World Cup Diary

This week was the first time that I travelled on a train. I’d been on those little novelty choo-choos that whip kiddies around the zoo or the amusement park but I had never actually journeyed, from one city to another, on a train. Johannesburg’s Gautrain, which goes from the heart of the CBD in Sandton to the airport in 16 minutes doesn’t count.

The Jan Shatabdi Express, part of one of the largest railway networks in the world, now that’s a train. It was far more elaborate than any of the ones I had seen in old Bollywood films. Nothing nearly as exciting as what happens in the movies happened to me, but I was still thrilled to be on it. It was bumpy and bustling. It left Delhi to pass through kilometres of fields and approached Chandigarh with the sight of rolling hills, although only their shadows were discernible as darkness descended.

It was the ideal, surreal start to three days in Chandigarh, where the roads are wide, the streets are quiet and the big-city edge is non-existent. In anyone’s book, it would pass for a small town. Perhaps not in its entirety, but certainly when looked at one or two sectors at a time. Sector 63, where the PCA is, reminded me of where my grandmother stays, 80 kilometers North West of Johannesburg in a town called Brits.

They didn't mean it. Really, the lovely staff at the ITC Royal Gardenia didn't mean to be mean. They were just going about their hospitality routines the way they are planned. When teams arrive there, they get a traditional welcome: garlands, flowers, the thunderous ghatam - a traditional south Indian percussion instrument made of a clay pot. When a team leaves, a live band (featuring a violin, saxophone and guitar) plays tunes as they walk through a guard of honour, with the staff holding up bats on either side of their red carpet. As England left Bangalore on Thursday, the band began to play ‘Moondance’. The song belongs to Irish singer-songwriter Van Morrison. Now he may be from Belfast, in Northern Ireland, but as Andrew Strauss' team walked past, in a shower of rose petals and bad memories, it was always going to be an Irish song.

The opening game against Bangladesh last Friday was my 100th for Ireland in all competitions, and I should really have been celebrating a win. I suppose if we don’t qualify for the quarter-finals it will never get out of our system. That said, it’s gone and now my complete focus is on the England game this afternoon. It’s disappointing, but it’s a game of cricket, and unless it’s a tie like the other day, someone has to lose.

Although I didn’t have a happy time with the bat, I was pleased with the way I bowled. It wasn’t easy coming on after they had got off to such a quick start, but I had a game plan to bowl tight on leg and middle stump to deny them room, and it worked.

It was a great bonus to get the wicket of Imrul Kayes thanks to a brilliant piece of work from Nobby (Niall O’Brien) standing up. He’s as good as anyone in the business, and I think he showed just what he’s capable of. If you’re a batsman and you make the slightest mistake, then you’re gone, as we’ve all seen over the last coupe of years with him.

It’s not often that a person’s name represents what they actually are. Think about Graeme Smith and Graeme Swann – neither of them could be described as a gravel area, could they? What about Allan Donald and Allan Lamb? Neither of them are too harmonious. Some people, however, fit their names perfectly - like Dipender, a volunteer at the Feroz Shah Kotla in Delhi.

Dipender, whose name literally means “lord of light”, was certainly a shining beacon – and completely dependable - after a difficult day at the stadium covering the South Africa-West Indies match.

Reporters have no right to complain about not receiving free internet or food when they go to work in a stadium, but given it’s commonplace in press boxes and journalists love freebies, complain they did. Both eventually arrived and stories were filed on time, empty stomachs were fed, and just before midnight, bags were packed.

Then, it was time to hit the town. Dipender knew exactly what to do. He gathered a few them and offered a lift to popular Connaught Place in his own car, ushered them into a bar, saw to it that their drinks were ordered, that they were seated comfortably and that their cab was organised to collect them at closing time.

The Chinnaswamy Stadium, on the day before the World Cup, looked exactly like what most Indian grounds look like 24 hours before a big game. Rush, bustle, loud volumes, greetings, anxiety. Except this time, there was an unusual sight. Former India cricketers in roles that usually never involve them after their careers end. They were not commentary assignments or coaching roles and it did not even concern the collection of complimentary tickets. Venkatesh Prasad was standing behind the closed glass doors of one of the boxes at ground level, addressing a meeting of the volunteers. Javagal Srinath was answering queries about television feed to the line of VIP boxes on the first floor. Anil Kumble was in his president's office answering phones as often as operators of emergency hotlines.

The Karnataka State Cricket Association (KSCA) is unusual compared to most others in India, not because some of India's most recent international retirees are at the apex of its administration. It is the association where cricketers, who belonged to the state's most elite, fought a full scale election, campaigning, dirty boots et al, and within months of being elected must deal with every hurdle involved in the staging of any important fixture in India. Ego clashes amongst 'stakeholders', ticket distribution wars, pressure from government bodies that supply water, electricity or security. The KSCA's cricketers have had to be hands on. Otherwise collapse would be inevitable. At the India - Australia practice match, vice-president Prasad was seen wandering around the stands asking spectators for the feedback about the services and what they needed. Kumble was ticking off a contractor about some wayward chairs in the media box. As the frenzy for the India v England match grew, secretary Srinath found himself dead centre of the tickets controversy.

On Saturday, he told of his own time in a similar queue. At ICC chief executive Haroon Lorgat's press conference, Srinath stepped in to take questions about the tickets and said that in 1987, he had queued outside the Chinnaswamy Stadium's green walls. "I was about 15 metres from the box office and I stood there for five hours. I couldn't get a ticket and I had to go back. And I was a genuine cricket fan." That bald statement told many stories and Srinath, went on, "I'm seeing the same system that has been around in 1987 still happening. Is that the fair way?"

We all have our favourite sport jerseys. New Zealand’s 1992 World Cup one is mine. In 2009, I spent two months in that country and desperately looked for it in almost every store that sold cricket jerseys. In vain. I did get two really good ones – the beige, and the one they won the Champions trophy in. Two years later, in Bangladesh, I hear of the man who made a killing out of selling those shirts in 1992. The said man is now Bangladesh’s bowling coach, Ian Pont.

It has been three interesting days of meeting cricketers with interesting job descriptions, thanks to Ireland being in town, but I was delighted to meet the sales and marketing director of the company that revolutionised cricket merchandising. I hoped this was a tree that that would drop a couple of New Zealand shirts if I as much as threw a stone.

Actually there was nothing revolutionary about it, but during the first World Cup played in colour clothing, Pont’s men were the only ones who thought of selling replica shirts to the fans. And they sold 120,000 in one year.

Nagpur is a difficult place to work out. It’s the city of oranges, yet my hotel breakfast buffet offers no orange juice. It’s smack bang in the centre of India, but feels out of the loop. It is, according to Lonely Planet, “hopelessly devoid of sights”, yet has one of the finest cricket stadiums in the country.

The big, new VCA Stadium is an impressive sight. It’s located well outside the city itself, so transport can be an issue, but the facilities are first-class. That includes the press box, which is so extensive that it puts the MCG’s Long Room to shame.

It’s so vast that as I watched the Australian fielding session on Thursday, a colleague at the other end of the room who wanted to let me know lunch was served had to ring me to pass on the message. He was so far away that I couldn’t see him, let alone the sandwiches.