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The night we dined in Hell !!

A recent writeup I did about the IIMA:IIMB volleyball match. Enzaaai !!!!

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hero

n. pl. he·roes

In mythology and legend, a man, often of divine ancestry, who is endowed with great courage and strength, celebrated for his bold exploits, and favored by the gods.

Legend has it that whenever there is injustice in this world, the Divine powers descend down on our planet to set things right. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is one such legend. A story that parents all over would share with their children to instil courage and bravery in them. A story that would go on to inspire thousands everywhere in facing their sorrow filled pasts. This ladies and gentlemen, is the story of 11 warriors who fought for justice, for what was rightfully theirs, for Sangarsh.

Around a year ago the warriors from the Ahmedabad clan had conquered the battlegrounds of IIMB volleyball court. The scars of defeat ran deep within the warriors of Bangalore who had fought hard but lost the previous battle with A. Cavalry had now arrived in the form of new spikers (read Vibhu and Nitin) and the defence too was strengthened with the arrival of new inspired soldiers (read Raja, Behl and Harish) . The clan had trained hard this time around. They worked together; they moved together, they hunted together. A recent defeat at Kozikode was seen as a mere hiccup and a learning huddle to only jump higher, strike swifter.

The lines were drawn, the net was raised and it was time for the refree’s conch to be blown. Sangarsh – The War of the IIMs was now dependant on this battle. The warriors from Bangalore had vouched not to return home without victory. Their strategy was simple. Do not let the ball touch the ground on our side. If the other side do the same, let them suffer hell in the process. Strike first. Strike hard.

The first point was a long rally with either side wanting to taste first blood. Yadav, the King Leonidas of our IIMB volleyball team had had enough. He sent a blow so hard, so deep within the opponents’ ranks that the fear showed in their quivering legs. From that moment on there was no looking back for the IIMB side. IIMB’s anchors, Sreejan, Harish, KC and Kuppili, held ground beautifully. They were the core reason behind every IIMB strike and every sore finger of IIMA. Every time the cannons were looped perfectly into the air by them and the IIMB spikers( Yadav, Vibhu, Rowdy and Manas) jumped to shoot, the IIMA players took 2 steps back. All they could manage was to just send the ball back only to face the barrage all over again. (The following was overheard that night in the IIMA night canteen – “Dude! I rather go to K and be held under house arrest than face this legen-wait for it-dary IIMB volleyball team. No Che??”). The IIMA tactics of just trying to place their attack never really troubled the IIMB team. The war was so swiftly won that it made Blitzkrieg look like stealing kandy (no pun) from a child. While the IIMB heroes were hailed as legends and carried on shoulders at one end, the IIMA crowd decided to maintain a minute’s silence to mourn their warriors at the other.

Dear Readers. The author is at this point so overwhelmed with emotion that he is unable to write further. So, he would like to end with this little phrase: “We won easily”

Thank you for your patience

Your friendly neighbourhood reporter

Dilip R.S. aka Rowdy

The light of knowledge !!

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Memories ARE made up of this....

Sports journalism at its best

Below is the article from http://football.guardian.co.uk
It is one the best I've read in some time. It is so moving and well written. It talks about the life of.. rather the reason for the life of the Croatian football player -Darijo Srna
Kudos to Jonathan Wilson.

Super Darijo a very proud son of the father

The remarkable life led by his father means the most astonishing thing about Shakhtar Donetsk skipper Darijo Srna is that he exists at all

Jonathan Wilson

August 21, 2008 1:57 PM

For his country Darijo Srna is a midfielder. For his club he is a full-back. At heart, he probably still wants to be the wing-back he was when he started his career. Tactically, the decline of 3-5-2 could have left him behind, but he has reinvented himself to become captain of Shakhtar Donetsk. Against Dinamo Zagreb in the Champions League last week, he was an obvious man of the match, whipping in a free-kick after three minutes to set them on the way to a comfortable 2-0 victory.

Niko Kranjčar, admittedly his room-mate on international trips, calls Srna the most under-rated player in Europe. And yet the most improbable thing about him is that he exists at all. The series of events that go to make any life can appear dauntingly improbable in retrospect, but Srna's career would have to take some truly extraordinary turns before his life-story became half as remarkable as that of his father.

Uzeir Srna was born in Gornji Stopići, a village near Čajniče in eastern Bosnia, a year before the Second World War. As the German advance met fierce resistance, the front line swept back and forth over the village, repeatedly forcing its inhabitants to flee. In 1941, though, with the fighting seemingly done, they returned home. It proved a ghastly miscalculation.

One night, the Chetniks, the Serb nationalist paramilitaries who waged their own war within a war, raided the village and burned it to the ground. Uzeir was grabbed by his father, and they fled into the forest with his teenage brother, Safet. His mother wasn't so quick. "She was pregnant," said Uzeir. "And she and my sister were burned alive."

Uzeir, Safet and their father fled north to Bosanski Samac, but amid the chaos of refugees Uzeir became separated from his father and brother. Somehow he ended up in Sarajevo, and was taken from there to Slovenia, where he spent a few months in an orphanage before being adopted by a police officer in Murska Sobota: the boy who had been Uzeir Srna became Mirko Kelenc.

Back in Bosanski Samac, further tragedy was to strike. "It was a stupid accident," Uzeir said. "My father had found a job in a small café. One day he was sitting outside it, and he got hit by a stray bullet that killed him." Uzeir has never found the graves of either his mother or his father.

