The 2017 FIFA U-17 World Cup, the first ever FIFA event to be held in the Indian sub-continent, kicks off in New Delhi on Friday/October 6 with India's match against USA one of four matches on opening day. With 504 teenagers set to participate in a tournament that has served as a stepping stone for the likes of Neymar and Ronaldinho, among others, we at ESPN India decided to look back to when we were 17 and recall who our sporting heroes were at the time and why.
Sharda Ugra
Yes, I adored cricket and had seen India win the World Championship of Cricket, the team cruising around the MGC in that car driven by Indian cricket's new anti-hero, Ravi Shastri, he of the brazen confidence and sticky game. Yes, 1985 was the year after LA84 and Ed Moses and Carl Lewis, but honestly for title-winning, convention-busting and sheer a**-kicking, you could not ignore Martina Navratilova. In an age when the male gaze focused on the dainty maiden-ness of women's tennis, Martina showed you how women's tennis didn't have to be about either frills or frilly underwear. She put power, muscle and strength into the women's game in more ways than one. Forthright, independent and a winner. Martina remained such a persistent, ageless hero that when I interviewed her in Hyderabad - in what was my 16th year in journalism - I was still so awestruck that I left my bag in the interview room.
Susan Ninan
At 17, my choice of sporting idol was unremarkable for its commonality. Much like kids who grew up in the country around the time that a pint-sized Indian cricketer was flogging the world's mightiest bowlers, I too had Sachin Tendulkar blu-tacked to my cupboard wall. He called truce on the fierce battles waged for control over the television remote at home and brought us together in unblinking worship. His straight drives, off drives and just the way he lofted the ball over bowlers' heads left us transfixed and was always a trusting alibi for a break from textbooks. Be it his 75-ball 98 against Pakistan at the 2003 World Cup or his majestic 175 attempting to chase down 351 runs almost on his own against Australia in 2009 before he fell and India choked, every contemporary faithful has a clutch of favorite innings frozen in memory. For the average teen who was bursting with pimples and dissent, Tendulkar's batting was the sobering calm. He was the living manual of crazy success and how not to lose your head over it. In his own quiet yet flamboyant way, Tendulkar taught an entire generation that you could be the nicest guy there was on the job and still have your way.
Jayaditya Gupta
1984. The year was living up to its Orwellian name; there was bad news everywhere, protest and anger all over, and the world was one step away from nuclear disaster (if you don't believe me, listen to Sting's 'Russians'). For a sports fan in India there were plenty of heroes to choose from - Kapil's Devils, to begin with - but only one sportsman summed up that anger, that protest, that sense of wrong being set right. Viv Richards - he didn't need to use the majesty of his full name, Isaac Vivian Alexander - with his upturned collar, his disdain for helmets and his Rastafarian wristband.
He walked on to the pitch like he owned it and, soon after taking strike, he usually did. Especially if you were England, who were blackwashed the summer I turned 17. I saw him play in the flesh only twice, in 1983-4 and 1987, but sod's law meant neither innings was memorable. No problem; Richards transcended mere statistics. This was also the time I started listening to reggae, and Richards, more than anyone else, brought Bob Marley's words to life. "Satisfy my soul", as the song went.
Arjun Namboothiri
There was never a dull moment in the 2000's if you were an Arsenal fan. Pace, muscle and creativity -- all combined to form a perfect recipe for the kind of football that set both English football and my adrenaline ablaze. Thierry Henry instantly became my hero. Long before I was 17. At 17, I was saying my goodbyes. It was his last season at Arsenal and the heartbreak of losing the 2006 Champions League final that year still hurts.
He remains close to my heart either through the number 14 -- a number I always chose on my college football jerseys -- or while remembering the fight I used to have with mom about the lost 02 (the shirt sponsor) jersey from 2003. Sometimes even by just looking at the number 14 anywhere in my sight.
'The King' still remains my sporting idol. Maybe always will.
