Contact Sport

But the manager at Mumbai8217;s Taj Hotel can8217;t throw me out, especially since I8217;ve been a fixture in his lobby for three days.

I spot a sombre Jason Gillespie walking gingerly towards the men8217;s room down the lobby. Oh, for unisex loos!

I8217;m not a stalker. I have just one mission. To ambush Glenn McGrath and tell him he8217;s the best.

As I nervously pace the lobby, I suddenly see the man of my dreams walking down the corridor. I pick up the last shreds of my splintered dignity and break into a run in full public view. Not the kind of thing 25-year-old women are supposed to do, but what the heck. Then in a flash, there is no Glenn. Only toothy-smiled Derek, the 20-year-old who mans the lift to the fifth floor. 8216;8216;Dude, did I just see Glenn McGrath?8217;8217;

8216;8216;The bowler?8217;8217; queries the ignoramus. 8216;8216;You mean Shane Warne8217;s here too?8217;8217; Groan.

On the first day of my stake-out, I was smiled at very genially by Justin Langer. But blinded by 8216;Glennlove8217;, I looked on blankly. Captain Adam Gilchrist made the introductions. 8216;8216;I8217;m a dancer,8217;8217; I quipped, unasked. 8216;8216;No, you are a journalist,8217;8217; countered Gilchrist. After which I giggled like a schoolgirl telling them how pesky press people are.

Meanwhile, the clock said 12.30 and I8217;d just cancelled the 35th frantic call from my boss. Job be damned, I was here on a mission.

On day two, ignoring the hotel staff8217;s perturbed glances, I saunter into the Louis Vuitton store and begin sifting through some boring luggage. Who cares about Rs 48,000 suitcases, I think aloud. Apparently Shane Watson and Damien Martyn do.

8216;8216;I want to take some home, they8217;re quite nice,8217;8217; smiled Martyn. 8216;8216;I love Glenn8230; I mean your team. Your guys are great,8217;8217; I stammer at a shy and very hunky Watson.

8216;8216;So you here to see someone?8217;8217; enquires a polite Martyn. 8216;8216;I8217;m a tarot card reader and am here for a sitting,8217;8217; I say with a straight face. Both men look at me bewildered. So I head for the bar. I ask them if they would want to join me. 8216;8216;Uh, we have to have our meal and then we have to be in our rooms,8217;8217; says good boy Watson.

At the bar a helpful bartender tells me, 8216;8216;Ma8217;am, you are late by exactly six minutes. McGrath, Langer and Hayden just left.8221; I drown my sorrows at the same table Glenn had graced six minutes ago!, just me and my glass of wine.

The next day I decide to gatecrash the Cricket Club of India, armed to the teeth. With a flowery skirt, some lip gloss, hair washed, I am set to meet Him. I feast on Glenn bowling to Gilchrist, Langer taking a diving catch, Brett Lee posing like a demi-god and Warne horsing around with the team physio. He is also, of course, the first one willing to make conversation with me.

As the team heads to the locker room, the kiddie crowd swarm hurly-burly Warne. He looks incredulously at the only senior-citizen-cum-autograph-hunter: Me!

He promises the kids he will be back in a second. I turn to our photographer and say, 8216;8216;Oh, he won8217;t! You just watch!8217;8217; Then, I am suddenly looking into a pair of very blue Aussie eyes. 8216;8216;Of course I will, and you will be the last one to get an autograph, young lady,8217;8217; booms Warne. Glenn wouldn8217;t talk to me like that.

My cellphone buzzes. It is my fianceacute; and we have a cold war going on. 8216;8216;Not now,8217;8217; I snap. 8216;8216;Are you still angry with me, honey?8217;8217;

He won8217;t give up, so, 8216;8216;Look love, I8217;ll get back to you later.8217;8217; I disconnect.

The next moment was straight out of a film. Glenn McGrath was walking towards me elegantly, sensuously sweaty. I suddenly went numb. He stopped and I smiled. 8216;8216;Can I have an autograph, please?8217;8217;

8216;8216;Sure, love,8217;8217; he smiled. 8216;8216;And a photo?8217;8217; 8216;8216;Sure, love.8217;8217; He smiled. We posed. I died.