In despair, Safet joined the army, but he never forgot his brother. Everywhere he went, he asked if anybody had seen Uzeir. Two years went by without any firm leads, but then he was posted to Niš in Serbia. His commanding officer there was a Slovenian, who remembered hearing about a Bosnian orphan who had been taken in by a family in Murska Sobota.

As soon as he could, Safet went to Slovenia to continue his search. It took him a few weeks to locate the Kelenc house, but when he did, he knew he had found his brother. The Kelencs argued that Uzeir would have a better life with them in Slovenia, but Safet was insistent, and took Uzeir back to Bosanski Samac, where he enrolled in the local school.

Even in the austere world of northern Bosnia in the years immediately following the war, the Srnas were noticeably poor. "I was always hungry," he remembers. "I saw my friends from school eating fresh bread and rolls, and it annoyed me, so I decided to become a baker."

Uzeir learned the trade, but barely had he begun to work properly when relatives from Sarajevo got in touch and asked him to go and live with them in Sarajevo. Delighted by the thought of a family, Uzeir agreed. "When I got my first salary in Bosanski Samac, I bought shoes, a jacket, a suitcase and a train ticket to Sarajevo," he said. "But I didn't know where they lived. So I walked round Sarajevo for hours before I found their house."

He struggled to find work as a baker, so Uzeir took on a series of manual jobs before finally, after several months, being offered a post in a bakery. It was there that he began to play football fairly seriously, being taken on as a goalkeeper by FK Sarajevo. Wandering, though, was in his soul. He met a group of Serbian engineers who asked him to go to Belgrade with them, work for their company and play for their local club. He followed them, but didn't settle there and returned to Bosnia, following his brother into the army.

He was posted to Busovača, a small town in central Bosnia. "There I started to play for Jedinstvo, the local club," said Uzeir. "I remember we had a friendly match against Čelik from Zenica. They were a big club at the time. A few days after the game, some people from Čelik asked me to go and play for them, but it was never meant to be for me in Zenica. They had a good team and decided to send me out on loan."

Before that could happen, though, Uzeir travelled to Croatia with Čelik for a friendly against Neretva in Metković. "Just before the game, Neretva's goalkeeper was injured," Uzeir said. "So they asked me because I was Čelik's reserve to play for them. After the match, they ask me to stay, because they were pretty impressed with my goalkeeping."

There Uzeir married a local woman called Nada, and they had a son, Renato, who is now a coach at Neretva. The marriage broke up, though, and he went to France, playing and working in Paris for four years before returning to Metković, where he met and married another woman, Milka, with whom he had two children, Igor and Darijo. He worked for a time as a truck-driver, before Neretva asked him to coach their youth side. One of his charges was Darijo.

"Even though he was really small, a lot smaller than the other kids, everybody knew Darijo was a great talent," he said. "He was good at handball, table tennis and basketball. One day he even came home from school and said that his teacher had told him to quit football and focus on basketball."

Fortunately he ignored him. "When he was a kid, he had offers from Dinamo Zagreb, Zagreb and Varteks Varaždin," Uzeir said. "I knew that Varteks had a best facility for young players, so I told him that best thing for him is to play there." But then the former Hajduk Split player Ivan Gudelj came to their house in Metković, offering a trial at Hajduk.

For the Srnas, that was a big risk. They are Bosniak, and as the war rumbled on, it was soon apparent how difficult it would be for a young Muslim player to be accepted in Split. "It was a difficult time," said Uzeir. "And your name was so important. But the worst thing was that the coaches came and openly demanded money for Darijo to stay there. Luckily he was so talented that when the youth coaches saw him, they decided he had to stay."

He stayed until 2003, when he moved to Shakhtar in a transfer so lucrative that Uzeir could comfortably buy a bakery of his own. Darijo has bought him a Mercedes and a BMW, but Uzeir still lives in his small apartment in Metković. "I always tell Darijo that you have to save your money when you're earning it," Uzeir said. "There's nothing to save when you're broke. The only difference to when he first moved in with Milka is that there is now an Astroturf pitch just around the corner, Darijo's gift to his home town.

"My father and my family mean everything to me," Darijo has said. On his calf he has a tattoo of a deer ('srna' in Croatian), while on his chest he has the name of his brother, who has Down's syndrome. Every goal he scores he dedicates to Igor. "I can't forget how they suffered while they were trying to find money for me during my days at Hajduk," he said.

"I can't forget that. My father had a really, really difficult life and I am very proud he can live peacefully now, without stress. I know it's impossible to repay him for everything he has done for me. But, I have bought him a car and given him enough money to live normally now, while he is old. It's the least I can do."

Beside his father's life, adapting his game to play a little deeper doesn't seem much of a strain.

Such is life

I have heard of many descriptions of life, many analogies being drawn upon to explain it being twisted and complicated but this takes the cake

"The trouble with my life is that it's like a bra strap when you put your bra on wrong. So there's one part of the strap that's all twisted and sticking out under your T-shirt and you fix that, and then the part near the hook becomes tangled. Then, after you've struggled with it for a while, because you can't see so far down your back, and straightened it out, the bit near your boob is all funny. So if I've got my career sorted, my love life magically vanishes without so much as a goodbye. Then I've got my love life all perfect and I'm seeing us making fat, happy babies, and boom! my family is fighting, and so on. You get the picture."

-Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan, avid blogger ( http://thecompulsiveconfessor.blogspot.com/) and author of "You Are Here"