S Rajesh
No tennis player has played the backhand with more elegance, but that's not the only reason I rooted madly for Stefan Edberg. Of course, it was impossible to not fall for his silken-smooth service motion and his graceful and crisp backhand volleys -- till Roger Federer came along, I couldn't imagine anything more beautiful in sport.
However, in an era of much animosity among the top tennis stars, Edberg also stood out for the way he conducted himself on the court and off it. The ATP Sportsmanship Award, an annual prize where players voted for their peers, went his way five times between 1988 and 1995, and to me that mattered as much as his on-court success. The award was eventually named after him.
And then, of course, there were those Wimbledon finals against Boris Becker. No matter their overall head-to-head -- where Becker was heavily dominant -- in Grand Slams Edberg finished with a 3-1 winning record, including that epic five-setter at the 1990 Wimbledon, where he showed grit and tenacity to match his elegance and sportsmanship. For me, Edberg was the ultimate sportsperson.
Gaurav Rai
In the long list of things that Indians were deprived of just as the young Sachin Tendulkar got into his stride in the early 1990s was a Test batsman of their own who could hit fours -- meaning, plenty of them and often. Such claims have also been made for some who came before him, but those players were either not really classical batsmen (and not easy on the eye) or averaged around 30 (another way of saying they couldn't be relied upon). With Tendulkar, solidity did not come at the expense of run-filled strokes. So, though all that can be said about him has already being said, the Tendulkar of that decade will also be remembered as a great hitter of fours. And for underlining that the best batsmen don't just wait for a truly bad ball before attempting to add four runs with one hit.
Karthik Iyer
With hands raised, a wide smile, and fingers pointed to the skies, 17 came and went vicariously through Kaka - my sporting idol, then and now.
By 2007, one Brazilian had replaced another as the best attacking player in European club football. Donning the red and white stripes of AC Milan, Kaka glided (literally) his way through the opposition and towards the UEFA Champions League title. His performance vs. Manchester United in the semifinals that year? Always remembered. The heartbreak from Istanbul two years ago? Forever Forgotten.
It was then, on college playgrounds, that I replaced wagging my finger to raising them in the air as a go-to form of celebration (Disclaimer: I would rarely score). 22 though, has always remained my favourite number.
Debayan Sen
At 17, I was fortunate to graduate from a school that encouraged us to play a variety of sports, to a college that feted and acknowledged those who did. By nature, I gravitated towards team sports, but if there was one individual sport that still drew me to it, it was tennis, largely because of Pete Sampras. When I was 17, Sampras had already been a top player for close to a decade, but there was still so much to admire and emulate about his work ethic, the simplicity of his craft, and the dignity of his on-court behaviour. In many ways, his lack of flash was his most endearing character.
Gaurav Kalra
At 17, I couldn't look beyond Sachin Tendulkar for a sporting hero. I remember hearing about him for the first time from my father.
"There's this boy," he told me. "Only slightly older than you, who will soon play for India."
By the time I was 17, Tendulkar was already an established member of the Indian team, though he was just a little over 18 years old. He was a wondrous creature. My own mediocrity while playing cricket had by now become blatantly clear, so to watch Tendulkar bat on Television was to just revel in his rare gift.
I remember him at the World Cup in 1992 in Australia, transmitted into our homes in dazzling colour, just naturally become the fulcrum of the team. He would meet the ball without fear, he would be so composed under high catches, he would bowl such canny little spells. Against Pakistan in Sydney, he would make a 50 and bowl 10 overs for 37 with a wicket to boot. How was a teenager doing this stuff?
I was hooked for life. It was an investment that served me well over the next couple of decades and some more. For a 17-year old, taking unsteady, unsure steps into an unknown future, Tendulkar was to be an assured presence.
