques, even radical ones, emphasize Muslims’ relationships with others—whether it be God, the ummah (Islamic world), or the local community. The gym, on the other hand, allows individuals to focus myopically on themselves. Perhaps it was there, among the weightlifting and rowing machines, that these Western-based terror cells really set their course. [Link]

As promised, during this World Cup season I’ll be serving up some desified football-related posts for that arse. Today, my bhai Davy hips me to this fascinating AFP story on “Pakistan’s Black Pelé,” Abdul Ghafoor. Apparently, he was the leading light of Pakistani football in the 1960s, a midfielder on what was a reasonably strong national team:

The midfielder was part of Pakistan’s setup when it was a credible footballing nation, grinding its way into Asia’s top 10 with players in demand from league clubs in India.

Ghafoor played in Dhaka in the 1960s and later represented Mohammedan Sporting in the Calcutta league in India.

It was in Dhaka, which became the capital of Bangladesh in 1971, where he met his wife Sabiha, who also has a penchant for football.

“My husband has been a football hero in Pakistan. There was a time when we couldn’t go out because hundreds of people would gather outside and want to see their Pelé,” said Sabiha …

In a strange new-world-order twist, Ghafoor’s son Ghani is in prison in Pakistan on terrorism charges that his father vehemently denies:

Ghani, who played football for domestic teams, was arrested in early 2004 from his home in Karachi in a crackdown against extremists and remains under lock and key.

The employee of a state-owned bank was accused of planning terrorist acts and is awaiting trial at a Karachi prison.

“My son’s only fault was that he grew a beard and he played football,” claimed Ghafoor.

With Pakistani and for that matter all subcontinental football mired in mediocrity, Abdul Ghafoor is left to reminisce about the old days and root for every Third Worlder’s default team, Brazil:

Ghafoor now stays away from football grounds but avidly stays in touch with the English Premiership and Brazilian soccer.

“Now I just watch Brazil and remember our good old days,” he said.

I tried to get some background on Abdul Ghafoor and his glory days, but found next to nothing. So here’s a call to historians, football fans, or any uncles or aunties who might have memories of Abdul Ghafoor, or more generally, sub-continental football in the 1960s.

I don’t know about you, but my attention next month will turn to Germany, host of this year’s football – yeah, yeah, soccer – World Cup. The 32-team tournament kicks off June 9 with Germany vs. Costa Rica; the final is a month later. To succeed Brazil as world champions, the bookies favor the Brazilians themselves, at 9/4. Argentina and Germany follow at 7/1. Asia’s four entries get little respect: Japan and Korea are at 150/1, Iran at 250/1, and should Saudi Arabia win it all, you’d pocket 500 times your bet.

Oh. You were looking for a desi angle?

Well, there barely is one – no thanks to the South Asian teams, which lived down to their reputation as doormats in the Asia qualifying rounds. India got a 6-0 spanking from Japan and lost 5-1 to Oman. At least it had one win, against Singapore; the same cannot be said of Sri Lanka or the Maldives, which finished last in their groups. Pakistan didn’t even make the group stage, falling by a total 6-0 in a playoff against Kyrgyzstan.

Yet despite this abysmal performance, you can be sure that TV screens across South Asia will be bursting with football. And fans seeking a tiny taste of sepia glory will be rooting at least in part for France, which fields the competition’s only desi. Standing a mighty 5’6” and weighing in at 140 lbs., midfielder Vikash Dhorasoo is our Great Brown Hope.

Four-year-old running prodigy Budhia Singh collapsed due to low blood sugar during a 40-mile run last Tuesday:

The Running Man

Diagnosing Budhia’s collapse during Tuesday’s 65-km run as hypoglycemia, where blood sugar level falls, a doctor feared the boy could suffer serious injuries by the time he reaches 15 if there is periosteal tear on the bones. [Link]

Doctors have examined him and said he should not be allowed to ultramarathon until he’s older:

… the panel headed by the chief medical officer of Capital Hospital… is said to have noted that the boy’s serum urea, potassium and ALKP (alkaline phosphatase) levels were on the higher side. “Signs of under-nourishment, vitamin deficiency and pallor have been noted. The boy should not run, as reflected by the abnormal parameters of health…” [Link]

Heeding the doctors, the Orissa government has banned Budhia from marathoning or being coerced to run marathons:

Orissa government has barred him from running marathons and threatened action against anybody who makes the four-year-old participate in long distance runs… Budhia’s cardiological system was under stress and he was under-nourished with anaemia and angular stomatitis, the [doctor’s] report had said. [Link]

Some activists, disbelieving Budhia’s 40 mile feat, wonder whether he’s living up to his name:

… he may earn another distinction by becoming the youngest in athletic world to go through dope test. “The doctors have suggested dope testing for Budhia who ran such a long distance…” [Link]

America’s most celebrated practitioner of ayurveda has fallen afoul of his employer again. Ricky Williams, running back for the Miami Dolphins, has been suspended for a year following a violation of the NFL’s drug policy. To many fans this is a same-old-story: Williams only recently returned from a previous supension, and the court of sports talk radio has found him guilty of self-indulgence, narcissism, and letting down the team.

What’s different this time, however, is that the suspension is not for marijuana (“according to a source” — the league won’t give details). Williams was a known pothead at the University of Texas, with the New Orleans Saints (where he alienated teammates and press with his reclusive behavior, before getting treatment for social anxiety disorder), and during his first stint with the Dolphins. It didn’t stop him from barreling through D-lines, and for a moment in Miami he looked on track to become one of the sport’s greats.

