HUXLEY wrote these words in 1939, on the eve of World War II, but they apply with equal force to a cricket match played a little over a year ago. India versus Pakistan, Bangalore, March '96, the Wills World Cup quarterfinal. The homeside, batting first, scored 287 for 6, every run accompanied by 50,000 loud-throated cheers and plenty else besides. In Pakistan's reply, however, the marvellous strokeplay of Sohail and Anwar was met with a silence that was total anddeafening. After wickets fell in a heap the crowd bestirred itself, to be silenced once more by a battling Javed Miandad. When he too was out, and the match lost and won, I stood up to applaud the veteran, leaving the cricket field for the lasttime. "What are you clapping him for?" yelled a man behind me. Through a long evening I had stood the crowd's shameful partisanship; now I responded: "You should clap him too. He is a truly great player and we shall never see him again." The short, definitive reply: "Thank God I'll never see the bastard again."