Opening Doorz

By Moody Marty | Opening Doorz Editorial | November 01, 2025

If India triumphs tomorrow, in the Women's World Cup final, it will be the crowning glory Amol Muzumdar has waited a lifetime for.

The year was 1988. I was a year into sports journalism. Free Press Journal was where I took guard. Oh, those glory years. The newsroom smelled of ink, newsprint, and urgency. Those were the years when local sports didn’t just get a corner column—they were splashed across pages. We celebrated schoolboys and girls the way the world celebrates international captains today.

But this story isn’t about me.
This is about Amol Muzumdar.

A Boy in a Newsroom, 1988

That was the year I first saw him. It was late evening. The pages were going to bed. The sports desk was buzzing in that strange combination of chaos and ritual that only newspaper offices understand. And then, in walked Gaundalkar—I forget his first name now (God bless his soul). A cricket enthusiast of the purest kind. Brother of the late statistician, Anant Gaundalkar. Anant later became my friend on impossible deadlines. He was my saviour, handing me neatly handwritten stats for my cricket articles.

But on that day in 1988, Gaundalkar walked in holding a skinny boy. Fourteen years old. Fresh off a solid knock in school’s cricket. If my memory serves me right, I think it was a century.

He introduced the boy to me with the excitement of someone who knew greatness before the world had even noticed it. Yes, Gaundalkar had that ability. He had that hunger to go to the Newspaper offices to introduce young talent in cricket, to sports journalists. No. He was not doing a PR exercise. He was intensely and passionately involved when he watched talent.

The boy, Amol, stood awkwardly. Almost embarrassed. As if ashamed of praise. I urged him to sit. He remained standing. Gaundalkar went on and on about his talent, his calm, his maturity. The boy simply looked down, listening, shoulders slightly hunched. He also had a strange twinkle in his eye.

The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Scoring

Years later, I would see him again at Wankhede, or CCI, whenever there were Domestic or International cricket matches. He didn’t remember me, and why should he? He was a shy fourteen-year-old then.

But I remembered him. Because some faces stay. Because of His curly mop of hair. Because of his awkward stance when praise was being showered on him. Some memories cling to you.

Amol Muzumdar went on to shine on the cricket field with that kind of early promise. The kind that isn’t noisy. The kind that doesn’t demand your attention. The kind that simply is.

Bombay cricket in the late 80s was no playground. It was a battlefield of talent. Yet, Amol walked into it like he belonged. And then he made 260 on Ranji debut in 1994. A debut knock like that is not a statistic. It is a proclamation.

I am ready. Ready for India. Ready for the kit. Ready for the anthem. Ready for the moment.

The Door That Never Opened

But cricket is not always a meritocracy. Cricket is sometimes a locked door. And timing is the key that nobody can craft. Because Amol’s career unfolded in the era of Tendulkar, Dravid, Ganguly, Laxman. An era of gods.

Where does one more god fit in a sky already full?

So he waited. And waited. And kept scoring. And waited more. He scored more runs in domestic cricket than some international legends. He outscored eras. He endured seasons that swallowed others. But the call never came.

Not once. Imagine being brilliant… and unseen. Imagine carrying excellence… and being told to wait outside the door of your own destiny. It is a silent heartbreak. Not loud. Just constant.

Turning Toward the Light Anyway

But men like Amol Muzumdar do not break. They reshape. He outlived and outshone those frustrating years. He turned into a coach. A mentor. A sculptor of others’ dreams. He taught young players not just how to bat, but how to exist in cricket.

Then, in 2023, life finally opened the window it had kept closed for decades. He became Head Coach of the Indian Women’s Team.

Here is the part that aches in its softness. He didn’t walk in like a man finally getting his due. He walked in like a man still grateful for the room.

He Stood Just Beyond the Crease

He didn’t demand the spotlight. He didn’t occupy the centrestage. He stood on the sidelines.

He let the girls shine. He let them take the applause. He let them feel the sun he had been chasing since 1988.

And that, is his greatness. Some people chase glory. Some people create it.

He gave them belief. He gave them calm. He gave them the ability to finish well—not just start brightly.

Under him, they played like they belonged not only to the moment, but to history.

And now, as India stands on the brink again, with another big match ahead. There is a chance to shape a memory. It is an opportunity to change a narrative and to rewrite where the applause falls. I think of that fourteen-year-old boy standing awkwardly in the newsroom. Quiet. Eyes lowered. A century fresh on his bat. Unaware of the longing he would carry for decades.

Tomorrow, Could be His Moment in the Sun

Tomorrow, if India wins, if they rise, if they shine, the light will finally find him. Not in a blaze. Not in the roar of applause. Just a gentle warming… a moment he has been waiting for since that evening in 1988. He did not know that brilliance does not always guarantee destiny.

And maybe, when the cameras sweep the boundary ropes and pause for a second, just a second, on the man in the background, hands tucked in his pockets, gaze calm, face unreadable, we will understand something we were always meant to: Not every hero stands on the pitch. Some stand just beyond it.

And today, as Jemimah Rodrigues is rightly celebrated. As she is lifted on the shoulders of a nation that loves a story of joy. There is Amol Muzumdar, standing just behind her. He smiles quietly, letting her moment be hers.

He is not overshadowed. He is fulfilled. His sun does not need to be blinding. It only needs to be warm… for the girls to bask in their own glory.

Not every legend rises in the spotlight. Some are built in the long, quiet wait.

[Moody Marty: Sometimes funny, sometimes informative, always downright forthright!]

Also Read: Sarfaraz Khan Test Career: Runs Flowing, Faith Missing

Also Read: Vinod Kambli Privacy: A Shameful Reflection on Media Ethics