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Although her current heart-throb is a disheveled looking, perpetually sulky someone who looks in desperate need of some hot soup from a teeny-bopper serial called One Tree Hill, my daughter's first crush as a five-year old was someone who just bid us all a tearful farewell at Flushing Meadows, New York this week; Andre Agassi.
It was getting increasingly obvious with every successive point, that Benjamin Becker was aware of his own famous appointment with destiny; the last man standing on the other side of the net was the bald-headed fighter , waging a losing struggle against a fired-up rookie, an inveterate back problem and that terribly debilitating phrase, old age.
As one watched the veteran war-horse grittily combat to extend his last hurrah, I was reminded of Seabiscuit, the classic true story of the legendry horse whose daring feat despite damaging injuries lifted American spirits in the time of the Great Depression of the 1930s. I was also reminded of Sachin Tendulkar.
Sachin Tendulkar is currently at similar crossroads in his professional journey as Andre was perhaps till last year, the writing clear in bold black letters on a white wall. The similarities are uncannily noteworthy. If Agassi has been a super-hero from those crazy maverick early days when he wore cycle shorts and fluorescent clothing, dating the beguiling voice and ageless frame of Barbara Streisand, Sachin was a personification of exemplary batsmanship, a collected head on strong young shoulders, elegance and perfection his natural birthright.
Agassi has won a staggering eight Grand Slam titles, conquering several Everest's in his dramatic career, including the enviable feat of being in a select coterie of just five Grand Slam winners who have won on all playing surfaces, a feat which Pete Sampras and Bjorn Borg could not match, and will remain unparalleled in the near future, unless Roger Federer decides to tame a certain irrepressible clay-court force called Rafael Nadal in Paris. Tendulkar has also collected a laundry list of awards, and to use a cliché, has an embarrassment of riches and trophies. The highest run-getter in ODIs and ODI hundreds, 35 Test centuries and chasing Brian Lara in aggregate Test score, innumerable partnership milestones and on-ground records, his achievements are mind-boggling. Ever since the late Sir Donald Bradman called him his true-blue inheritor, Tendulkar's place in history has only been further fortified.
Like Agassi, Sachin played professional international cricket when the others were still going home to complain to their parents about scarce pocket money. And at 33, Tendulkar maybe chronologically younger to Rahul Dravid, Anil Kumble, and Sourav Ganguly, but the body has weathered bruises, has been put through an excruciating grind, and despite a regimented rehabilitation under watchful eyes is evidently undergoing rapid depreciation. Agassi, has fought gnawing pain and a constant back-injury had to take cortisone shots, pain killers and physiotherapy sessions to enable him to take those famous duck-like brisk-steps on a tennis court. Sachin has undergone brief hospital stints, with the surgeon's knife piercing his toes, elbow and shoulders in rather quick time.
Agassi despite a wildly turbulent private life in his early days reminiscent of Rudolph Valentino letting his hair down (where his private jet was once famous for his romantic rendezvous), has settled into blissful domesticity. He is arguably the perfect role model husband, who acknowledges the immense contribution made by his better half, none other than the inimitable Steffi Graf; collector of 21 Grand Slam singles titles herself. Sachin, has been an ideal family man too, low-key and very private and both Andre and he have a son and daughter.
Champions they say, retire from their sport, when they know that they do not stand a remote possibility of winning the coveted numero uno position. On technical grounds, Andre is still ranked in the 20s and can on a given day perhaps defeat anyone (with the rare exception of the lazy -looking Swiss with a potent knife). Let us not forget that he was last year's runner-up, and at one stage after winning the first set against Fed Express, he looked in devastating form till Federer did his magical deft soundless comeback. For Tendulkar, the challenge is similar. Will he be a serious threat in 2007 to be the Player of the World Cup like he was in South Africa in 2003, or is he just a key cornerstone but not expected to be a critical match-winner? Will Sachin keep playing despite average scores by his majestic standards, or will he give way when he knows he is no longer confident of a three-figure mark when he walks out onto the 22-yard pitch?
Above all, both Agassi and Tendulkar are remarkable sportsmen, modest in victory and chivalrous in defeat. Andre, in fact, is a wonderful case-study of a man who in such a professionally competitive individual sport as tennis would always run upto the net to congratulate a winner, and follow-it up with both a bold hand-shake and words of appreciation for his delighted conqueror. Sachin has always been a team-man to the core, and the Multan episode is more a reflection of his human vulnerabilities and not his professional character. Tendulkar is a rare species.
I am happy that Andre Agassi announced his retirement beforehand to the world because he gave us all an opportunity to watch every match at the US Open with such fanatical passion, with such intense involvement. Unlike Steffi Graf who left with characteristic conspicuous ease, the dark clouds over London still scribbled in memory, and a shock defeat to an unusual adversary, Lindsay Davenport at Wimbledon. Or Sunil Gavaskar, who quietly faded away from public memory, bowled decisively by a Phil Defreitas in-swinging ball in a World Cup semi-final against England in Bombay for a measly 4 runs.
The crowds at New York this year were understandably sentimental about a man who had played such memorable tennis under September floodlights at Queen's over several years. It made every next encounter as epoch-like as ever, even forcing Raf Nadal to climb into the stadium to watch Andre play his last career game. It was nostalgic. Emotional. A slice of a generation. A moment of history. Not surprisingly, the locker room at Flushing Meadows had an unusual sight; past battles were forgotten, bitter line disputes consigned to history, as Andre's fellow players gave the grand hero a standing ovation. Andre deserved it. So does Sachin Tendulkar.
I hope Tendulkar goes the way Andre Agassi did; at the top, when still capable of pulling the surprise punches, when still able to hit Brett Lee for six successive boundaries in an over. When even his die-hard critics are in two minds before penning his epitaph. And when the bowlers are still scratching their heads ruefully even as they deviously plot his downfall.
As Andre did in New York, maybe Sachin can one day choose Wankhede Stadium, Bombay for his final swan song. It will be poetic justice in a way, and maybe give his loyal fans who momentarily deserted him, booing him with repugnant derision after he failed against England in the last Test series, a chance for redemption.
And we can all stand and clap, and watch a generation pass by. And a legend.
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