Yes - it was Baroda.
Yes - it was the morning.
Yes - the wicket was a freaken featherbed.
Yes - we WERE playing in India.
Yes - all the fans screamed themselves hoarse.
Yes - we might still lose.
Yes - but oh, what fun.
Bottom line :
R Uthapa 28
S Ganguly 68 (Well done him!!)
R Dravid 78 (whoo hoo whoo hooo hooo)
S Tendulkar 100* YU BEWDY
M Dhoni 40* (punched them silly)
India 341-3
Like I said - Oh what fun!
Rigged/-
We are doing this rather large event for which we have a rather large crew in place at a rather large venue.
To keep in touch, all of us have walkie-talkies. Walkies are good fun. When you want to say something to someone who is far away, you can. Press a button, squawk and say what you have to. The only problem sometimes is, everyone else can listen in too.
This evening something happened that simply cracked me up. Not just me, but most of the team as well.
Said a lass o’er the walkie ‘James Dean*, come in please, James Dean*, come in please’
Said cheeky colleague in sidey voice ’Are we all able to come in as well? Say yes please’.
W0000000T!
Rigged/-
*Name slightly altered to protect James Dean’s identity.
It is unlikely that Biranchi Maharana, a fine gent of Orriyese persuasion, has heard of the song in the title made famous by Prodigy.
Biranchi Maharana, in one fell swoop, endeared himself to such Indians as Mohinder Amarnath, Yashpal Sharma, Sourav-dadagiri-Ganguly and our dear friend Ugly. With the ‘thapad ki goonj’ reverberating around the world, I wonder how many of the present lot of Indian cricketers would queue up to shake Biranchi’s hand.
For all those still wondering, Biranchi Maharana of the Kalinga Sena, a local political outfit in Bhubaneswar bumped into Greg Chappel at the airport and allegedly slapped him in account of no Orriyese in the desi cricket team. Someone should have reminded him of a certain Shiv Sundar Das!
This is a no-frills I-told-you-so post. I suppose it would be fitting that I write endlessly about the beauty of this comeback. Except, thanks to the lacking alacrity of babu moshai Pranab Mukhejee and the general (and now characteristic) idiocy of the BCCI, I wasn’t lucky enough to actually see Mr Ganguly in action earlier today. I imagine that it was no less entertaining than it sounds. But in my mind’s eye, it all makes perfect sense - including the close finish. Ok, so it’s a some-frills post.
Act 1, Scene 1: Ganguly races to 50. Dravid stands up with the rest of the team to applaud. Begins to sit back down and then notices the boys are still clapping. Straightens up and puts his hands together like he never entertained the thought of sitting back down.
Scene 2: While the West Indians tried to pull a Garrison-finish, Sir Rahul looks into the distance, shuffles his feet, almost about to do something about it and then feels it is best to remain thoughful about the matter.
Scene 3: Mr Indiranagar is asked to comment about his team’s performance and he waxes eloquent about how ‘all the boys’ pitched in. And the team has come together and the spirit in dressing room is high. And since Viru is not around, someone might actually drink the Champagne.
[Exeunt Captain Bumble]
I bet Mr Dravid wouldn’t have complained too much if someone had blanked out his line of vision for the day. But allow me to note with due respect, his own very useful knock and what sounds like a remarkable partnership with Dhoni.
Riggs - in my humble opinion, today’s proceedings has effectively brought to nought the raison d’etre of our Sticky conversations. Feel free to disagree. But as I recall, vividly, we had a wager? Steak, was it?
Bartman
Yours idiomatically,
Ahn.
It is indeed a sleepless night @ Sarjapur Cross Roads. The reason for this is this wonderful afternoon nap that came a-calling post this brilliant Fish Curry & Rice lunch that I had. Conversation at lunch was kept to a bare minimum where I was concerned (now you know how good the food was), post which I lay down in bed and woke up four hours later. Thanks to all that, it is now 2:30 am and I am not in the least bit sleepy.
Since I am in Bangalore and it was a Sunday evening, one had to make one’s way down to one’s most favourite eatery in Bangalore, Opus, where it was Karaoke Night and ALL of the Bangalore Idles were out in droves. The occasion was made even more special since one’s dear friend and co-Blogger Ugly decided to grace us with her presence.
Karaoke-wise, the night was nothing special. I have said this before and will again - when it comes to skill, Hyderabad has far better karaoke regulars, who, if ever brought down to Opus will turn the place on its head. The Opus regulars sang so much mush that one was reminded of an impending Valentine’s Day while the table one was given was cozy, comfortable and right in the path of about two hundred other patrons. If today was a day to feel free, I was felt freely by all sorts of men, women and jailbait. What is it with this city? All the nice looking women (30 and above) were accompanied by ugly men and all the other women seemed below 16. Scary.
