Back in the day, growing up in India at the tail end of the Great Spin Quartet, I had to endure the ignominy of the Summer of 42. A classic tale of loss, heartache and the end of a dream. The Summer of ’42 was a
So the great accumulator is calling it a day. It isn’t quite like riding into the sunset as it is slowly fading away like the Cheshire Cat. Except that, maybe, there is no grin, just a grimace. All the die-hard fanatical fans are swearing off cricket altogether now that their hero, their darling, their dream, … More Run machine or cricketer?