As lazy as a toad at the bottom of a well,
Although percipient and clever he definitely could spell.
He was completely disinterested with his education,
Considered it more an obligation.
As nasty as the opaque whiteness of boiled veal,
It was iniquitous how he made the other kids feel.
At school every single day,
Like a pray mantis, he would stalk his prey.
An outright passion for tennis,
A mischievous attitude and a complete menace.
Education seemed all too hard,
Starting fights in the schoolyard.
Driven by his tennis idol the super brat,
Until he his half brother introduced him to a cricket bat.
Practicing endlessly with his friends and on his own,
His love for batting and cricket had grown.
The king of kids a well-known coach,
Seized the opportunity to approach,
Sending him to a high school with the chance to strive,
Where the little master lacked no drive.
The rupee balanced on top of the stumps,
Challenging bowlers to come up trumps.
The little fella drove, cut and would constantly pull,
At the end of the session his pockets were full.
In the city that never sleeps, at just 15 years of age,
A kid on debut put his name into history’s page,
The youngest to score a hundred in a First-Class debut,
Already the cricket pundits knew.
In the city of lights against the old foe,
The kid from Mumbai was ready to go.
Pace as fierce as a ramcat,
Incrediblegrittiness with the bat.
A bouncer from The Burewela Express,
Had the youngsters nose a bloody mess.
The eggs had well and truly hatched,
When one of the world’s best leggies was completely dispatched.
In the land of hope and glory against a very strong team,
With consummate ease he handled the seam.
Time and time again his bat would raise,
Earning respect from the Poms and well earned praise.
In the land Down Under he hadn’t been heard,
Against a worthy attack, he was brutal as an unclean word.
A technique so elegant and now in its stride,
Aussies golden boy looked for a place to hide.
He was crushing like a blind Jove feels his way with thunder,
Frustrating and delighting the crowds Down Under.
In coloured clothing he also played his part,
Breaking every other nation’s heart.
Runs as quick as an eyelids beat,
Bringing crowds around the world to their feet.
On the world’s biggest stage,
He was like a lion who’d escaped from its cage,
In 1996 the most runs without fail.
But his country couldn’t win the Holy Grail.
In the 1999 World Cup with a tear in his eye,
The little champion acknowledged his hero in the sky.
Finally in the World Cup of 2011,
His country ended the drought and he thanked his dad in heaven.
As the world argues year in year out,
To most, there doesn’t seem to be much doubt
That the little master ranks at the top of the mountains peak,
You only have to listen to some of the legends speak.
Petals disengaged him from all of the rest,
Regarding him as the all time best.
Sir Dons words need no correction,
In Tendlya’s batting , he saw his own reflection.
The big unit with the awkward bod,
Compared the little fella to God.
Sri Lanka’s captain cool referred him to cattle,
If you remove him you win the battle.
Princey compared him to sporting greats,
Treasures the fact they are close mates.
Tubby holds him in such high esteem,
Considered almost a one-man team.
Even though success was often slim,
Freddie acknowledged the privilege to play against him.
Cheeku often craved to see more,
And said the “Little Masters shoulders must be sore.”
Warnie the greatest ever spinner enough is said,
He still has nightmares when he goes to bed.
Tugga believed there was no shame,
Losing against such a huge name.
And Sir Viv said he never saw the Don during his day,
But believes Sachin Tendulkar is the greatest he’s ever seen play.