But the weed habit finally got him kicked out, and during his year off he hung out in Australia, India, and eventually studied at the California College of Ayurveda in (yes) Grass Valley. Ricky returned to the league not just clean but cleansed – vegetarian, versed in yoga and ayurveda, wearing only white, and apparently pot-free. (He was in India studying yoga when the offending test results came in.)

So if it wasn’t pot, what was it? The buzz is that an ayurvedic herbal supplement may have gotten him busted this time. In 2004 Abhi blogged that these supplements may not be all that pure. Perhaps Ricky should have chosen this supplier:

SM’s favorite plus-size man is in the spotlight once again [via Dhoomketu]. Dalip Singh (see previous posts 1,2) made his World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) debut earlier this week (watch him introduced). I will give $5 to anyone who can translate what he says for SM readers :). Here is the ring-side play-by-play:

Daivari made his triumphant return with the giant Dalip Singh! They walked out from backstage, slowly walking to the ring. The announcers didn’t know who this giant man was, but noted that he was being managed by Mark Henry’s manager. Taker bounced Henry’s head off the announce table.

[Under]Taker turned around and saw Singh. Singh stepped over the top rope and got in the ring, staring down Taker. Taker got in the ring. Taker had to look up at Singh. The announcers talked about how massive Singh is. Taker threw a right hand, but Singh basically no sold it. He threw another right hand, but it barely moved him. Singh then hit a karate chop to the head of Taker, knocking him down! Taker sat up, but Singh grabbed him by the throat. He ripped open one of the turnbuckles with one hand, then bounced Taker’s head off the exposed turnbuckle. Singh headbutted Taker in the back of the head twice. Daivari shouted “Do it again! Do it again!” Singh delivered another headbutt to the back of the head. There were tons of boos from the crowd. Singh hit a big kick to Taker’s head. Singh stood over the downed Taker as Daivari celebrated next to him. [Link]

Instead of the above you could just watch the clip and do your own play-by-play. I was never much into “entertainment” wrestling. The only reason I sometimes watched as a kid was because my dad wouldn’t let me. He said watching wrestling made you dumber and so it was forbidden in our house. I’d watch occasionally because I don’t like being told what to do, plus I wanted to see if he was right. The character that Singh plays in the WWE is named “the Great Khali.” He has quite a bio:

Hailing from India, The Great Khali stands at an impressive 7 foot 3 and weighs 420 pounds. The Great Khali has walked the jungles of India unafraid of pythons and wrestled White Bengal tigers. Daivari claims that The Great Khali has “stared into the abyss and the earth trembled at his gaze.” One of the largest athletes the WWE has ever bared witness to, The Great Khali stands to be a powerful force and a threat to every member of the SmackDown locker room. [Link]

But…here is something not in his WWE bio. Singh has wrestled in the States before. According to many wrestling observers he is a nice guy but just not any good at wrestling. Actually, in 2001 he accidentally killed a man in the ring by doing an imperfect “powerbomb.”

Gurminder Thind’s story is similar to that of the 6’6” 295 lbs Nuvraj Singh Bassi who played for the Oregon ducks from 2002-2004(?). Like Thind, Bassi is a large Sikh from Canada, which is not known for producing football players. Nuvraj played for a Vancouver area high school, and was apparently decent:

Once a mighty duck

Proved to be an overpowering force on both sides of the ball for the Huskies, starting as a tight end and defensive end during the 1999 and 2000 campaigns while breaking into the starting rotation as a defender his sophomore season. The team captain earned all-Western Conference honors at both positions while acquiring defensive all-British Columbia Province acclaim. Hauled in four touchdowns for a program which ran the ball better than 60 percent of the time, finishing senior season with a 9-2 record and a loss in the playoff semifinals. [Link]

However, he struggled to find his place in college football and it doesn’t seem like he got to play much after his first two years:

The search to determine a position which is most compatible with his demeanor and physical skills has been one of his biggest obstacles to developing at the next level as the former offensive lineman returned to the defensive line for the start of the 2002 season. Gained valuable playing experience this past spring while injuries and rehab kept more experienced hands on the sidelines. Will now try to transfer those repetitions into a more prolific role as a junior. Began his tenure as a defensive tackle before being shifted across the line of scrimmage two years ago. Recorded two of his three Spring Game tackles unassisted. Offseason workouts will go a long ways towards determining his future fate. [Link]

I remember him not because of his football prowess, but because he was a keshdhari football player (unlike Thind) which led to treatment like this at the Sun Bowl:A comedian at a Sun Bowl event yelled that he had “found Osama”

During his routine, the comedian, Freddy Soto, remarked that the University of Oregon football team is diverse. Mr. Soto then stated said, “Where’s that guy?” as he made a circle around your head to indicate that the person to whom who he was referring wears a turban. When Nuvraj Singh raised his hand, Mr. Soto yelled that he had found “Osama Bin Laden.” [Link]

There are good reasons why some people didn’t find that joke funny.

After college, in 2005, he was drafted in the fifth round by the BC Lions. He seems to have been cut after a season, however, because he’s not listed on their roster now. Does anybody out there know what happened and what he’s up to these days?

p.s. the Lions do have Fiji born desi Bobby Singh playing for them…

Related posts: The Thind Decision

A new desi college football player is now at large. 6’4”, ~290 lb. Gurminder Thind starts as left tackle on the University of South Carolina roster (thanks, OldWarHouse). But based on the snarl, Thind really should moonlight as a professional wrestler.

