A game for the ages: A fan relives his experience at the titanic India-Pakistan World Cup match

A firsthand account of the atmosphere and unforgettable moments from the historic clash.

By Shobhit Negi

For the citizens of India and Pakistan, irrespective of where they are situated on the globe, everything comes to a standstill whenever these arch-rivals cross paths on any cricket field in the world. This rivalry is symbolic of the conscious or unconscious hatred citizens of these two neighboring nations carry towards. The only difference between an actual war and this rivalry match is that both countries use their most competent and able-bodied “soldiers” to constantly “fire” at each other using a spherical hand-sized grenade made from leather and a wooden long-handed paddle at a constant distance of twenty-two yards.

I am a sports enthusiast, in particular cricket and tennis. So, when I heard that the T20 World Cup match between India and Pakistan was taking place in New York, I got goosebumps. As a disclaimer, I was born and raised in India. By the grace of God, my brother and I were able to secure tickets in a timely fashion. During soirees leading up to the game, I heard myriad stories related to the tickets.

A fortunate few boasted about reserving a box, whereas the majority were still scrambling. As the clock ticked, the ticket and hotel prices next to the “battlefield,” the Nassau County International Stadium, grew astronomically. Paralleling this was the frustration amongst people who were still searching for the tickets.

The two of us, along with two dear friends, decided to travel to the Big Apple, a day before the game. The caveat was that our friends did not have the tickets; however, another dear friend, who is an ambassador for cricket in the United States and owns a premier league in India promised them the tickets. En route, our friends kept checking the T20 ticket app cart for the tickets. A dismal smile on their faces summed it all up, but hats off to them, they didn’t lose hope.

Our first pit stop took us to the Biden Center in Delaware, where we took a coffee break. The line at Dunkin’ Donuts was small and while we were chatting, discussing plans for the following day, a middle-aged, impeccably dressed man standing behind us, whispered to us in Hindi, “Aap be kya match dekhna ja rage hain?” English translation: “Are you also going to watch the match?” We replied in the affirmative, although I could sense trepidation in my friend’s voice. Apparently, this gentleman turned out to be a good friend of Mohsin Khan, a former Pakistan cricket player. It was almost like rubbing salt in my friend’s wound when he shared with us that Mr. Khan had obtained a seat for him in the VIP box.

We continued our journey, and on our way ate several Indian dishes, we had all been yearning for a while. By the time we checked into our hotel room, our friends were still sitting on pins and needles as their ticket app cart remained dead silent. A somber mood set in. As we were preparing to call it a night, rapturous laughter erupted in the room. Our buddy’s patience and determination had paid off as the app indicated they had two tickets in their account. We sang the praises of our friend, who arranged the tickets.

Then came game day. While walking from the parking lot to the stadium recently built for the World Cup, we strolled past the Marriott. Several men in green, implying Pakistani fans were leaning against the Marriott fence, zooming cameras on their smartphones, hailing names of members of the Pakistani cricket team, and singing praises of our archrivals. I, too, peeped through the fence and got a glimpse of Shadab Khan, a player, boarding the bus. I was a bit distracted at the time as I was simultaneously following the French Open men’s final on my phone. As we hastily walked towards the stadium, I repeatedly kept a tab of the score at Roland Garros.

As we reached the stadium, we were greeted by an ocean of blue, implying Indian fans. One had to literally make a conscious effort looking for our counterparts. The Indian community had turned out in full-fledged support of their beloved team. Legends, such as M.S. Dhoni and Sachin Tendulkar, made their presence felt as you could see fans adoring the blue jersey with their names printed on the back.

Equaling the monstrous support for the men in blue was the security provided by New York’s finest, the New York Police Department. You had the SWAT team, officers clad in uniform patrolling the ground with their K-9 German Shepherds, armored vehicles, and aerial surveillance. This being one of the biggest shows on earth that was being broadcast worldwide, some people utilized the opportunity to promote their agenda. For example, the sky overlooking the stadium had a small plane with a banner attached to its tail, that read, “Release Imran Khan.” Interestingly, Imran Khan, a cricketer turned politician, helped Pakistan clinch their first World Cup title more than three decades ago.

The game commenced and for the initial hour was occasionally met by fleeting showers. The fan’s anxiety kicked in. The discussion distilled to whether we would have an abbreviated game. However, the spirit was kept alive. It was a cricketing carnival. The MC and the DJ kept fans on their feet, playing both old and new Bollywood hits interlaced with famous Pakistani songs.

For the Indian fans, the mood started turning melancholic as wickets started falling at regular intervals. The mood continued to darken as the Indian players, who had performed spectacularly in the Indian Premier League (IPL), were unable to unleash their talent. The Pakistani pacing unit was highly disciplined as they kept penetrating the Indian armor at will. Two hat trick opportunities and the Indian team caving in before their allocated quota of overs was a punch in the gut for all Indian fans.

The Pakistani opening batsman started impressively, creating a mirage of victory in the minds of the team’s fans and further languishing our hopes. Despite being grossly outnumbered by the Indian fans, the Pakistani fans started smelling victory and became the most vocal voice in the stadium which was filled. Even the DJ was swimming in this unraveling sea of emotions. Hearing Pakistani songs that seemed to have a patriotic fervor was akin to being repeatedly stabbed in the back. We were dejected and sensed an impending loss. Frustration on the stands manifested as sledging between the fans, but thankfully everything remained civil.

The pendulum started swinging once again. fter Pakistan lost their third wicket, a renewed sense of enthusiasm was infused in the Indian fans. One could barely hear an utterance from the Pakistani fans. Each dot ball was appreciated to the magnitude of one crossing the ropes for a six. Eventually, India emerged victorious, and the festivities began. As we headed home, our conversations started with patient care or hospitals acquiring private practices but eventually culminated with what our senses endured earlier during the day. Whether it was Pant’s unorthodox hat trick of fours or Bumrah castling Rizwan, we all were elated and felt relieved that the day ended as we desired. This match will no doubt go down history lane as a match reflecting the never-say-die attitude of the men in blue.

What stood out the most for me was Indian wicket-keeper Rishabh Pant’s resilience. He was seriously injured in an auto accident about a year and a half ago. Making such a terrific comeback was a far-fetched thought. People were debating whether Rishabh would ever be able to walk without assistance. He not only single-handedly contributed to India’s meager total in the first half of the game but also did a phenomenal job during the Pakistani innings, taking three astounding catches that were not for the faint-hearted to watch. I found this victory very liberating from the day-to-day hassles of life. This game in the United States could not have been played at a more appropriate venue than New York where the Statute of Liberty still stands tall!

(Shobhit Negi is a Board Certified Child and Adolescent, Adult, and Forensic Psychiatrist.)