Of all the places to find "The Eight" - here at the India Times, in an article about cricket!
TIMES NEWS NETWORK / Siddhartha Mishra
Every number has a story. And so with 15,000. For a cricketer still flush with the achievement of crossing that unprecedented and seemingly non-repeatable run-milestone in ODIs, that number is perhaps the worst measure imaginable for Sachin Tendulkar, blessed - yet ironically, cursed - as he is to turn everything he touches into a record-breaking statistic.
And yet, there is no escaping the eternal truth of sport. Sport is all about numbers. It is the numbers on scoreboards and clocks that define victory and defeat. When legacies are mulled over, a simplistic gauging of skill is insufficient. Eventually, in that great filing cabinet called history, it is certain numbers that symbolise achievements and heights once deemed unattainable.
Subsequent to May 6, 1954, when Roger Bannister ran the mile in 3 minutes and 59.4 seconds, thus becoming the first human to run the distance in under 4 minutes, the record was broken eight times over the next 12 years. But it was that man, that moment which defied a human limit, a psychological barrier.
A record establishes what a human being can do, what we can do. Each time a new bench-mark is established, one person's 'superhuman' achievement redefines what it means to be a human being. The instant a new record is set, that level of performance becomes the next mark on the sand. And with it grows our addiction to the thrill of seeing the word 'possible' redefined.
It is said that records are made to be broken. Possible. Most of the time.
With due respect to the human capacity for constantly-higher levels of sporting achievement, and while making allowances for changes in rules, conditions, or equipment that extend the scope for record-breaking, it would be logical to assume that every athletic activity has a limit. Unlike the cow in the nursery rhyme, man will never jump over the moon.
And indeed, certain numbers tell more than a story: they threaten to defy the test of time. 99.94, 100, 555... the numbers defining the likes of Donald Bradman, Wilt Chamberlain and Jahangir Khan tread so far into uncharted territory that even the most cynical are forced to be converts as their legend grows.
And yet. And yet... as immortal as certain achievements are, everything in sport is short-lived. Bar irony.
Cut to November 10, 1985. Rhona Petrosyan, widow of chess legend Tigran Petrosyan, told Garry Kasparov: "Garry, I am sorry for you." A stunned Kasparov who, just the previous day, had won the world title to become the youngest-ever chess champion in history at the age of 22, queried: "And what is there to feel sorry about?" Petrosyan replied: "I am sorry for you, Garry, because the best day of your life is already over." [Emphasis added]
Because, in sport, a record is never important in itself. Its significance lies in what it says about the performer - and about ourselves. And when a number, no matter how larger-than-life, does not say something about ourselves, its real story is lost in translation.
Because perfection does not end with Nadia Comaneci's 10.0 scores at the Montreal Olympics in 1976; it is only found in infinite possibilities. Infinity, of course, is not a number but a symbol.
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Darlings, the symbol this article is talking about - the symbol that means "infinity" is an "eight" laying on its side. Eight is the number of the Goddess. Eight is the number of Chess. Chess is the game of the Goddess.
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