I’m very happy to report that based on the recently concluded Spring practice sessions in Columbia, SC, Gurminder Thind (6’4 290lbs) born in Mississauga, Ontario to practicing Sikh immigrants from India has locked down the starting LT for the University of South Carolina Gamecocks. A desi will be protecting the blindside of Steve Spurrier’s signal callers in ‘06. [Link]

Gurminder Thind is not like most major college football players in the United States. For one thing, he’s from Canada, where football is not held in the same high regard as it is in the American South. Second, he did not start playing football until he was 16 years old. A former USC assistant coach noticed him there and the rest is history. [Link]

Given the size of these Canadian imports, its hard to imagine anyone taking the joke too far. Pavlovic, who is 6-foot-4 and 241 pounds, is the runt compared to Thind (6-4, 286) and Sorensen (6-7, 309).

As Pavlovic explained when asked why his countrymen did not take up the Canadian religion/pastime of ice hockey: “With how big they are, its pretty hard for them to skate.”

But the three seem to be taking to football fine. With spring practice ending with today’s Garnet and Black game, Pavlovic and Thind have strong grips on starting positions, and Sorensen is working with the second team. [Link]

How many times have you seen a desi profile begin with a sexualized coffee metaphor?

Amir Khan, Starbucks menu item

[Boxer] Amir Khan is a slender 19-year-old with smooth skin the color of café con leche. [Link]

That particular style was original before Starbucks was big, when light-skinned black girls calling themselves ‘Mocha’ showed up on prime time to tease the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Only thing is, everyone now knows that coffee beans are actually harvested by poorly-paid brown people. Awkward.

Personally, I say we bring the brewless fuck back in style. It’s so darn cute, so dang-diggly underused, that the NYT should apply it to everyone they profile. And the metaphor should evaluate whether the subject is bangable, through coffeerotica.

‘Oscar de la Hoya is a 33-year-old with skin the color of espresso.

‘Avril Lavigne is a 21-year-old with skin the color of a double tall, no-whip vanilla latte.

‘Alan Greenspan is an 80-year-old with skin the color of curdled whipping cream.’

Hey, if you’re good, kick it up a notch into cocoarotica: milk chocolate, caramel, dark chocolate with almond bits. Make the paper of record sound as subtle as hip-hop lyrics. Bam, now we’re cookin’ with gas.

Related posts: We’ve got a live one!, Sakina’s Restaurant, Anatomy of a genre, M-m-me so hungry, Buzzword bingo

There still aren’t that many desis on the field in U.S. sports. However, that hasn’t stopped us from being an important part of the game. We’ve mentioned young Paraag Marathe in the 49ers front office. Over the weekend Sunil Gulati was elected the head of U.S. Soccer:

U.S. Soccer’s membership elected long-time U.S. Soccer executive Sunil Gulati as president of the U.S. Soccer Federation by unanimous consent on Saturday at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. Gulati succeeds Dr. S. Robert Contiguglia, stepping down after two successful four-year terms. Gulati, who ran unopposed in the election, has served as U.S. Soccer’s vice president since 2000.

“I am honored to serve our membership in this capacity and look forward to helping to continue to guide our sport through the most prosperous period in our history,” said Gulati. “Across the past decade, a platform for this sport has been built that did not previously exist, and we now have an opportunity in the coming years to achieve more for soccer in the United States than anyone could have ever envisioned 15 or 10 or even five years ago.” [Link]

Gulati has spent many years in the trenches, including in the front office of the New England Revolution. It is no fluke that he was elected to this position.

Gulati, a native of Allahabad, India, has played a major role in the development of U.S. Soccer since the early 1980’s and is currently U.S. Soccer’s Executive Vice President. Previously, amongst a number of roles, Gulati has served as Managing Director of National Teams, Chairman of the International Games Committee, Chairman of the Technical Committee and Managing Director of U.S. Soccer’s Project 2010. [Link]

In addition to his soccer job, Gulati is also a professor in the Economics Department at Columbia University. I happened upon a website where students get to rate their professors. This is what they have to say about Gulati:

# Ratings: 5
Average Easiness: 1.8
Average Helpfulness: 4.2
Average Clarity: 4.6
Hotness Total: 0
Overall Quality: 4.4

Also check out our frequent commenter Kush Tandon’s picture. These two must be long lost brothers :)

In President Bush’s most brilliant photo op ever, he invited members of the Pakistani national cricket team to the US embassy for a private lesson in cricket.

President Bush met Pakistani cricket captain Inzaman-ul-Haq and opening batsman Salman Butt amid tight security at the US embassy in Islamabad.

Watched by a crowd of schoolchildren, he was shown the correct way of holding a cricket bat before being led to the crease to face some bowling.

One of the balls from the Pakistani captain bounced high, striking the president on the shoulder.

Mr Bush also tried his hand at bowling. [Link]

No word as to whether batsman Butt was bestowed one of the President’s honorary nicknames when he was standing in the crease, but we can only hope.

Those of you concerned about the President’s safety while learning cricket will be pleased to learn that they replaced cricket balls with tennis balls for the purposes of this demonstration, so while the President was hit by a ball, he was not injured.

See a fuller squence of photos here; my favorite is this one of President Bush holding the tennis ball as if it were really heavy before bowling. And yes, he maintains his trademark tight lipped grin in most of the photos.

Check out this video of an Armenian ice dancing couple performing to a Hare Krishna bhajan in Torino (thanks, Masked Tipster). I don’t think the Blue One looked quite like this. Nothing says religion to me like than a half-naked dancer hanging upside down off a man’s shoulders flashing mudras

‘Sex sells,’ said American Jamie Silverstein, 22, referring to itty-bitty costumes… Anastasia Grebenkina of Armenia wore a backless outfit except for a small swath of cloth that covered her bottom. [Link]

For the dance enthusiast, an ice dancing performance is like a five-minute clip of “Strictly Ballroom” - on acid. Incredible holds, tight twizzles and … hydroblading? Hell yes.

