Messi, me and miscreants
When the powerful light fell into the eyes of the driver the vehicle stopped abruptly with a huge jerk and screech of the wheel. But me, the mesmerised passenger in the back seat, was so much in awe with the discussion that it took few seconds to realise the forthcoming disaster and the scale of potential calamity.
Riding a three-wheeler at the dead of night in Dhaka City gives a surreal feeling. The cubicle like strange thing that remains choked, bruised, battered throughout another excruciating day of traffic congestion seems to fly like a Pegasus, stretches its imaginary wings and break the silence with an irritating groan of a feeble engine.
To be honest, I am very much accustomed to the experience but on that night, it was a bit different. Lionel Messi showcased another incredible show, err…with him nothing seems incredible these days by the way. But for my mortal eyes, which have by now observed thousands of football matches, that was another treat. After finishing my routine work of posting match report online and having a festive like atmosphere at office I was still failing to check the excitement.
Perhaps that drove me taking the irrational decision of riding on a rented three-wheeler abandoning my office vehicle that awaited my colleague who still had some work to finish. And just when I ascended into an empty CNG, the colloquial name of autorickshaw, my cellphone rang. I replied to my ecstatic Argentine fan friend, Oh dear! What was that! I promise you I shall write a piece on Messi, the diminutive magician. I tell you what, I feel lucky that I have the privilege of watching this man dancing with football.
‘Are you a writer? Are you going to write about Messi magic?’ asked the hoarse voice of the driver from the other side of the cage. Yes man, I am a sportswriter and I shall write a panegyric on him, I replied.
Have you ever seen such exuberance in a World Cup semifinal? Oh my God! Scoring three goals and showing that kind of skill. I almost wanted to say teams scored even more but I checked myself and said, never! That is inhumane, such unbridled joy!
Are you an Argentine fan? Do you love Messi? I asked.
Yes. I love playing and watching football. Don’t you think the third goal was a piece of art?
Absolutely! It was him all over, getting past opponents overpowering and outpacing a skillful defender and producing a rosogolla type delivery to his teammate for a tap-in.
I even forgot to scream, I got numb you know, said the driver followed by a broad laughter.
This year the cup belongs to Messi, it is written in the stars. No one can change the fate, no one.
Just when I was saying these words the aforementioned hard break of the vehicle appeared. The people who stopped the CNG produced a grin and said to the driver, Ostad (boss)! you seem to succeed catching a fish and staring at me with a crooked smile, uttered- come out man, hand over us whatever you have.
No, he is a Messi fan. He loves football and he shall write a piece on the man. He is not my prey but my guest for tonight, and you ** come join us.
A shivering went through my spines right then. I was amid the miscreants who loot the hapless night peddlers! But what is their boss trying to do?
Let us stop to the tea stall over there and toast the victory, he said. I was dumbfounded watching the strange man and was thinking is he really trying to intensify the game of hunting?
Tell me more about the game. You know what, I was a great football player and people used to crowd watching my skill in the little town where I was born. What do you think about the second goal?
It was a bit lucky but nevertheless you got to praise Alvarez, the young striker. It was indeed a huge blunder by the last defender and a gross thing for the opponent allowing so much space throughout his run, but his perseverance paid off. Hats off to the striker.
You know, I always dreamt of such goals but as it happened my act was like the last defender said the driver aka the boss with a melancholic tone pulling off a big puff of cigarette.
He started telling his story with his eyes seemed to be lost in nostalgia. He told me how during a football brawl he saw his brother being beaten blue and he lost his mind to stab a beater afterwards. He had to flee his village.
The penalty that broke the deadlock was an unjust one, quipped one of the sidekicks. By now I had the strange feeling of being safe albeit with a little cloud of danger and my sports analyst mind could not help myself uttering, oh no! it was an out an out penalty according to the rulebook. The striker was clever utilising the situation to his favour. The boss grinned.
You know, like Croatia I had no chance of coming back. A hot-headed clever young fugitive is an easy prey in underworld. Then he suddenly changed his tone and asked me, do you write about tactics? Wasn’t the coach sublime?
Indeed man. It was ingenious to deploy a counter-attack based plan. He did not try to show Latin ego rather suppressed and surprised the opponent with a robust four-man midfield. Without the ball his men pushed the strong Croat three-man midfield to corner and nullified the threat. And the masterstroke was to asking his charges to positioned for a quick transition that decimated opposition ranks almost every occasion.
Spot on man! This is how the Dons of underworld work. One day I will become one, said the boss with his trademark spine-chilling laughter. But my fear evaporated by then. I rather echoed. It was a smile of footballing brethren, the strongest tie I ever know. Now, take a rickshaw, go home, take rest and finish your piece.
The Cup is for Messi boss! I chanted while leaving the place. All three smiled.
And just then I opened my eyes, blinked to see the ceiling of my bedroom.
Oh no! I cannot fathom when I slept. The ambrosia of football made me hungover. The intoxication undertook me to a weird dream. Or was it real?
The Messi, the magic, the mojo blurred everything.