I hadn’t slept in 36 hours. My body was acting independent of my mind, which in turn was discovering new colours as the alcohol in my system swam around unprocessed.
I was perfectly set up to hallucinate.
But I didn’t.
Virender Sehwag, our glorious leader, prophet and opening batsman, made sure I didn’t need too.
A square drive went off the middle of the bat to the rope even though there was no obvious middle that you could see.
A pull shot off a length that just disappeared from view.
A cover drive that seemed to have been a last minute thought that no West Indian seemed to see.
It was a living dream, it was floating around me, Natalie was his batting partner who was getting singles to get off strike, the O’Death’s fiddle player was umpiring and the commentators were Victor Mancini and Luke Rhinehart.
In your mind, it was all different I am sure.
That’s the magic of Sehwag, we all see it different even we when all see it the same.
And his collection of Sehwag smiles, could light up Chicago, or burn down Adelaide.
Oh, how he smiled.
We all smiled.
Anyone who saw that innings put down the razor, hid the rat poison, and put the handbrake on.
If you were in the middle of wiping out a small ethic group, you’d let them hug their children by dipping them in lye.
Serial killers carved smiley faces, similar to that cheeky grin that Sehwag had, into the corpses of their latest conquest.
And, it was only an ODI.
Generally, Sehwagology doesn’t really change the world for a limited overs match.
That said, Sehwagology is not just a Sunday only service.
The man preaches when he wants, and even if you aren’t ready, don’t want to hear it, or are busy, it still gets to you.
It’s sehwagology, bitches.
Take it, rub it on your body, make love to the world.
Do it with a smile. Several smiles.