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Thank God it’s over. The sheer torture we’ve been subjected to for the past week has been unbearable. For the whole week, it seemed as if every man and woman in the country had turned into a cricket expert. Those who don’t know the difference between a tennis ball and a cricket ball were asked if Pakistan should play Shoaib Akhtar. Afridi’s children were asked what their father could do to win the match. When the match ended, Afridi’s children were shown crying and blaming Misbah for the defeat. It seems that the only person they didn’t discuss the match with was Afridi’s driver. Even those who consider watching TV a heinous sin (the madressah students and clerics) said they would spend the afternoon watching the match. I knew, of course, that the Indians would win. Pakistan had been incredibly lucky to reach the semi-finals, but from the very first ball you could see that the Indians were unbeatable. Normally I don’t watch cricket matches, but this time my grandchildren forced me to do so. I don't want to hear the word "cricket" for the next six months.

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