Saturday, June 01, 2013

Jodi of the Year : Lady Bat and Lord Ball...

Sometimes,  you get ridiculed for your cricket knowledge.  Sometimes, some think you don't even deserve an answer. Maybe just a glare ?
You think the place is now full of silly points,  and  guys slinking away into gullies to hide.  The expert commentaries fall silent.  Bumpers being bowled everyday on the News.  Some weakly defend. Some verbally slash. 
 Tests, one days, 50 overs, twenty overs, IPL;  that apparently is the new smart vocabulary.  The staid and proper game of cricket , with its glorious uncertainties, has now become a hoop-la Big Fat Indian Game, complete with dancers, lights, Page 3  turners , and  there is an entire set of folks who make money out of the statistics of certain certainties. 
The greats of the game, appear gagged by those for whom they speak and play.  Those that order special enquiries at the drop of the hat,  look the other way.  The public that pays in time and money for these  events feels foolish about holding their breath over a game whose outcome was known in the first place. 
I just wondered what the two main stars, the Bat and the Ball ,  actually thought.....
Born of a willowy mother
in the Kashmir valley,
she grew up
in the shade of
a veil of leaves,
descending down around her
as if to
protect her innocence
as she imbibed,
by observation
and practice
some tough grains of life.

waxed protectively
at the ends,
and with facials by Linseed
she aged well
and became
an outstanding Bat of her times
with the aid of some
helpful handles,
and a firm grip on things.

He , born a Ball,
of Tehsil Cork,
in Meerut,
grew up
in the little alleys,
a disinterested flat fellow,
suddenly hammered into
a well rounded personality,
hung out to dry
and learned to face
the elements.

A protective
fine leather cover,
tailored just so,
skin hugging
above a tight wrapping
with affectionate wool rope
with the necessary 6 seams
running across
a blood red central midriff.

They would meet often
he and she would
actually indulge
in a fling.

Sometimes, she would
with a great sense of humor
reply in kind;
she would flick him away
and he would pretend
to race
to the boundaries
of his imagination;
sometimes ,
she would actually duck
and miss
allowing him
to spend some time
with the fellows
who always stood behind her;
and sometimes
she would gloat
as she saw him go sky high,
sometimes to get caught !

Proudly walking out
with the openers,
the entire stadium applauding,
and she would watch
in great anticipation,
as he twisted,
got scratched and spat on
and even oiled
as he pirouetted
in some magical fingers,
before taking off to meet her
in a magical arc

But alas.
Like in Bollywood,
there is a villain in the story.

who fills ideas
in the mind of Mr Ball....
She spends
so much time
with other fellows
in the Kit bag,
you need
to divert yourself
away from where she waits for you,
and doesn't matter
if she still scores.

No need to
always fall at her feet;
its OK to bounce up once in a while,
and never mind
if you get swept off
so long as you properly fall
into some one's hands".

Its difficult for Mr Ball
but he has no choice.
Some folks
simply cannot tolerate
the Pitch magic,
and the Howzzat band
that always plays,
when he and the Bat lady meet.

Life has become difficult.
of feeling secure
with the players paraphernalia,
and chit chats with
the pointy stumped fellows,
back in the pavilion,
they both get flung into a corner
as some folks immediately
get on their phones.

Folks don't realize
that Mr Ball and The Bat lady
both have ears,
and have some
sensational stuff in hand.

A lifetime
of being friends,
they want
to now spend their days together,
perhaps watching from the pavilion,
or even
being on the field
Rahul and Sachin play.

What do you do
when the villain
continues to misguide ?

Mr Ball, and the Bat lady,
the field violence,
erroneous fingers up,
glares, bad mouthing,
towels used to signal
rather than clean....

It is time
to return
to the Willow Woods
via Meerut..

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