For the chick-flick fan, ice dancing is all the drama without the shitty, sub-par dialogue. When Italian pair Barbara Fusar-Poli and Maurizio Margaglio stumbled into a heap of sheer, neon Lycra, they stood on the ice for almost a minute, shooting each other the classic “f— you and your sequined appliqués” look. They didn’t speak for more than 24 hours after. “Beaches,” “Hitch” and “My Best Friend’s Wedding” don’t have a blade to stand on.

And men will find themselves enchanted by the ladies’ bare-it-all, barely there leotards of ice dancing, where salsa meets slutty and strategically placed daisies are the only things preventing Armenian skater Anastasia Grebenkina from landing on the cover of a Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogue. [Link]

Grebenkina and Vazgen Azrojan didn’t medal with this acrobatic routine. But with only four competitors from India, two from Pakistan and one from Nepal, sadly, it actually increased the Olympics’ sepia quotient.

A few weeks back I wrote about the dearth of brown athletes at the Winter Olympics and suggested an alternative competition where our prowess would be unmatched. Today at Slate.com Reihan Salam further breaks it down, tongue firmly in cheek:

Who are we kidding? “Mahogany-man killer” he ain’t.

While watching a bunch of young, white Olympians zipping and flipping around on their newfangled snowboards the other night, I couldn’t help thinking: What if Bangladesh, my parents’ native land, had the geopolitical muscle to turn an extremely Bangladeshi-friendly activity into an Olympic sport?

Bangladeshis are very good at making things from jute, assembling button-down shirts for export, and organizing crippling general strikes. All of these activities involve tremendous mental dexterity and physical prowess. All can be performed in the bitterest cold. And, unlike “snowboarding halfpipe,” not one is compatible with head-bopping to Juelz Santana on your iPod—a surefire indication that your “sport” should not be conducted on the Olympic level…

I still vividly recall the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, when my middle sister and I cheered on every wiry, diminutive American athlete of a darker hue. When you squint, a fearsome Latino bantamweight looks not unlike one of the burnt ochre Salams…

Deep in my heart, I hungered for a mahogany man-killer who would avenge me on the slopes and forever banish my Winter Olympics-induced shame. This year, I had a strong candidate, Indian luger Shiva Keshavan. But the story of this “great brown hope” is not one of unmitigated joy and triumph. It’s a parable for the tragedy of modern India. More than that, though, Shiva’s struggles teach us that a brown man trying to make it in a white man’s world is like luging uphill. [Link]

Obviously Reihan hasn’t heard of this potential mahogany man-killer (thanks for the tip “epoch”):

[Canadian Emanuel] Sandhu’s impeccable posture and extension on the ice betray his classical dance training. He started ballet and jazz at age 3, and at 11 began studying at the renowned National Ballet School in Toronto. Only 100 dancers every year are accepted into that school, whose graduates usually end up joining a professional dance company. Sandhu, who first took to the ice at age 9 (his mother told him, “all Canadians must learn to skate”) continued to skate while in ballet school. But by 11th grade he was only finding 15 minutes a day to skate, and was forced to make a choice. He chose figure skating, leaving school and eventually moving to Vancouver to train. Sandhu still dances several times a week, and he says that floor work enhances his skating.

You know everything’s changed when you see a black kid wearing this throwback varsity jacket on the subway and realize that…

1. After 7/7, you could never wear it on the subway, and
   
   
2. Subway cops are now inaccurately suspicious more of you than of him

Fritz Pollard formed this African-American football team ([New York Brown Bombers], named for African-American heavyweight boxer Joe Louis) after the NFL adopted a policy of segregation. [Link]

… the Brown Bombers [were] a professional team that played in Harlem for three highly successful seasons - funded by a loan from John D. Rockefeller Jr., a friend from Pollard’s days at Brown. The Bombers’ roster was a Who’s Who of black athletes at the time, including players from basketball and baseball leagues as well as former NFL stars. The Depression and the war ended the Brown Bombers’ run in 1938. [Link]

By the way, the Brown Bombers jacket is not actually a bomber jacket, and the Brown Bombers are not the same as the Bronx Bombers, the Brooklyn Bombers or the London bombers.

Related post: Worst timing ever

Earlier, people were saying that desis were just not tough enough to play in the NFL. You want tough? This guy makes pro-football players with all their padding and helmets (and cups) look like toddlers having a pillow-fight in a moonbounce.

Handshake of iron, groin of steel

A two-time Guinness record holder is hoping to enter the record book for the third time by completing 114 fingertip push-ups in 60 seconds… His previous records are for breaking three concrete slabs on his groin and the most back-hand push-ups in an hour…. He already holds several national and international records for completing 133 palm push-ups in a minute, 819 back-hand push-ups in one hour and 1,448 stomach crunches in one hour. [Link]

With all these records, which one is his favorite? He’s a guy, the answer should be pretty clear:

… he is most proud of his Guinness record for breaking three concrete slabs on his groin. He said: “I was sent a letter by the Guinness authorities saying that this was my best record but they will not allow or encourage more people to attempt this one because it is potentially dangerous…” [Link]

Honestly? It’s not even clear to me what this record means. Presumably it means holding a concrete slab on his groin while somebody else breaks it with a sledgehammer (I’ve seen this in martial arts demonstrations). I can’t imagine it means anything else, but the image it creates generates all sorts of interesting nicknames for this guy …

