I think it must have been the Christmas of 1999 when I asked for, and received the book “Playground of the Gods,” by Ian Stafford.
Subtitled, “A Year of Sporting Fantasy,” it was a breathtaking read, as, throughout 1998, Stafford played and trained sports with some sporting giants.
He played football with Flamengo, rugby with the Springboks, cricket with the Australian Test team, rowed with Sir Steve Redgrave, distance ran with the Kenyan squad and boxed with Roy Jones Junior.
Stafford carried out the training on a level footing, with no quarter given, which is evidenced by the list of injuries included in the appendix (although his actual appendix escaped undamaged!)
One encounter that stayed with me, though, was the time he spent playing squash in Peshawar. Peshawar is situated in Pakistan, at the eastern end of the Khyber Pass, near to the border with Afghanistan. It has mountain ranges on three sides and is home to the Khan dynasty.
Stafford played squash with Jansher Khan, who would win eight World Opens. It appeared that Peshawar was something of a squash hotbed, however. From the same area came Jahangir Khan, a six-time World Open champion. This proximity of greatness reminded me of the cricketing Waugh brothers, Steve and Mark. A mythical insult always haunted them: “Best batsman in the world? You’re not even the best batsman in your family!”
In the case of Jahangir, his father, Roshan, brother Torsam, and cousin, Rehmet, were all wonderfully gifted players. In addition, Jahangir’s niece, Natasha Khan, is better known globally as the musical artist “Bat for Lashes.”
I have often wondered what it would be like to be part of such a renowned and talented family. How would the achievements and rivalries sit? But further, imagine being proudly ordinary in a family of over-achievers? How would that feel?
So when a recent flash fiction competition prompted entries with a photograph of a mountainous Indian scene, I was transported back to my literary memories of Peshawar. The following flash-fiction (ironically a quarter of the length of this introduction) is entitled “In the Shadow of Sagarmatha.” (Sagarmatha is the Nepalese name for Mount Everest.) Please enjoy.
In the Shadow of Sagarmatha.
My grandfather was a champion cricketer, as was my father, who spun as prodigiously as any in the land. My brother excels on the football field, evading challenges fair and foul, while my sister travels the continent with her volleyball skills. Even now, she lurches in Lhasa. I have no such expertise. Laughter follows my efforts.
So, today I leave. I run into the shadows of Sagarmatha. Barefoot, traversing fields, valleys, and foothills, I shall cover the sixty miles in hope. Once a year becomes once a lifetime. The blessed Gurkhas will select me to climb my own peculiar mountain.