|Image courtesy of Stuart Miles|
|Image courtesy of digitalart|
And dare I say, I was successful for as many as 5 years. He had started understanding the meanings of diving, penalty kick and perhaps even a red card. He knew Daddy likes Messi, but Ronaldo is better because Mumma likes him. He could tell me the scoreline, and could make out which team is winning the game. I think he also figured out that waka waka was a perfect song to make Daddy dance. One of the proudest moments of Daddy's life was the day when Junior threw a tantrum for that florescent green colored football.
Till the time, Star Sports came up with this gem of a campaign for India's first match of 2015 World Cup. My dearie was hooked. The tension, the energy, the wait, the spirit of nationalism ... basically the impact was sufficient for my efforts of 5 years go down the drain. After all, Junior had always seen Mumma so excited only while watching those big cars on the television. Looking at Mumma, he could sense that this was serious business, much more exciting than the El Clásico. Of course, for him the gentle behavior of the crowd watching Saina overpower her Chinese rivals was "boring" to watch, and Federer vs. Nadal in the whites at Wimbledon was too colorless.
Ultimately, my resistance bore no fruit (I even tried emotional blackmail) and the stone wall crumpled. That day, Junior pulled me to his room, all excited, and showed me a sentence written big and bold on his white board - "I love cricket. I don't love football." I couldn't decipher the meaning of the mischievous smile in his eyes. All it took was one match ...