The cricket world cup is over

The 2011 Cricket World Cup has officially come to an end. Well, at least it has ended in Cape Town, Pretoria, Johannesburg, Limpopo, Langebaan or any other city, dwelling or mud hut that finds itself within South Africa’s 2798km coastline.

Yes, we lost an absolute heartbreaker of a match in the quarterfinals of the 2011 world cup against a team that - on paper and on grass – was said to be no match for the Proteas. However, the combination of a South African batting collapse and a motivated New Zealand saw us crashing out of yet another world cup, in yet another knockout match, by a 49 run deficit. While all of this did little to lift the choker tag associated with the Proteas, it again highlighted the incredibly emotional nature of sport and how it either unites or tears apart families, friends and enemies in the most hilarious fashion.

Midway through the match, I arrived home to find my mother calmly watching something green – only it wasn’t the green of the cricket field I was expecting but the green of a piece of broccoli. Yes, she was watching the cooking channel. This would have been ordinary on virtually any other day but not when the cricket was on and certainly not when South Africa was competing in a world cup quarterfinal match. A manic, exasperated glint in her eye did provide a clue as to what she was trying to avoid, however.

I then immediately turned on the TV in my room to find that five of our wickets had fallen. And it was there and then that I heard the commentator say “108/2” for the first of two billion times: this was apparently the last score at which we were comfortable and it was also the beginning of our collapse. Judging by the last few days, 108 / 2 will become the new 9 /11: say it out aloud in any room with any amount of ambient noise and everyone will look to the floor in silence, a mood of absolute gloom having overcome them. Back to the match, the next two hours saw some previously diehard fans on Twitter screaming what appeared to be death threats at the Proteas. My mother still refused to turn off the cooking channel (not that I ever expected whatever was being made to be replicated in our kitchen…), my dad uttered his typically grim narrative, my brother was silently locked away in his room (perhaps loading a rifle or two) and status updates on Facebook went from regular letters to FULL CAPS with each passing wicket as fans tried to outdo each other with varying degrees of dismay and disgust.

(It was around this time that I learnt a brand new acronym which, despite my initial assumption, has nothing to do with Golden Arrow buses. I speak of BMT and I also learnt that our favourite flower has none of it).

Anyway, the chaos at my own home paled in comparison to others. A friend told me about the unrepeatable cursing that escaped his mouth as he watched the drama unfold – some of these phrases were entirely new to me. His mother, also a cricket fan, instead chose to hang up some laundry. I suppose she decided that while her eyes may not be dry in two hours’ time, at least the washing will be… My colleague at work mourned with her family in the TV room – when I say mourned, I actually mean it. There were tears and arguments and what started out as a happy family gathering with snacks and smiles turned into just another South African morgue posing as a normal house.

Some good news amidst all the drama was therefore welcome – it turns out my brother was alive after all. Actually, he was more alive than a gazelle escaping a cheetah. When the eighth wicket fell, he came tearing out of his room, screamed at my dad about reckless batsmen for a few seconds (getting no response) and then galloped back up the passage like a madman. Minutes later, a crestfallen Graeme Smith then delivered The Proteas’ eulogy in what must have been the most painful speech of his career.

At the end of it all, not even Kass Naidoo’s new and improved hairdo could salvage the remains of a deeply hurt nation. It must have been at around this point that the fewest ever South African televisions were actually in use as fans retreated to beds, fridges, beer bottles, nooses, cigarettes or simply just a damp corner of the house where they could assume the position they did at the age of 25 weeks.

Yes, I was also genuinely disappointed by the loss. But one could never fail to appreciate the pandemonium and hilarity that ensues at the pinnacle of sporting competition and especially during a giant loss such as this one. So in this time of despair, let’s draw some strength from South Africa’s own political past – victory is appreciated far more once it has been preceded by a struggle. And since it has been almost two decades since the world cup rot began, SA cricket is in a big balls-up of a struggle right now.