The cricket helmet will never be a purveyor of epic imagery that its siblings the floppy hat and the traditional cap specialize in. Not for it the heart-stopping freeze frame of Richards cork-screwed, nostrils flared as he hooked at Thommo; his maroon cap blown off and suspended in mid-air. Nor the laconic cool of the bent brim of a floppy white, golden locks of Gower peeking out, back arched in a silken backfoot cover-drive. Anodyne by nature, functional at best it remains. The grill, conspiring with the shadow cast by the peak completes the obfuscation job. Except for the eyes. The eyes it has always accentuated.
Especially your eyes, Rahul.
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