There were balls being bowled at over 150ks an hour, and at the reciever's end stood that little creature, sixteen years of age, with a lifetime of incredible greatness lying ahead of him.That's where the saga took guard.
From the colour of the ball and the fates of cricketers to the game itself, everything in cricket seems to have changed, barring the class of this individual. The class that gets exhibited not only when the ball races to the boundary, but even more so when the gentleman takes a walk off the crease, having offered the thinnest of edges to the ball, without even waiting for an appeal.
The media made noises, the bowlers sledged, the umpires adjudged incorrectly; but the man remained quiet.
Young cricketers emerged, played their game, got hiped, got compared to this great; but the fact remained.
I really do not follow the game as much as anyone. I am no expert. I am no die hard fan.
Cricket is not my religion...yet Sachin is my god.
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