It was a bad one, the Winter of 1933. Wading home that night through flames of snow, my toes burning, my ears on fire, the snow swirling around me like a flock of angry nuns, I stopped dead in my tracks. The time had come to take stock. Fair weather or foul, certain forces in the world were at work trying to destroy me.
I am down mentally. I can't understand how it happened and who is to blame? I don't know why the ground was rolled before the final which may have resulted in losing key players like Hemanta and Zahid due to the hardness of the pitch.