A tale of two countries: Bleeding Blue

In the buildup to the World Cup semi-final between India and Australia, two friends describe their similar journeys to opposing perspectives.

Like so many, my family migrated to Australia from India when I was a child. I did all my schooling here. I’ll work for most of my career here. And I’ll spend the rest of my days here.

I grew up in the same home suburb as the monumental Mitchell Starc, and played a few years above a certain Sean Abbott at my boyhood club. And I’m an Indian fan.

I’ll scream for the Socceroos till my voice is hoarse. At the Olympics it’s #straya all the way. And yet, when it comes to an ODI between Australia and India, I’ll eagerly don my blue gear.

Cognitive dissonance?

I often attribute this staunch Indian support to my best mate, Vas. Growing up together in Sydney in the early 90s, our Summers of Cricket (TM) comprised both the backyard variety and the Test Match boardgame format. As the younger of the two, I was forced to play the role of England in the Ashes. There are only so many times a kid can be Andy bloody Caddick without losing it.

And then there’s Vas’ eternal egotism.

“Hey, do you want to go to the India game? Or would you rather watch them fail on TV?”

“I really don’t think Tendulkar is that good. I genuinely think that [insert name of mediocre batsman here] is a better player.”

It’s enough to make your blood boil, I tell ya…

Many in my position point to a standard issue checklist of reasons: the Aussie team is too aggro, my family all support India, Sachin is a hero, blah.

To be honest, I’m largely in agreement with these (that Tendulkar bloke wasn’t bad, after all), and I’ve parroted a few myself. But the truth, as always, runs deeper.

Few would disagree that a love for sports is ingrained deep within the Aussie psyche. We’re a nation with disproportionate sporting success: a country of 20-odd million up there with the best of them. We grow up playing cricket every summer and footy every winter. And as adults, we watch cricket all summer and footy all winter.

But there is something electrifying, something transcendent, about being a part of an international army of Indian cricket tragics. To point to the cliches, cricket is religion, Sachin is god. In a country with 29 states and more cultures and dialects than I can count, cricket is the unifying lingua franca.

I spent the duration of the 2011 world cup in a small university town in the United States.

The second flattest state in the country, surrounded by vast corn fields and not much else; not exactly a hotbed of cricketing activity.

The gameday ritual was to awake at an ungodly hour and lumber to the makeshift fan zone, a packed lecture theatre with two hundred eager faces, streaming ball-by-ball action on the laptop of a fellow student.

When Captain Cool closed the tournament with that sublime strike for six (you know the one), the entire Indian nation erupted, and a tiny part of the midwestern US erupted with it. Somehow, in a nation devoid of a widespread cricket following, the spark of a landmark victory was not lost.

The icing on the cake was the puzzled response from resident Americans as their watering holes were overrun by large mobs of jubilant, sleep-deprived cricket fanatics. A redneck’s nightmare, to say the least…

Admittedly, any seasoned traveller will know that Aussie expats are a dime-a-dozen abroad. While backpacking in Europe, I offered a polite “hello” to the French lady driving our hostel shuttle bus, only to be met with a response of “G’day, ehyagarn”.

It’s even easier to find a fellow Aussie overseas than it is to start a scuffle between Warner and Kohli. And yet, I doubt an Australian victory in 2011 would have had the same global effect.

Ultimately, the reason is the sheer ubiquity of the Indian cricket brand.

It’s the same reason that any ODI in Australia featuring team India somehow feels like a home game for the Men in Blue.

India and cricket are synonymous. Indian cricket finds support in the far-reaching corners of the globe. Cricket runs deep in our veins. We bleed blue, and we won’t give it back!

Putting the catch phrases and platitudes aside, an Australia versus India semi final matchup brings with it a tremendous amount of promise. For Vas, myself, and the multitude of us falling marginally on either side of the coin, the anticipation is almost too much to bear.

But ultimately, after the first ball is bowled, all prior alliances are off – we paint ourselves blue or gold and settle in for a good old-fashioned contest.

This article is part of a two-part series written by lifelong friends (and cricket tragics) Vas and Dush. Read the opposing perspective.