Slum Dog Millionaires

It was more than what could be asked from a cricket match. Or at least from a cricket match in which Bangladesh is a major protagonist. It was a tale of twists and turns and then more twists. It was a roller coaster ride of a flood of emotions that ebbed and flowed with as much of the intensity of the currents of the Karnafuly on whose banks this cricketing drama was enacted. It was in the end a tale, told not by idiots but by commentators and experts made to look like ones, full of sound and fury and signifying some of the most obvious.
Quite frankly, if England make it to the next phase of this competition the unspeakable must be told. If it is not considered a travesty, it nevertheless comes very close to that. Flat and insipid throughout the tournament England had managed to limp and stutter to where they were in Chittagong last Friday. One of the more unexplained mysteries of modern sport is why any England team, be it football or cricket, is considered by the English media as God's gift to the games in question. A display of rank ineptitude with bat and ball further fuelled this speculation in my fevered mind as Bangladesh met the English challenge head on with no holds barred.
Fresh from the rather forgettable non-exploits of these teams in their last matches against South Africa and West Indies, it was a question of coming to terms with their respective neuroses. And here, bless their collective front foot forward the Tigers found their bite more effective than the low pitched growl we were getting so much used to of late. For once the toss made the difference, the dew arrived on time and the bowlers remembered which plan was to be followed for the day. England made too much of the probable conditions and were predictably at sea against a Bangladesh attack which was imaginative, had variety and was backed up by sharp cricket in the outfield.
But it could have gone so very well for England. Prior to the moment Prior's brain went on vacation, the English batting looked like settling down for a long haul in the middle. Suddenly pressurised into some soft dismissals the middle order threatened to opt for quick decline and demise. Had it not been for Eoin Morgan remembering to bring his trusty wad of scotch tape along, the middle order would have dissipated even quicker than it eventually did. Trott had trotted on in the manner he has done the past few matches, but in the end the sheer inability of the rest of the batting to come to terms with a four pronged spin attack was starkly evident.
For Bangladesh to have emerged from the debris of their debacle last week in the manner they did, absolves them for the time being of being considered Public Enemy to the fans at large. For once the team looked like a unit with a purpose; a game plan was in evidence and more importantly appeared to be carried out. For the present the heads which were at risk to have been rolled will remain in place, the knives will go back to their sheaths and life would be rosy again for players, management and selectors alike. The batting played to its strengths and barring a hiccup or two looked far more in control than the English. As a tool of excitement perhaps, the ninth wicket was left with the small matter of scoring 50 odd for the Tigers to stroll home satiated with the biggest kill of them all. An English lion, lost in the subcontinental wilderness, exposed and vulnerable to some over thinking on its part and having to pay the ultimate fatal price.
In the end the Tigers have displayed some newfound confidence. There was motivation and intent for all to see. Black Friday was forgotten and more importantly forgiven. The numbers game is again the one to play. It was time to be a slum dog millionaire.