A selfie with a match ticket! What a precious souvenir for a cricket fan in Indore.
Having left the house when the night was still young, this youngster, one of the thousands of unnamed and unsung supporters of cricket, hung in doggedly in the unending queue. It turned out to be a hostile journey to the window selling the much sought after ware.
On the way, the fan had to tackle vicious competition from fellow ticket-seekers, some maintaining discipline, most defying, at some point also confronting the menacing lathis of the policemen. Not less challenging than taking on Dale Steyn on a Perth-like surface.
Cricket at small centres is a good idea. The teams are mobbed at airports and hotel lobbies, galleries are packed. But what about the poor spectator at the stadium?
From procuring the ticket to reaching the seat, it is a perilous path. There is little guarantee that the fan can get in, find the seat vacant and enjoy an unhindered view of the proceedings.
The average spectator is a low priority for cricket administrators, who enjoy all the luxuries associated with the office — air-conditioned boxes, vantage spots, swift entry and exit. Cricket is entertainment for them. Not for the average spectator, who can’t even carry drinking water.
Most cricket venues in the country are out of bounds for the passionate fan. The serpentine queue to buy the negligible percentage of tickets for the general public is a mind-boggling sight. The chances of procuring a ticket, with the counter nowhere in sight, are minimal too. But the never-say-die spirit to take a chance is moving.
At the end of it, the unsung cricket fan hardly matters. Even the protagonist of his dream, the cricketer, becomes an illusion. The fan, after spending a fruitless night in the open, returns home dejected. And the game goes on!
