To tell you the truth, I did not really watch much of this World Cup’s final featuring Australia and New Zealand.
Switching on the telly after returning from morning Mass, with Brendon McCullum gone cheaply, it would be an uphill task for the Kiwis to compile a formidable total. Two more quick wickets followed and I switched off the set-top box.
For a partisan Indian supporter like me, the final held no thrills or attraction. Most World Cup finals have been one-sided affairs and there was no reason for me to believe otherwise.
Catching up with the morning news, Michael Clarke’s farewell announcing the final would be his ODI swansong caught my eyes.
“A World Cup victory would be a great way to sign off,” were my immediate thoughts. And I dwelled again on the emotional eulogy he delivered at Philip Hughes’ funeral. Clarke will always have his share of detractors but that was the day he displayed how far he has travelled from being ‘Pup’ and the ‘Bad Boy’ of Australian cricket.
Noon and the Kiwis had folded up for 183. Despite Sunil Gavaskar’s vain attempts at drawing comparisons between the ’83 final and Sunday’s mismatch to keep viewer interest in the game alive, it was evident that barring a miracle the Australians were well on their way to being crowned five-time champions.
It was so, with Clark crafting a well-made 74.
Australians were world-beaters yet again.
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