WSH manages the frenzy but lacks quality

Every day, moments before local trains chug in to Churchgate station, the final stop of the Western line in Mumbai, dozens of men on their footboards glance at the silver outsides of the Wankhede cricket stadium preceding it, some customarily, some for longer. Then, just as they’re done peeking in or reliving a cricketing moment at the back of their minds, the Mahindra Stadium appears, sharing its fence. Mumbai Hockey Association’s ground zero, in contrast with its swanky neighbour, looks perennially tired, and the commuters resume looking elsewhere, worrying about getting off the train. Of late, World Series Hockey has been changing this fleeting routine. ‘Phir dil do hockey ko’, the tagline of a motorcycle ad campaign during the 2010 Hockey World Cup, sums up the desire of this tournament too, ‘phir’ being the key word. An ambitious opus of the Indian Hockey Federation, the WSH aspires to put the country’s national game back on the map, but has already had to hurdle over bureaucratic menaces, inter-organisational ego battles and controversies before finally hitting off on 29 February. With eight teams from major Indian cities beginning face-offs in home and away draws that would last a month (with a national broadcaster relaying it all), it seemed like a neat start, enough to make me buy a ticket to the Mahindra stadium one weekday evening. Besides, it was a chance to see for real some men I’d only seen in small news reports of big hockey wins — the once feared strike force of Indian hockey — Prabhjot Singh, Deepak Thakur and Gagan Ajit Singh. For a first, I spotted the said rectangle floodlit and even better, radiating a buzz it had been estranged with. Once past the security cordon (just one, compared to half-a-dozen at the cricket stadium, including guards who grope you all over), I made it to the packed East stand, already in a din over a first minute goal by opponents Sher-e-Punjab. The home team, Mumbai Marines had enough support though, led by a bunch of men incessantly playing dhol. [caption id=“attachment_251565” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“The quality did see some appalling glitches in this match. Image courtesy Malay Desai”]  [/caption] The stadium having been close to my college, I had been an occasional visitor here on more deserted evenings, curious to watch local teams practising (and once even on a date!). But the gleam of the moss green turf still wowed me. East ‘stand’, metres from the railway tracks behind, was just a few unkempt, long concrete steps, (one with a hollow large enough to break a bone should an excited fan stumble in it), while West, priced at Rs 250 a seat, had plastic chairs, very few of them empty. The North and South stands, behind the goalpost, were the most raucous (their tickets being Rs 50 apiece). 12th minute, and Joga Singh, a Mumbai forward, scored the equaliser and the crowd erupted, its cheers mixing with on-cue music, dhols and the odd hoot of a train. The cacophony never ceased (a nondescript home team anthem too chipping in), and little did our rowdy audience realise that a little volume control would’ve let us hear the ‘zrrr’ sound of the ball travelling in a long pass, the players’ calls and simply some good ol’ thwacks of wood. Maybe they didn’t know those to appreciate them. The visuals playing out, however, weren’t anything to complain about. Some incredible running and stunning scoops, especially from the big three, especially Thakur in the second half, were worth much more than the 100 bucks I’d spent and had many times the energy of a T20 cricket game. If no more controversies mar this league and the janta sustains its encouraging attendance, the promoters must consider charging more than popcorn prices for the hockey on display. (And the cheerleader dances in the break.) That said, the quality did see some appalling glitches in this match. Some of the Mumbai players missing passes and miscuing shots with juvenile regularity, further animating their German coach on the sidelines. Not surprisingly, Punjab took the lead in the second half, and following some lusty hitting, sealed the match 3-2. The best moments of my match came after it though, for I chanced upon Dhanraj Pillai, unassuming in white shorts, chatting about and obliging photograph-hunters. ‘Come for Friday’s match ha?’ he requested in chaste Marathi to many, almost sounding like a paternal figure of an impending family function, his team Chandigarh Lions’ match vs Mumbai. I caught Viren Rasquinha too, followed by Arjun Halappa, both star performers for India in the past decade, the latter catering to lesser autograph hunters. (One confused teen even asked me, pointing to Halappa, what the name of this ‘famous hockey player’ was.) But all this did make me wonder how much attention Sandeep Singh or Sardar Singh, stars of India’s current national side (buoyant after its recent Olympic qualification) would’ve got had they participated. Watching this veneer around non-cricket sportsmen was heartening, and so was spotting two Mercedes Benz buses parked in the stadium’s campus, a throne hitherto accorded only to national (and now, IPL-level) players of the Wankhede variety. WSH has also entitled local players to ‘perks’ such as video analysts, dieticians, foreign coaches and an infrastructure they’ve always demanded. If there is one reason why those throwing bones in the bonfire of this tournament must stop doing so, it is this. Reportedly, the response to this attempted rebirth of Indian hockey has been a revelation at Bhopal and Bangalore too. And although all of this would soon drown in the noise of cricket’s upcoming Indian Premier League, at least some of the commuters in Churchgate-bound trains in Mumbai would glance at ‘that hockey stadium’ next to Wankhede stadium with more respect.