His training routine for the fingertip pushup record was both intense and ascetic, involving an almost anorexic diet (presumably to lower his weight): He is most proud of his Guinness record for breaking three concrete slabs on his groin

“I did at least 4,000 fingertip push-ups for about six hours every day [since July]. “I would do a part of the routine in the morning and then a few hours in the evening,” he said. Mr Nayak also monitored his diet and survived on white pulses, one vegetarian meal and at least 15 litres of water a day during the training period. [Link]

Brandon Chillar

While Americans watch four hours of ads lightened up with a couple minutes of football, let’s take a look at the desis in the NFL. First up is Brandon Chillar, a St. Louis Rams linebacker whose parents are Indian and white:

After graduating from high school, he played college football in the Pac-10 for the University of California, Los Angeles, where he gained prominence on the Bruin defensive unit. After graduating from UCLA, he joined the Saint Louis Rams in 2004. Having a father, Ram Chillar, of Asian Indian descent, Chillar became one of the handful of Indian Americans or Asian Americans in the NFL. [Link]

Has a well-developed frame with good muscle definition… Also lettered in track, competing in the 100, 200 and triple jump. [Link]

The first thing he wants to buy for himself is a Cadillac Escalade… [Link]

Chillar is 6’3” (190 cm), 253 lbs. (115 kg) and 23 years old. Before Chillar, there was Sanjay Rajiv Beach, a wide receiver whose parents are Indian and Jamaican:

Sanjay Beach… spent six years in the National Football League as a wide receiver for the San Francisco 49ers, Green Bay Packers, and New York Jets. He now is an investment banker with Dain Bosworth, Inc. in Denver. He and wife Kristy have a 3-year old daughter, Kalpana, and a 6-month old son, Makis. [Link - PDF]

Beach is 6’0” (183 cm) with a playing weight of 189 lbs. (86 kg). He’s now 39.

The XXth Olympic Winter Games are just a few weeks away. Guess what? The U.S. team doesn’t have a single desi athlete representing? What gives? Aren’t there any Mohinis or Rajs out there that like the snow? There will be one desi participating at least:

Uday Joshi, SportsCenter [ESPN STAR Sports’] presenter will create history on January 18, 2006, by being the first man of Indian origin, to be one of the celebrity Torchbearers for the XXth Winter Olympics, which commenced in Genoa, Italy in December 2005…

On being part of the relay team, Uday Joshi, said “This is a big honor for me. I am personally very proud and happy to be a part of the relay. At the same time it is a very humbling experience to be suddenly pushed in an esteemed group of the biggest athletes in the world…” [Link]

In truth, I think there will be four athletes from India at the games (although I was hard pressed to find mention of them in the news). I couldn’t find any athletes from other South Asian countries, so perhaps readers can fill me in. The realization that even now in 2006 there are a dearth of desi athletes, has left me quite jaded. I took it upon myself to do something for my people, for South Asians both here and abroad. I searched the internet for an alternative. What could desis compete at AND have a chance to win at? The answer arrived a few days ago in my email inbox from my visionary friend Tushar:

Witness how he mocks us

The World Beard Championships

No brown people compete- it’s like the NBA before black people were allowed to play. Maybe five of us should enter…

Just hear me out people. Right now white folks DOMINATE this event. Just look at their website. Do you see a single brown face? The U.S. Beard Team even has their own blog. Yep. No desis. If I grew a beard I could kill a man with it in just one month. Its razor sharp texture makes for some lethal shit. Desis would absolutely dominate this competition. We’d be like the equivalent of the Kenyans in the marathon. I urge my people to rise up. Who will stand with me? Ennis? Amardeep? Vinod? If not now, then when?

My roommate just brought in the paper and exclaimed, “LOOK!”. I thought I was going to see a picture of an adorable little angel in some DC-area Christmas pageant, a put-upon dog wearing antlers or Santa water-skiing on the Potomac…what landed in my lap was a lot cooler (and way unexpected). I knew Redskins mania had been taking over my city, and NFL fans are a devoted lot, but I think it’s extra cute to sport Redskins Red this way. :)

After posting this a few minutes ago, I thought, “I’ll bet someone sent this in as a tip”. Ah, but you readers never disappoint. A full hour ago, AM wrote:

The print edition of the post features a big photo from the redskins game yesterday showing Santana Moss after leaping into the stands - nearly in the center of the picture is a man in a sporty burgundy dastar. I was at the game as well and was impressed by the variety of fans - no longer the homogeneous crowd of the early years of the NFL.

I’m impressed, too. But I’m still a Niners girl, now and always. ;)

Muslims in Fatehpura burned an effigy of Sania Mirza on Tuesday. Miss Mirza’s transgression? Her publicly stated views on S-E-X. (Thanks, Raj!)

Muslim leaders said that their religion and holy book ‘Quran’ do not permit her to make such statment.[linky]

The article linked above provided no clue to the naughty view that burned poor Sania. Some googling turned up this:

She was quoted as saying that whether before or after marriage, the most important matter was that sex was safe. [linku]

Whoa, nellie. I knew SM (great initials on her, by the way) had plenty of balls, I just thought they were for tennis. Of course, there’s more to the story; Miss Thing had to recant.

In a statement issued in Hyderabad, Mirza said pre-marital sex could not be justified.
She said she was upset that her image had been maligned by misquotes and that such a non-issue had become a controversy.

We already know about the creepy effigy destruction. Check out how the tennis star’s detractors voiced their displeasure:

Some activists burned Mirza’s effigy and shouted “Sania Mirza down down”.

