It came after the winning runs had been hit, after the fireworks had been detonated, after the entire Sri Lanka team had piled onto the field to form a giant huddle, each man indistinguishable from the whole. It came after the laps of honour on the shoulders of their team-mates, after the rushed television interviews, after they had hugged every colleague, shaken the hand of every dignitary, consoled every Indian on the field.
After all that, the most important embrace of all. Mahela Jayawardene and Kumar Sangakkara grasped each other’s shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, like children making a pact for life. They had done it, they two.
“It’s been a long time coming,” said a jubilant Sangakkara, the man of the match. “Waited five finals. We are very humbled by this. My family and playing for Sri Lanka are the two most important things that happened to me in my life. Everyone’s got to go, and my time is now.”
And then he was gone, he and Mahela; one arm around the shoulder and one around the trophy. Their smiles told of a happiness that nobody can buy: not just a deep satisfaction, but the long-awaited fulfilment of a solemn and lasting promise.
your mod is not crying, that’s just water i spilled on the keyboard
Mahela refused a kiss from Sangakkara.