Debdatta Sengupta
I was never a huge tennis fan but the arrival of Roger Federer changed a lot of things for me. He won his fourth Australian Open title -- his 16th Grand Slam -- the year I turned 17, which got the year off to a perfect beginning. Federer's velvety touch and equanimity set him apart from his compatriots and this was time when Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic were yet to achieve their full potential. When Federer is in full flow, it is as good as watching artistry at its very best.
Saket Parekar
Breath-taking. Electrifying. Mind-blowing. These were just words to me before Thierry Henry helped me understand their meaning.
The Arsenal 'Invincibles' of 2003-04 were still unbeaten when I turned 17 in October 2004. Even though that run ended later in the same month, and they eventually lost the title to Chelsea, it was still a great year to be a young gooner.
I had just moved to a new city. My hostel didn't have a TV, smartphones hadn't yet arrived and internet cafes were still using dial-up connections. Since I had few friends in the city, it was quite a task to find places that one, had a TV with the match on, and two, I could afford to enter. I would spend the entire week figuring out ways to catch the weekend's Arsenal game. All that saving up, all that running around, all those arguments with the hostel warden for returning after the 10 PM deadline seemed worth the trouble to watch Henry kick a ball. Every single week.
He wasn't just my sporting idol. He gave me a sense of purpose and belonging in a strange city.
Manoj Bhagavatula
In July 2007, a few weeks before I turned 17, Rafael Nadal played and lost his second Wimbledon final, with both his losses coming at the hands of Roger Federer. Nadal had by then already won three French Open titles on the clay of Paris but many wondered at the time if his relentlessly physical, one-man-Spanish-armada style of tennis was cut out for success on all surfaces. Nadal had a lot riding on those Wimbledon finals and he was so distraught by the 2007 loss that he was reportedly inconsolable after the match. A year later, Nadal finally got his first Wimbledon title, beating Federer in a five-set match considered by many to be the greatest tennis match ever.
That Wimbledon final in 2007 cemented for me a fandom that first began to stir when Nadal burst onto the scene a few years earlier. Nadal was, and continues to be, my sporting hero because I could relate to him the most. When I began playing table tennis, I was right-handed but switched to playing left-handed a few months in as I thought it suited me better. Nadal, naturally right-handed, switched to playing with his left hand at the insistence of Toni Nadal, his uncle and coach. A far bigger reason for admiring him though was that, as clichéd as it sounds, Nadal was, and still is, one of the biggest examples to me of what can be achieved with a combination of hard work, determination and never giving up.
Mohit Shah
Anil Kumble had been my favourite cricketer for a long time. He became my sporting hero when he wheeled through overs in Antigua with a bandaged jaw and also dismissed Brian Lara in the course of a typically metronomic spell. So, when he retired from all forms of the game in 2008, the IPL served as a blessing in disguise as it meant that Kumble could still be seen working his magic on the television screen. I turned 17 in 2009 and that was the year where Kumble won the Man of the Match award in the IPL final even though the Royal Challengers Bangalore finished runners-up. Kumble went on to play one more season before taking up a mentorship role with the Mumbai Indians.
Anuj Vignesh
As a 17-year-old high-school student struggling with mathematics and fixated with Star Wars and football for an escape, there was no better time to be a Manchester United fan. Emperor Alex Ferguson was at the height of his powers, using the force to conjure up a 10th Premier League title, in 2008. Later, he would make best use of his Jedi mind tricks, causing slip lord John Terry to falter during a tense penalty shootout, eventually sending a third European crown Manchester United's way on an emotional night in Moscow.
But that's who Sir Alex was. His brand of football was out of the seemingly ordinary. Something that transcended tactics and formations, instead bordering on the supernatural.
All he had to do was be on the sidelines, and his team would get the message, suddenly laying siege at the opposition goal. All he had to do was point at his watch, and time would stand still, allowing for some late magic. All he had to do was speak, and you'd stand up and take notice, wherever you were.
If you were a Manchester United fan - maybe even if you weren't - Sir Alex made you feel better about football. Which, by extension, meant he was really making you feel better about life, and so much more than that.