5th Column

My dear Mali,

It is very rarely that we write to cricketers for two weeks in a row, but it is difficult not to write to you this week. That is because of your match-winning performance on Friday, after announcing that it would be the last time you will be wearing a one-day international shirt for our country.

You appeared larger than life that day with cut-outs everywhere that would have put a politician to shame. At a time when our cricketers do not attract huge crowds, the stadium was packed to the rafters to say good-bye to you for what you have done over the years – and you didn’t disappoint.

If the average cricket fan was there to provide that common touch, there were Kings too – two of them, in fact. Why, Mahinda maama was there, taking the risk of being blamed had we lost the game, and Aiyo Sirisena was there too, although the match finished well past his bedtime of 10 o’clock.

All this was because of that special quality that attracted you to, not just us in Paradise, but millions of fans, the world over. Not only was your action unique, so was your hairstyle. And you also had a string of achievements – such as taking four wickets in four balls in a one-day game – that were unique.

It has been a long journey for the little kid who played tennis-ball cricket on the beaches of Rathgama, until Champaka spotted you and took you under his wing. Still, we do know that you are a rough diamond, the edges of which are still sharp, and that you can cut deep, even after all these years.

Your darkest hour was when you told a journalist who asked you a question, “Eyi meeta kalin maawa dekala nedda? Wedak balaagena yanawa manussayo yanna” or “Why, haven’t you seen me before, go away and mind your business.” That told us that you were as arrogant, as much as you were clever.

You were also accused of putting your own interests before that of your country’s when you decided to hang up your boots in test cricket to play the cash-rich shorter versions such as the IPL. You have always defended that decision saying you only wanted to play for Paradise longer – and that seems true.

Then, Dayasiri said that your tummy was too big, so you couldn’t hold on to your catches. Your retort was that a ‘rilawa’ – or monkey – had got into a parrot’s nest and was making noises without knowing what the nest was like. I suppose you had the last laugh because he is now known as ‘Rilaasiri’.

You were never far away from controversy. Even when you led the country to the World T20 championship, it was as stand-in captain for Dinesh who lost his job because of a slow over rate. Tongues were wagging even then, suggesting that you were not entirely unhappy about his fate.

Then, a few months ago your better-half had a spat with Thisara, saying he met with Harin to get the captaincy. Ironically, it was Thisara who held the last catch off your bowling. His heart would have been in his mouth while the ball was in the air – had he dropped it, tongues would be wagging again!

In more recent weeks though, you seemed to have learnt some lessons and proved to all that you can, if required, maintain discipline, put in the hard work and play at your best. Your performance against England in the World Cup and against Bangladesh on Friday silenced even your harshest critics.

You also showed that you had mellowed. Your decision to support Nuwan and speak against him not being given a proper farewell, and your gift to your coach Champaka showed us that there was still a little bit of the kid from Rathgama in you and that you hadn’t kicked the ladder after reaching the top.

I wonder what you will do in retirement, Mali. Even though you profusely thanked Mahinda maama in your farewell speech, I sincerely hope you won’t emulate your fellow southerner Sanath and take to politics. You may get in to Parliament – but you will also lose all the love and respect you now enjoy.

I hope that you wouldn’t be like Mahela, hoping to use his talents to coach the Indians instead of helping us. I also hope that you won’t be like Kumar and begin commentating – because that seems to be a way to forget how to pronounce our names – why, he pronounces your name as ‘malinger’!

We are grateful for the joy you bought to millions in Paradise – and elsewhere. We won’t see the sight of you steaming in, your blond-tipped curls flowing like a lion’s mane and hurling yorkers with pin-point precision again. In many ways, you were one of a kind. Thank you, Mali and we wish you luck!

Yours truly,

Punchi Putha

PS: Mali, you quit when you were on top. On Friday, many asked why you were leaving, instead of asking why you weren’t leaving. You said you want to make way for the next generation. I hope Aiyo Sirisena, who was watching, and the Green Man, who wasn’t there, learnt a thing or two from that!