I’m not touching that last one. ;)

16-year-old Kiran Matharu, a third-gen Brit Asian, is a budding golf star from Leeds whom some call the best female amateur golfer in the UK (thanks, midnight toker):

[Amarjit Matharu’s] daughter, Kiran, is the best female amateur golfer in the country. She plays off plus 3.4 - compared to Michelle Wie’s plus 4.2 - and she is only 16. Kiran is off to Texas this week, having been invited to a training camp by Butch Harmon, Tiger Woods’ former swing guru. Nike, Ping and Red Bull are all keeping a close watch. Serious money is just around the corner…

[Her father] was a keen sportsman, playing golf off four before switching his attention to cricket, but he never quite made the big time. He runs a bar in central Leeds and follows sport as a fan. He feels hard done by that Kiran is not given more attention. ‘Everyone raves about Michelle Wie,’ he says. ‘I know that if Kiran was American, she’d be red-hot news…’

Her practice swing is a thing of artistic beauty. So smooth, so relaxed, so natural. She bangs the ball 260 yards down the middle of the fairway without appearing to make any effort…

Kiran Matharu could be the most exciting female golfer to emerge in this country since Laura Davies started scorching the hide off the ball. Let’s hope she makes it, not just to repay the £50,000 her family has already invested in her career, but for her sake. [Link]

She will play in the Curtis Cup next year — the youngest member of the squad — and then turn pro. [Link]

Those helmets are fierce!

I have been pretty bummed about football this season. My Michigan Wolverines are not going to be national champions (not even close), my 49ers are hapless, and even my fantasy football team has seen a sudden downturn. I had just about lost all hope in the sport until SM tipster Aliya sent us a heads up about a football game being played on Thanksgiving Day. Screw the Cowboys and the Lions. I had to look no further to remember my love for the game than the city of my birth: Skokie, Illinois. The 6th Annual Indo-Jew Bowl is on, and if you don’t know, now you know:

Five years ago, in the bitter chill November air, best of buddies, yet bitter rivals, made a pact. They agreed to a competition of courage, endurance, strength and will that would soon prove to be the pinnacle of events in the Greatest Village in the World that is Skokie. The two most dominating Super-Powers met to determine the true leaders of the community the only way they knew how: in a field of play. The Indians fought the Jews, both honorary and true, with all of their heart and gave the fine Village of Skokie some newfound pride. Sadly only one group of men were victorious that day. The Indos left as champions, but the real story was this was just the beginning of something special.

Something special has now it has turned into the annual zenith in all that is Indian and Jewish Life. That first afternoon also displayed a gust of diversity that can never be matched, and is always attempted to be replicated each and every Thanksgiving from here on out. Pride is at stake and another year of bragging rights are in order. Only at Indo Jew Bowl can you say hello to an old buddy, friend, or pal in the most serene of settings. Attend a perhaps run into a “Local Celebrity,” but attend and expect to garner a slice of history that will go unmatched. Suffice it to say this is one chapter of a classic novel that has to be read.

Can we get a satellite feed please! After winning the first Indo-Jew Bowl, the Indians have been dominated. They are down 4 games to 1. This year is about salvaging some pride. Here are the rosters:

Indos - Keyur Vora, Pranil Vitha, Sonesh Shah, Trushar Naik, Nirav Dedhia, Ajay Mehta, Nilay Vora, Bub Vitha, Ash Soni, and a mystery player!

Jews - Amit Klass, Michael Wenger, Steve Feder, Christopher Shermach, Danny Spitz, Adam Federman, Bobby Wenger, Yochai Eisenberg, Daniel Engelman, Matthew Robins

Aliya, informs us that the word on the street is that the Indo’s mystery player may in fact be one Penny Hardaway of the New York Knicks. Ringer. (update: there is no confirmation of this rumor. See comment #1)

Some of you may have heard that last week five Muslim fans alleged racial bias while attending a New York Giants game. The Boston Globe reported:

Five Muslim football fans were detained and questioned during a game [Sep. 19th] at Giants Stadium because they were congregating near an air duct on a night former President George H.W. Bush was in the stadium, the FBI said yesterday.

Some of the Muslims said they did not know they were in a sensitive area, and said they were subjected to racial profiling while they were praying, as their faith requires five times a day.

”I’m as American as apple pie and I’m sitting there and now I’m made to feel like I’m an outsider, for no reason other than I have a long beard or that I prayed,” said Sami Shaban, a 27-year-old Seton Hall Law School student who lives in Piscataway.

Come on, they are probably just being oversensitive, right? I was willing to give the FBI the benefit of the doubt:

FBI agent Steven Siegel, a spokesman for the bureau’s FBI office, said the men had aroused suspicion because they were congregating near the main air intake duct. Bush was in the stadium that night as part of a fund-raising campaign he and former President Bill Clinton were leading for victims of Hurricane Katrina.

The site is now fenced off and is no longer accessible to fans.

Ok, no harm no foul. Then I read this article yesterday. Seems like this might be a pattern at Giants games, at least when there is a Bush in the house:

Two more men stepped forward Friday accusing authorities at Giants Stadium of racial profiling.

Mathew Varughese, 26, of Port Chester, and Pierre Mainville, 28, of Stamford, Conn., said they and four other men were unfairly questioned and detained by stadium police and the FBI during a Sept. 19 Giants-Saints game.

