As I watched Gayle’s exploits at the Premadasa while the Windies lifted the World T20 championship, the glares of the past could be seen lingering within.

Can’t say ‘ghosts’ since any sport and its defeat stand distraught in terms of performance and the characters that hugely inflict the impact of such profound greatness.

Dad chipped saying that it’s time Windies see some glory patches but didn’t forget to bucket the fact that when they roared for almost 2 decades, arrogance and dismissive apartheid was a mutual forte that all 11 carried off with panache.

Not to discredit their triumph today, but for me, it’s a vicious circle and the boys from the land of Jamaica and Barbados have realised that planet is round indeed.

All sporting nations witness transition, but the aftermath of a Llyod led West Indies is nothing short of an iconic downfall in the books of world cricket. From being lions in the jungle of the so called cricket propaganda to being relegated upon a minnow status that failed to cement itself in the top 5 in the last two decades, Gayle led Windies have seen infamous vertical limits. Their outburst, hence, was widely understood and felt. But sport is an amazing leveler of life, and, I strongly believe that it’s vice versa, with a pause.

Not that I am not fond of the Lankan methods of cricket swan-song, but my inner hormones routed for the West Indies. I don’t think the same reaction would have evolved for, say, the Aussies or the Pakistanis, even if their legacy was to be considered sparsely.

Time, is a healer and comes around often with prudent flair.