I simply can’t wait.
As you read (or not read) this, the final of IPL3 will be merely some hours away. Like millions of my fellow countrymen, I am counting the minutes for the start of the game.
I am exultant. In the game’s beginning on Sunday evening, we’ll see the beginning of the end of the IPL tournament.
I’d pay for the privilege of not having to listen to Ravi Shastri or Danny Morrison or many of that lot. The terrific thing is that I shall have that privilege without having had to pay.
Very often, I tend to watch Tests or ODIs with the TV throttled into silence. Like the marketing jargon that masquerades as English (‘feedback’; ‘on the same page’; ‘aligned’), Indian cricket commentary clichés are so clichéd - and so rampant - that they have corrupted the language.
Each time I hear any of the following phrases, I feel the need for a sick bag: Down to the wire. Game on. Like a tracer bullet. When he hits it, it stays hit. Nail-biting. Take a bow.
In the IPL, as if to make up for the compressed format, the cliches multiply with the rapidity of the sixes hit. So does the hyperbole. So does the hyserical volume with which commentators shriek. Sometimes, I think, they could do without the microphone.
Aren’ t some of these commentators part of the IPL establishment? And don’t many of them extol the virtues of Test cricket? I know I am anachronistic, but should I look up ‘hypocrisy’ in the dictionary?
Well, all of that will be over on Sunday night. As the final unfolds, I shall re-watch Good Fellas on DVD and, just to be perverse, hope that Mumbai Indians lose because 55,000 people in the stadium, including a Champion Plutocrat, will be cheering for them.
That’s it, then. You are likely (or not) to hear from me when the circus rolls around next year.
(This is the final instalment of this column)