The incident happened the same day that five Muslim men were detained and questioned by authorities. Those men, who accused authorities of violating their religious rights, are considering whether to file a lawsuit. [Link]

Hindu Squatting

When I was younger, I would inadvertently get into trouble for a many number of things, teasing my younger cousin, not coming home when my mom would call for me (picture an Indian aunty in suburban central Pennsylvania standing outside the front door of her house, screaming for me (in my embarrassing nickname) to come home like she was still in Ahmedabad), or for jacking that extra blow-pop. Like all kids, I knew I would get in trouble, but I did it anyway because it was fun. What wasn’t fun was the punishment. We called them “Ootbes”, which translates into stand (oot) sit (bes) and as an added incentive, we had to hold our ears while we did it, thereby looking like a robotic monkey, doing weird squats. Thanks to tipster, Nalina, I learned that I was not alone in having to do these. While some in the West have found yoga to be great excercise, others have discovered the Ootbes or Bethak, and renamed it the “Hindu squat.” It seems “Politically Incorrect Fitness & Fighting” instructor Matt Furey is using the Hindu Squat, and even the Hindu push-up (also known as downward facing dog in yoga circles) as conditioning exercises for weight loss and as a technique for building muscle. From Furey’s website..

Hindu squats (bethaks) are an exercise, like Hindu pushups (dands), that have been used by Indian wrestlers for centuries to build explosive lower body strength, power, speed and endurance. Can you get stronger doing this so-called “free hand” leg exercise while also staying away from barbell and dumbbell squats? Absolutely. Can you develop greater muscle mass with this bodyweight exercise? Again, absolutely. The Great Gama of India was 5’7” and 260 pounds of streaming steal, with thighs so heavily muscled they resemble the proverbial “tree stumps.” Legend has it that Gama of India, who never lost once in 5000 matches, did 4,000 bethaks or Hindu squats each day. These numbers are grossly inflated - but the fact of the matter is that Gama did do this exercise daily and he was unstoppable.

Google search results for Hindu Squat, Google search results for Hindu Pushup

I have a rampant addiction that even my co-bloggers don’t know about.  Any time they come up behind me at SM headquarters I quickly switch my computer desktop to make it look like I am writing a post for our blog.  In reality however, I am dedicating obscene amounts of time to managing my Fantasy Football team (The Pocket Rockets).  Yes.  During the regular NFL season I am a Fantasy Football fanatic:

Fantasy Football is a game in which the participants (called “owners”) each assemble a team of real life NFL players and then score points based on those players’ statistical performance on the field. Leagues can be arranged in which the winner is the team with the most total points at the end of the season or in a head-to-head format (which mirrors the actual NFL) in which each team plays against a single opponent each week, and at the end of the year the team with the best win-loss record wins the league. Some leagues even set aside the last weeks of the NFL regular season for their own playoffs. [Link]

I take great pride in my team and in my improvement as a coach.  I hate losing at anything.  My first year playing I was ridiculed by the other coaches in my league (my supposed friends) for not even knowing the names of some famous players.  This year (my third) I am dominating most of the teams in my league and talking smack at every opportunity.  Most of the fun of Fantasy Football comes from emasculating your friends and telling them how pathetic they are.  Yeah, yeah.  If you don’t play fantasy football then you won’t understand the appeal, but I am sure those of you who do, know what I’m talking about.  This isn’t just a passive sport.  Every week you have to research all the different football match-ups and note the teams and defenses your players are going up against, as well as injuries.  It takes A LOT of research.  If you aren’t up to speed and able to make the proper adjustments, then your team will lose.  Thankfully there are bloggers like Vinnie Iyer that make the jobs of coaches like me easier.  It is their full-time job to put in the research hours that will help the rest of  us (hat-tip to Sandeep from my league):

This NFL and fantasy football columnist grew up in St. Louis and is a 1998 alumnus of Northwestern University in Evanston, Ill., where he won a decent year’s salary with his appearance on a popular “answer and question” quiz show. Shortly after graduating as a journalism major, he joined TSN in 1999 and has been covering the NFL full time since 2001. He remains loyal to his roots as a fan of the Cardinals (baseball, of course) and Northwestern’s athletic programs (inexplicably). With TiVo, iPod and HD already in his vocabulary, Iyer is ready to “blog” away on pro football and hot topics of the day.

Look.  Let’s get real folks.  There is only one desi player in the NFL.  That shouldn’t mean that all desis should be shut out of football.  I participate by coaching a fantasy team since I am not built like a linebacker.  Vinnie (who may have once had the potential to be an offensive lineman) is doing his part by being one of the best at what he does.  In Fantasy Football circles Vinnie is a celebrity.

Would that every morning commenced with such gur at my front door. This bundle of adorable is named Darshi Shah and yesterday, she was on WaPo’s front page for a story about how schools are working fitness back into their students’ lives.

Many schools in the area, and across the country, are combating the trend toward child obesity by extending physical education beyond gym classes.

Walking, running and jump-rope clubs are popping up, even for the youngest children, before and after school. Students are wearing pedometers and learning to calculate their heart rates. And fitness gear designed to help kids improve upper body strength and agility are complementing slides and swings on school playgrounds.

The article didn’t contain any quotes from the precious little runner above, to my disappointment. Then again, her game face says it all doesn’t it?

Caaaat Fiiiiighhht!! :

Pakistan’s women footballers, used to battling hardline Islamists opposed to their activity, ended up fighting themselves in a landmark final.

A mass brawl broke out after the award of a penalty in the first final of the National Women’s Football Championship in Islamabad’s Jinnah Stadium.

I wouldn’t want to get punched by one of those girls. Wait, if it was footie, why were they using their hands? That’s not allowed! ;)

“The girls of both teams freely kicked and punched each other. The catfight forced the tournament organisers to enter the ground and put an end to the brawl,” it reported.

The federation dismissed the incident as a “football flare-up” and said there would be no inquiry but images of the scuffles were widely covered in the local press.

