Imagine there’s no competition
It’s easy if you try
No team to beat us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the players
Playing for today... (yoo…oooo..oooo)
You may say I’m a dreamer (snore...)
But I’m not the only one
(oh heavens!)
I hope some day you’ll watch us (on cable TV)
And the World Cup will be as one (for us…)

Imagine. Just imagine. Lennon’s cult song (in its sacrilegiously reworked version) blaring from a dozen loudspeakers of Das Sound, Champadali More. Cut to a stadium (former grazing land for cattle) packed with the citizens of the universe (some aliens visiting us too) in Barasat! The referee Madan Mohan Batabyal blows the whistle. And the first ever Brazil v/s Bengal final in the history of the World Cup takes off.

Forget India, it’s just Bengal. Bengali football — bas naam hi kaafi hai. Enough to take on the world.

From here onwards, it’s sheer magic. The ball seems to be at our feet almost all the time. Four goals in the first half and three more in the second (this is a customised score, you may add or subtract as many as you wish to). The veteran Brazilian coach Robson de Souza, more commonly known as Robinho (yes, yes, that baby-faced poker head who played in the 2006 and 2010 editions) is livid. The Samba drums fall silent. All around, you only see sari-clad damsels blowing their conches. The paparazzi go all out to capture the final dying moments of the “dream” final. The referee blows the final whistle in the third minute of time added on. And then… the stadium simply erupts.

And so does Ghoshbabu’s second, er, better (or for worse) half.

‘Drim’ catcher

For some, this might seem as far-fetched as a kangaroo playing a piano. But then hope is where the heart is. “And it never ‘haaaarts’ to ‘drim’”, thunders the wise man from Jawpore Road. “I have a ‘drim’. That’s ‘eggjactly’ what Dr Martin Luthaaaaar Singh (according to the Singh Is Kinng conversion table) said to his ‘keeengdaam’ way back in 1963. The same ‘yaar’ my Putul Mashi got married to my Partho Mesho. My ‘drim’ is to see my shonar Bangla lift the World Cup in 2050!” (clap clap clap)

EVERYONE’S AN EXPERT

Why not? Yes, why not?

Check out any local news channel on the telly and all that you get to hear is tons of advice on how and what best to do with the Jabulani. Grey hair aplenty. Never a dull moment with the stalwarts of the game on this side of the Ganges.

From what Maradona should have done with Messi to why Rooney is a flop in the World Cup. From what ails Drogba to how Kaka is an overrated star. From why being mechanical is Germany’s greatest flaw to Rooney’s chubbiness being his actual problem — just about anything and everything is a topic for discussion.

Not just the visionaries inside the idiot box, this has always been a ritual with people across all ages in this revered land where a certain master wordsman Tenida’s genes are nothing short of legendary.

Which brings us to the ultimate in reasoning. We Bengalis love to watch the World Cup rather than play for it. Yet once upon a time, we were pretty good at it. But then that was ‘once upon a time’. Call it folklore, dada. Tsk! Tsk!

Today, while 32 top teams battle it out for global supremacy, we are quite content with hanging our 32 all out and stoically soaking in nostalgia. Shob khelar shera Bangalir tumi football.

Methinks we are comparatively better off in the Olympics. At least we manage an odd medal once in four years, though marching past some thousands with the tricolour in hand seems to be the greatest honour. One ‘Abhinav’ marksman hit the bulls eye for gold last time but hasn’t been doing much since then apart from talking about 3G for a telecom brand.

Which also fortifies the fact that Ranjitsinhji’s game is by far our greatest weapon to get close to winning the world over. Which is why Dhoni is richer than Dhanraj!

MADE IN BENGAL

But then, there’s always the licence to appreciate and aspire. Especially if you are a true blue Bong. With all your dhong. We haven’t been to the moon yet but who’s stopping us from going over. Only if our indigenous ideas were tapped at the right time, half the world’s patents would have been branded “Made in Bengal”.

Till then, just dwell in the belief that whatever Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow — or maybe the day after. And for the rest of the globe, here’s a piece of my mind.

Always remember, “Joy Bangla” is not conjunctivitis. It’s the war cry waiting to be heard in 2050. Start counting. We are just 40 “light” years away. Waka Waka!

Send your feedback for Mir to t2@abpmail.com and t2mirspeak@gmail.com