Eye. Pee. Yell.

DC Save My D



Oho. I have to thank the Almighty. The DC has pulled it through. They have saved my goat. Err, something more precious, delicate and sensitive than a goat, to be precise.

I support DC, but that is not enough to save my life. A more ardent, more vociferous and a more militant DC fan has threatened to bobbitt me if the DC lose a game. Now, you know what bobbitt means? Look it up in dictionary.com
So every run that the Deccan dudes didn’t take or yielded or wicket they lost or failed to take against the Daredevils in their last outing, I felt a chill down my tummy, going into the area of execution of the threat.

I felt a numbing pain. Well, it is not urinary infection, but sheer pressure from the threat.

My heart was somewhere in my mouth when Warner was whacking the ball like possessed. He is such a clean hitter that there are no double measures about his business. I was beginning to sweat thinking what if Sehwag also got into the act.

I could only sympathise with the Gilly for his unenviable task of silencing two blazing guns. But then my situation wasn’t any better. I crossed my legs in a subconscious effort to protect the sensitive area facing extinction.

But then, double whammy is rare in life. It only happens in the Caribbean or South Pacific islands where hurricanes follow earthquakes. Or the other way around in order.

Sehwag, perhaps, a bit carried away by Warner’s bloody assault, tried to send Ojha into the stands but ended up straight in the throat of a Gibbs lurking dreamily somewhere on the long-off fence.

Gee, I sat proper in my sofa, cursing the carpenter who made it so narrow. I need more space to spread out while watching the IPL.

When AB was at the crease I was in a fix. I remembered some of my neighbours, way back in late 80s and early 90s, who wanted Pakistan to beat India but only after Azharuddin scored a fifty. No prizes for guessing where they went to pray.

I love to watch AB. He is so good, but then he happened to be in the wrong camp. I couldn’t afford myself to be bobbitted. I am too young to lay down weapons. AB made a mess off a delivery that landed on the base of his off-stump. His almighty-heave across the line gave me a breather, though somewhere in the corner of my heart there was some area of sadness seeing the South African walk back.

Dinesh Karthik, the stand-in captain, stood out with his late flourish. He threatened to sweep or sweep-pull anything fell at length into the crowds. But then Symmo had only lost his dreadlocks but catching skills. He stuck his massive right hand out as Karthik blasted one back. The ball got stuck in his hand. It reminded me of the mercurial Aussie off-spinner Greg Mathews catching a beefy Ian Botham off his own bowling when I was younger.

Symmo struck again with the next delivery. I felt relaxed; spread my legs in the sofa. Vintage like an aging wine, Vaas cleaned up the Daredevils in his last over. And, I celebrated.
* * *

Every man will have his moment in life—momentary or otherwise. Vinay Kumar had his against the Mumbai Indians when he claimed three wickets in one over giving his Bangalore team a grip over the marauding Mumbai.

I am an MI man. I’ve been an unabashed Sachin fan since I was 18. I have no qualms about admitting that I bunked classes in the late 80s, took leave from offices all through the 90s and the first decade of the new millennium, and even had the good fortune reports some of his classic innings.

There is a sweet ring to his batting now. He has peaked yet again. He is a like a bird singing out of its content heart. He is a master class to the Tiwarys and Rayidus.

To bowl him around his legs, Vinay Kumar must be a lucky guy on that night. A momentary lapse of concentration presented the Bangalore bowler with a momentous moment.

I’m happy to see Robin Uthappa back in crisp business. Sure, the young man is talented, but I reckon he had lost his focus last season after the success of the T20 World Cup and IPL dollars. He is exuberant and audacious. Only if he could keep his head down to watch the ball.

I have taken the MI defeat in its stride, only because I know a chubby boy who would cry if Bangalore lost. I’d rather take a long drive to clear my mind than see the little fan, my almost namesake, sad.
* * *

Super over, and what mindless batting!

Hayden’s mongoose didn’t help as Theron got one got past its swing. Stand-in skipper
Raina did well to loft one over the cover for two. He did even better by clouting a 91-metre six off the fourth delivery. Two more balls and only one wicket: even two singles would make life harder for Punjab. He went for another biggie to be caught by Jayawardane. There was one more ball left, with nine runs on the board.

In reply, Jayawardene began by clubbing Murali for a massive six. But he too didn’t learn any lesson from the Raina story. With only four more runs from five balls, he went after Murali in the next ball itself, only to be caught and to put Punjab under further pressure. Known for his susceptibility against quality spin, Yuvi missed the next ball. But, somehow, he connected a reverse sweep, and let out a Tarzan war cry.

Talking about Hayden’s bat, there is a mongoose which often appears on the wall next to my office. It runs along the wall, jumps out on to the road and noses through the shrub. On its return trip, it doesn’t fail to give a sympathetic glance at a moron sitting by his computer, scratching his head for story ideas!

(Read Yentha.com)