Money in Sports
All the world’s an ad hoarding, unfortunately, even sports, rues ERVELL E. MENEZES
Money makes the mare go, they say. And that is not only true in horse-racing but in all sports and life in general. Ever since sponsorships and promos came into sports, the purity of the game took a beating. And today, ‘all the world’s an ad hoarding’ with due apologies to the Bard of Avon.
The current Soccer World Cup and the recent Indian Premier League (IPL) are glaring examples of this. In the World Cup the Jabulani ball is a clear case of the pressure exerted by the sponsors. Since Adidas are sponsoring the tournament, they seem to have got their way. The sad part of it all, is that it has dealt a severe blow to soccer. The ball tends to fly and is hard to control. Hence there are fewer goals and goals are what makes the game more exciting
But why introduce a new ball at the expense of the game? It is believed the ball was given to all teams a month before the World Cup, but Germany is said to have received it six months earlier. This is the first time both last year’s finalists are out in the first round. Is it a coincidence? Or is it by design? In today’s world of match-fixing anything is possible. As for the refereeing, it has been very poor, to say the least. Red cards are dished out without sufficient reason and not given when they deserve to be.
FIFA has been unduly lenient to the host nation, and allowing the vuvuzelas to blast uninterruptedly is most annoying. For starters, it was a bit of novelty, but not for long. The African music, however, was more welcome. And for all the lenience, South Africa were out in the first round. It could well have been a case of poetic justice.
Today sport is big money and folks get into this field mainly to reap a rich harvest. Whatever happened to playing for the love of the game? It inculcates team spirit. Of course all this change goes by the name of progress or else one could cite the example of a Bombay club hockey player Nobel Vaz who went on to become the first Indian CEO of Alitalia. What did he attribute his success to? Playing hockey and the team work he learnt in the process. He loves to talk about the buying power of the rupee in the 1960s.
The IPL is even bigger a mess. But the can of worms have been opened and what a variety of them are seen crawling out. It all started with the spat between Lalit Modi and Shashi Taroor. So layer by layer of an onion, Modi has exposed himself to much criticism. Former Indian cricket captain Bishen Singh Bedi had the guts to openly condemn it. He even objected to Modi giving away the prizes. “Who is he?” he quipped. But not our venerable trio of ex-captains, the Nawab of Pataudi, Sunil Gavaskar and Ravi Shastri who are all said to be on the payroll of the Board of Cricket Control in India (BCCI). What a crying shame!
The trouble with the IPL is that Modi was given the freedom to do what he wanted- and for two-and-a-half years without being questioned. Competent he is, no doubt, but when one has a criminal record in the United States of America, it should have called for greater vigilance. The charges against him are endless.
His son-in-law Gaurav Burman of Global Cricket Ventures, India has the digital and mobile rights for the Champions Trophy until 2017. His sister-in-law’s husband Suresh Chellaram, who is based in Nigeria, holds most of the shares of Rajasthan Royals a fact that was not known when the franchises were auctioned. Money-laundering could well have been one of his motives. But finally, it was his arrogance that got him in trouble. He had treaded on too many corns.
But what are politicians like Sharad Pawar and Praful Patel doing in the fold? Pawar’s daughter, MP Supriya Sule at first denied any involvement in the IPL, but two days later admitted that she inherited shares through her father-in-law. It could be that she has a bad memory like the late Jagjivan Ram who forgot to file his income tax returns.
But no one was bothered about these details. Everyone was having a ball. The cricketers earned big money, even those who had retired from Test cricket like Mathew Hayden and Shane Warne. The only silver lining is that it brought into the limelight some exciting new Indian talent. As for the partying after the game, it is said to have gone on into the early hours of the morning. What’s more the janata (read those who had money to burn) were willing to pay Rs one crore to attend it. Why, at the team owners’ meeting liquor baron and Page 3 celebrity Vijay Mallya wanted the parties to continue but was rightly snubbed by Shankar Manohar.
After a-month- and a half of IPL was it surprising that the Indian players were stale and tired and injured? Little wonder they exited early in the Twenty-20 World Cup although captain M.S. Dhoni tried to play it down. Are we not worried about national prestige? Or is it okay to just become money-making (not run-getting) machines?