Of course it was widely covered in the local press. The mens, they loves them some girl on girl action. Not that they got to see it live:

The women players were fully covered to avoid offending Muslim sensibilities and no male spectators were allowed.

Wha-? No men? Huh. I guess they were all covered up so that they wouldn’t offend the Muslim sensibilities of females or hermaphrodites, then.

Hell, why term it “Muslim sensibilities”?

Un-Muslim and insensible me was watching a football game last week when I noticed that the cheerleaders were essentially hopping about in bikinis. They looked like idiots. If you’re the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, that’s one thing…but the rest of you vomen of the NFL— rediscover the allure of a wee pleated skirt. Sheesh.

Don’t these people have anything better to do with their time than pick on a teenager?

Police will provide a huge security detail for Indian tennis star Sania Mirza during a world tennis tournament in Calcutta next week.

The heavy security follows rumours that a radical Islamic group threatened to stop her playing in the tournament unless she changed her on-court dress.

Awesome. Let’s harass one of the few decent athletes India has, it’s a fantastic way to thank her for reaching the fourth round of the US Open.

The radical Islamic group in question is the Jamiat-e-Islami, they claim they haven’t threatened her at all.

“These are rumours, we have not threatened to stop Sania or anybody else from playing,” he said.

“Though it is true that the kind of dress Sania wears offends us - we don’t expect a Muslim girl to wear such skimpy clothes in public.”

Look. If you want to be offended by something Sania wears while playing tennis, go after what’s REALLY outrageous— those horrid black socks she likes. Priorities, people!

Understandably, Sania’s safety is important to the authorities who are taking all threats very seriously.

“We cannot take a chance with the security of someone like Sania,” Calcutta’s additional police commissioner Gautam Chakrabarty said.

“We have deployed the best of our women police, nearly a hundred of them, to guard her both on and off the court and we have made special arrangements to frisk all spectators attending the tournament,” he said.

What does sweeeet Sania have to say about all this nonsense?

Sania Mirza has refused to be drawn into the controversy, merely asking forgiveness “for whatever I have to do on court as an 18-year-old.”

She didn’t write something irreverent about the Prophet Muhammad. She didn’t molest a mullah. She doesn’t have strange hair and a penchant for criticizing Islam. Don’t get it twizzy— she is not the enemy.

I know nothing about cricket. In fact, whenever someone mentions it, I’m sorely tempted to chirp, “Now THAT was a wicked googly!” a la Seinfeld repping for AmEx. Forgive me for writing this post anyway? ;)

From the Beeb:

India thrashed Zimbabwe by an innings and 90 runs in Bulawayo despite a brave lower-order resistance from the hosts on day four of the first Test.

Resuming on 67-6 and still 208 runs shy of making India bat again, Zimbabwe managed 185 in their second innings with skipper Tatenda Taibu making 52.

Harbhajan Singh finished off the tail to return figures of 4-59.

The match was over when the off-spinner trapped Gavin Ewing lbw for 34 to end the hosts’ last-wicket stand of 47.

I hate running.  I ran yesterday and my knees are pissed at me today.  I only run if I have to in order to quickly get in shape for something.  A high-altitude hike in two weeks unfortunately qualifies.  I have just never been able to develop that “runner’s high” that so many people get.  Although I love physical challenges of any kind, a marathon is out of the question.  After reading this article in the BBC I hang my head in shame:

He runs seven hours at a stretch, sometimes as much as 48km (30 miles). On a daily basis.

And Budhia Singh is just three and a half years old.

When Budhia’s father died a year ago, his mother, who washes dishes in Bhubaneswar, capital of the eastern Indian state of Orissa, was unable to provide for her four children.

She sold Budhia to a man for 800 rupees ($20).

But the young boy came to the attention of Biranchi Das, a judo coach and the secretary of the local judo association.

Mr Das said he noticed Budhia’s talent when scolding him for being a bully.

“Once, after he had done some mischief, I asked him to keep running till I came back,” Mr Das told the BBC.

“I got busy in some work. When I came back after five hours, I was stunned to find him still running.”

I think if they send him to Kenya to train for a few years Budhia could be a serious contender.  The kid is a beast.  His hobbies include eating an running.

Budhia is enjoying his stay at the judo hostel. “I can run and eat to my heart’s content here,” he says.

I hope they don’t end up taking advantage of his talents though.  It would be a shame if Budhia burns out before his time.

The U.S. Open home page is featuring an in-house, ‘Off-Court Spotlight’ interview with Sania Mirza taped after her loss to Maria Sharapova. The interviewer mentions that her player bio has gotten more traffic than any other. Ah, the magic of server logs

Watch the interview (streaming WMV).

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In a battle of 18-year-old millionaires, Sania Mirza lost to Maria Sharapova 6-2, 6-1, in what seemed like the world’s shortest match at just 59 minutes. Ouch. She couldn’t get her first serve in and relied on a soft second serve. Sharapova slashed that serve down the line for winners over and over, like a boxer who’s found an opponent’s weakness and just keeps riding it.

Mirza committed twice as many unforced errors as Sharapova. She didn’t do enough cross-court shots, sticking with lots of straight, fastball returns; Sharapova moved her all over the court. On the plus side, Mirza hit harder than Sharapova, who let lots of fast returns by her, even those within forehand range.

The uncle-commentator tried to put a positive spin on Sania’s showing after the match; meanwhile, I rocked back and forth: ‘ouch, Elliot…’ CBS showed a dorky fan sign straight out of Bride and Prejudice: ‘Sania: our precious Indian jewel.’ And man, the Sharapova squeal is annoying.

>> Watch the match
(196 MB DivX; you need a BitTorrent downloader: Windows, Mac)

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