They say you can take the girl out of cricket, but not the cricket out of the girl.
I guess that’s kind of true for me. I wouldn’t call myself obsessed, but I’ve always had a soft spot for ‘the gentleman’s game’. The sound of willow meeting leather, the spin of a red cherry on dusty pitches, the rhythm of fan chants – my love for Cricket began in the 90s – those carefree school and college years when life was a mix of textbooks, friendships, and the occasional cricket match playing on Door Darshan. Back then, long before the glitz of the IPL and the thrill of T20s, One Day Internationals or ODIs were the real deal. Matches moved at a slower pace, 50 overs for each team, often stretching over five or six hours – and me gladly soaking in every moment, with my dad and sister. I didn’t know all the rules down to the last technicality, but I understood the game the way a true fan does—with heart, instinct, and quiet excitement.
I had my favourite players too. People like Hansie Cronje, the handsome Shahid Afridi, Arjuna Ranatunga (remember that dimple?!), Ajay Jadeja, Alistair Campbell, and the menacing Courtney Walsh. Each one brought something unique to the field – they made watching the game fun and exciting, and they became a part of my growing-up years.
As life moved on, my interest in the game dwindled mainly because other priorities took precedence. But I did occasionally watch matches only if the teams or players were of particular interest. One incident, in particular, stands out. I was working in Ethiopia, far from the familiar roar of the Indian crowds. It was a working day and a final match was underway – that too, India-Pakistan!!
I was at my desk, sneaking glances at the live score every couple of minutes, while trying to maintain my professional composure. A colleague noticed my restlessness and joked, “Omg, are you guys this crazy about cricket? It’s like how we Ethiopians are crazy about football!”.
Well, long story short, India won that day, and I almost jumped out of my chair in excitement. My colleague just smiled and asked the obvious question, “You won, didn’t you?”
Fast forward to a recent India vs. Australia game, and I went all in – painted my face with the tricolour, to support my Bleed in Blue team. Cricket, for me, and for most Indians, is a unifying force. It brings together families, friends, and even strangers, creating a collective heartbeat that pulses with every boundary and every “Howzzzaaat!!”
And in the middle of all this, one number always seems to stand out: 10.
And a name that stands out when people talk about the number 10: Sachin Tendulkar.
For most Indian cricket fans, Sachin is more than just a player – he’s an emotion. His career spanned over two decades, and through it all, he carried the pressure of millions of fans, but always did it with calm and humility. After he retired, the BCCI unofficially retired his number 10 Jersey, as a silent tribute to everything he gave to the game.
But the magic of number 10 isn’t limited to cricket.
In football, number 10 holds legendary status too. Diego Maradona made it iconic. That 1986 World Cup win, with him running across the field in the blue-and-white Argentina jersey number 10, arms wide open – it’s a moment that even I remember clearly, thanks to my football-loving dad. And now, Lionel Messi continues that legacy. His dribbling, his calm under pressure, his ability to turn games around – it’s everything number 10 has come to represent: creativity, leadership, and pure magic on the field.
While the number 10 is often linked to famous male athletes, many women have also worn it with pride and made their own mark. They’ve shown the same kind of skill, leadership, and impact that the number has come to represent.
Indian football striker Bala Devi carries that same spirit. She wears the number 10 jersey with pride—for both the Indian national team and for Rangers Women in Scotland. She even became the first Indian woman to score in a top European league. Her journey hasn’t been easy. She’s faced a lot—societal pressure, limited support, and not enough resources. But through it all, she kept going. Today, she’s an inspiration for so many young girls in India who dream of playing football.
And today, a new generation of athletes – men and women – are stepping up, ready to make their own mark. They may wear different numbers, but the spirit is the same. As fans, we’ll be there for them, cheering just as loud, holding onto the same excitement and love for sport that’s been with us all along.
By Deepa Perumal
Deepa Perumal is a Management professional, and a passionate advocate for women’s empowerment. As a career mentor, entrepreneur, and multilingual author, she shares her insights through blogging and writing features on history, world cultures, travelogues and memoirs. Contact her at deepabperumal@gmail.com
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