Sathanur Days - Part 3 : The Sathanur Cup

For an introduction to this series, please start here

It would be an understatement to say cricket formed a big part of my Sathanur experience. At the cost of sounding frightfully clichéd, I'm just going to go ahead and say we talked, walked and breathed cricket. We would play a few games in the mornings on the street just outside our house, get some indoor cricket going in the afternoon if it catches our fancy, and then head out to the coconut grove (our official cricket ground for the summer) for a full-fledged no-holds barred version in the evenings. I’m sure all our girl cousins were happy to get rid of the guys and have the house to themselves during these cricket-related absences. We didn’t care – it was male bonding at its best.

We were never short of characters on the cricket field. There was china suruttai and periya suruttai (curly hair junior and curly hair senior), choocha moocha (Sudarshan became choocha and then moocha, slang for pee!), Dujon (our tried and tested man behind the stumps, named after the Windies wicket keeper at the time and the only one wearing gloves on the field), the list goes on. We played with a very hard cork ball, and without any kind of protective wear. Most times, the bowler would be intent on aiming at your body rather than the stumps. The television series about ‘Bodyline’ came around this time. And this definitely did not help our case, since our bowlers seemed to be really taken in by Douglas Jardine’s tactics and were trying to mimic Harold Larwood. Injuries were part of the game, and bloodshed was shrugged aside with a nonchalance that shocks me when I think about it now. I was the youngest, but was shown no favor or mercy. I must’ve been either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave.

After some hard-ass day’s cricket, a few of us would sit around and chat for a while, savoring the moments of individual brilliance that day and discussing the finer aspects of the game(?!). It was during one of those chats that someone came up with the idea of hosting a ‘Sathanur Cup’, along the lines of the World Cup or Asia Cup, involving a few neighboring villages, with a round-robin format and a decent prize money pool (which was acquired by collecting participation fees from the teams - an elementary form of gambling I guess!). The idea gained immediate favor and plans were afoot right away to plan the big event. The dates were set, and invitations were sent to the neighboring villages in person, along with a healthy dose of bravado and scare tactics. The next problem was the issue of team selection – how do you pick only 11 from the huge bunch of dedicated and if I may add, talented, individuals? This was left to a few seniors, not necessarily by experience or talent, but purely by age. Me, being the youngest. to my chagrin, was relegated to the bench as a substitute. Though this saddened me a little initially, the Cup fever and patriotism for my village took over very soon and I was there to back my team all the way.

D-day came, and we were relieved that all the teams kept up their ends of the bargain and actually showed up with their best players, and even a few supporters. One end of the cricket ground was lined with hundreds of bicycles, cricket kits and water jugs. The teams lined up and greeted each other, and supporters, cynics, skeptics and curious onlookers soon crowded around. Acquaintances were made and friendships were renewed. Sathanur Cup kicked off amidst much funfare and hopes of some serious cricket entertainment. The games started off swiftly and with more action than usual (I suspected that the players were showing off in front of all the spectators, and this did more harm than good to their game). It was bang in the middle of summer, and despite all the trees around, it was still incredibly hot. The mercury climbed and was last seen somewhere in the vicinity of 42 C before it decided to jump off the thermometer for lack of options and higher numbers. The games had frequent breaks, when home-made ice-cold rasnas and water packets were provided to the dehydrated players. Despite the heat and the distractions, the teams were fervently cheered and booed by the spectators.

After 2 days of some hard fought cricket, Sathanur managed to pip out their rivals and favorites in the finals. There could not have been a better result. When the last ball was bowled and the final wicket claimed (or was it the final run made? I cannot recall very clearly), we all ran and hugged our players and joined in the noisy celebrations. For the prize distribution ceremony, we had bought a few cheap trophies. But then there was the question of who would be qualified enough to award the trophies to the finalists. Clearly, it had to be someone highly respectable and easily approachable. My grand dad turned out to be the unanimous choice to do the honors and we immediately sent for him. Being the sport he always was, Sambasiva Iyer showed up right away and gave away the awards. I even seem to remember him giving a short speech at the award ceremony while we stood around solemnly trying to hide our giggles, but I wouldn’t want to embellish my story with fuzzy details.

So that was the story of the Sathanur Cup. It was twilight when all the teams left, with thanks and good byes and promises of making this an annual event with everyone taking turns. Unfortunately, like a lot of childhood promises, this never happened. But the first and only edition of the Sathanur Cup was an unqualified success. And it gave us Sathanurians (ok, I just came up with that!) enough material for a lot of chat sessions and bouts of nostalgia.