Watching Bhaskar shoot his baskets is eerie. He has copied the jump - the extended arm with the palm up on which rests the basketball and then that flick of the wrist to score a basket. My mind shouts - IT'S ME IT'S ME!
AND Raghavendra, who doesn't believe in passing, the great trot down the flank, dribbling through in a cosmic dance to finish a great lay-up. IT'S ME, IT'S ME - I am overjoyed.
AND Rojabai, the one girl army of St. Mary's; give me the ball and thou shall get a basket - reminding me of MY GREAT BALL HOGGING DAYS!
BUT surely, the master of all this, PRASHANT, the great giddu [short heighted person], hardly visible if you look straight and out of nowhere, the ball magically follows him, he makes everyone believe in the direction that he is going - the only problem is HE GOES IN THE EXACTLY OPPOSITE DIRECTION. What cunning guile - the ultimate fake of great basketball players - yet, every time he shoots IT IS ALWAYS A BASKET!
IT'S IT'S ME - forty years ago!
I am left wondering did I organize this tournament or DID I PLAY.
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