To revert back to advertisements, it really makes one sick to see them coming virtually out of one’s ears. The person who came up with the idea of putting an advertisement on the opposite side screen should be given a Padma Shree. What an idea sir! But the advertisements in between the game can be exasperating. In soccer, at least in a live game, each half cannot be interrupted. In the repeat telecasts, they are done. As for cricket, they did not interrupt an over in the beginning. Not today, they shove them in between balls of a fast bowler and any interruption. Why, at the end of the game they do not allow the viewer to see the rejoicing scenes. Bang comes an advertisement with the same old faces…it makes one puke with disgust.
Which brings me to my pet peeve – Sania Mirza, a creation of the press. She’s a Page 3 person now, not a tennis star. Yet, the other day she was above Saina Nehwal in the newspapers even though the write up was only a preview to Wimbledon (which she lost in the first round, saying “I was rusty”) whereas her Hyderabadi badminton counterpart Saina Nehwal had won a tournament and climbed to No 3 spot. What news sense this? Or do they go by celebrity status?
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Wine, Women And Song
By Marc de Souza
To make a good cup of tea, my mother told me, you should warm the pot first and have water boiling. I am confident in Iraq and Iran, my favourite postings, where I consumed tiny cups and cups of delicious ‘Isthikan Chai’, they do just that. If any reader could tell me how a pure, bubbly Fenny is made – one that brings tears to the eyes as the liquor bites the taste buds with gentle persuasion and smoothes out soon – I would credit that reader for showing me love like a mother’s. A couple of my village cashew trees get loaded with red ripened cashew apples tantalizing the eye and teasing the palate. I should think from the juice I could extract a reasonable amount of Fenny! It’s just a pipedream and there it hangs!
Ever since the water in the jugs at Cana blushed with excitement in the presence of the Vinedresser, wine from saucy grapes that have soaked up the sunshine has been favoured as the beverage of choice at a meal among Christians.
Believe me, it is not high-brow or pretentious to admit you enjoy Beethoven – praising Beethoven is not the same thing as praising Fenny as a thirst-quencher. Of all the great masters, Beethoven is the most thrilling to hear with an untrained ear, without feeling that you need to know something esoteric before you can appreciate whatever is going on. Grooving on Beethoven is a grass-roots experience – you just have to let the music roll over you like the waves at the Miramar seashore.
Every symphony has its share of throwaway notes, lost chords and tunes that go around in circle. The music continues to make progress, sometimes toward a surprising conclusion, though that all your are conscious of hearing may be cacophony that gives you a headache.
Despite the apparent chaos coming out of the instruments competing in a cat-and-dog fight, or the runaway crescendos in which the clefs, if possible, have been trebled, everything proceeds according to a preconceived plan though the critics may be
staking out claims to take murderous swipes at the composer. Actually, nothing in the symphony should surprise you as much as it delights you, once you become aware of the originality of the composer’s mind.
Take the modest choir in attendance for the Nossa Senhora de Fuga, Cunchelim Church feast. Tears welled in my eyes twice and the third time, the banks burst out. I admired the accomplishment of the local village talent, performed in pure humility. I could tell it deserved respect and I was left incandescent by the afterglow of the sentimental Konkani hymns who broke the hearts of everyone present at the High Mass, What with Fr. Bernardo Cota, the Parish Priest being at the helm! The parishioners are riding on a crest of musical energy!
Creation, as a divine symphony in which God’s love is revealed is unmistakably on course, though the present century is tragic. Isn’t it clear that neither war, politics, science, power plays nor riches can save us? Only love can save us; and how else could Christ save us if he weren’t the Son of the Living God of Love? When you compose a masterpiece the art is to conceal art; and all the apparent loss is gain. The look of weakness is a risk you take, for strength, seemingly dissipated, becomes more powerful in the end. As in music, the life-breath of religion is paradox. It is in giving that we receive, and it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life. The instrument that was used in the murder of Jesus Christ has become the gateway to the kingdom of love.
Why would I write of symphony unless I had wine, women and songs on my mind. As the Bible says, a woman can be Martha, who is practical and has a prosy soul like a business text; and, if she wants to, can become a lawyer who will write the tax laws. Or she can be Mary, with a soul self-made from poetry , music, the glow on the wine and the divine fire, and is destined to become a saint like Teresa of Avi1a .