I also got back home and since I was not in the least bit sleepy, I trolled Blogland and somehow wound up on a blog written by an old friend. Say hello, T! Will look you up one of these days.
I end this post by a thought. Make that two thoughts. One - What fun Karaoke Night would have been if Hyphens had been there as well. Yes - Hyphens, Ugly and I both thought of you last night - called you names and wished you had been there - to join in the fun - and yes - we will do this sometime. Two - Damn Ugly and her working on a holiday. Bah. Bleddy Workaholics.
More later!
- Rigged
If I wore a hat, I’d doff it for the Colonel.
I don’t remember when the last time it was we had such on outspoken Chairman of Selectors who not only spoke his mind (like most of his predecessors) but also managed to speak sense. Shri Vengsarkar went even one further and even managed to walk the talk!
They wise men dropped Veeru and what a voice choice it has been. They even went and got the Maharaj back - for once I have nothing to say but ‘Jolly good show’ to the Bong. No one, not even Nagma can begrudge his place back in the final XI. I watched an interview of him after the final test I think and what came across more than anything was how much he has mellowed. Sitting at home and making ads that say ‘Dada ka baat sunoge na’ has made him lose the arrogance and he comes across as focussed with only one thing on his mind - make runs!
No Veeru can only mean one thing - The MumbaiDada and the MaharajDada are going to open and I hope, for old times sake, they click like they used to. A boom here and a bang there, one for the old times and we could very well be looking at our opening bats for the World Cup. I feel a bit bad for young Robin who will follow the two Batmen. he deserves more than just a look-in and I hope he gets one too.
More drama shall unfold over the next couple of weeks. Watch this space.
And on another note, yours truly had the distinct pleasure of dining with young V R V Singh a couple of nights ago. That boy is ALL WRONG to be a fast bowler - he’s shy, he’s sweet and he’s extremely soft-spoken! I was all set to teach him to be mean and nasty before I realised he was 6′4′’ and very muscular!
Fun Fun Fun. More later!
While I have nothing substantial to say, I am compiling a dictionary of common phrases and their relevance and meaning in my family. I plan to make this a regular feature, henceforth.
Here are a few to begin with.
‘Til The Cows Come Home,
Eeyore.
Having decided to ignore India’s Grand Afrikaans Safari, I choose to dedicate this post to 3 fine cricketers who retired last week when the Aussies took back their little urn.
Shane Warne, Glen McGrath and Justin Langer - lucky for me Youtube has clips of their final moments. Guaranteed to bring a lump to your throat, these clips left me wondering when the last time it was that I saw any Indian cricketer get a sendoff like the ones you’re about to see.
Enjoy - and thanks for the memories!
Here’s: Warnie and McGrath
and here’s: Langer
To all my arendent readers - A very Happy New Year. My dad is now a part of the Bomb Diffusion Squad, by which, I mean, he has been promoted from being the Warming Up The Couch Squad.
I will write about the entire family soon but till such time, please bear with me. For now this is an email I sent to every business contact I have for this year’s Season’s Greetings.
Dear beloved,
Greetings in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. I am Mr. Rosemara Bendson, a guy from Kuwait. I was married to Mrs Rosemary Bendson, who was the ambassador of Jamaica for sixteen years in Abidjan Cotedivoire. We were married for fifteen years without a child. She died on 22nd December 2006 after a brief illness that lasted terminally.
Before her death we were a happy Christian husband and wife. When my wife was alive, she deposited a huge sum of money in a private security company here in Abidjan Cotedivoire where she was appointed an ambassador.
I was recently informed about an illness that won’t let me live more than three months according to my doctors. My late wife was very wealthy and after her death, I inherited all her assets.
I have decided to divide the wealth, to contribute to the development of church in Africa, America, Asia and Europe to help the ladies.
I am willing to donate four million seven hundred thousand USD to you for the use of God work in your church and to help the ladies in your country .I am asking for your immediate assistance. I have chosen you to help me with this matter.
- Please tell me if you can be of any help in matter.
- Promise me that you will not betray me as soon you get this money from the security company
- Use the money to build a church that will be called JFK Missionary.
May the grace of our Lord JFK, the love of God and the fellowship of God be with you and your family and may you see the goodness of the Lord in your life this year. I await for your speedy response.
Yours brother in hand,
Mr Rosemara Bendson.
Not many appreciated my sense of Christmas cheer and revelry. The best response was from a friend who almost immediately replied The drinks are on me tonight.
Yours SantaBanta.