A couple of cricket correspondents from Australia and England, here in India to cover the Indian Premier League (IPL) auction for 2017, were having a quiet beer at a plush bar in Bengaluru. For the sake of anonymity let’s call them Jack and Jill. Yes, yes, dear reader, I know what’s coming. There are women cricket correspondents, I’ll have you know. No, I can’t name one straight away off the top of my head, but I know there are, somewhere. And Jill is a much respected cricket writer from Barnsley, representing The Yorkshire Post. She claims Boycott (Boycs) is a distant uncle, twice removed, on her mother’s side, but we’ll let that pass. And Jack is a no-nonsense, straight up Sydneysider from The Sydney Morning Herald, who thinks it’s a downright insult that Shane Warne hasn’t yet been measured up for a bronze statue at the Sydney city centre, though Warne himself owes allegiance to Melbourne.
As the two of them were served their third tall glass of the frothy stuff, the following engaging conversation was in progress:-
Jack: ‘I cannot get my head around Ben Stokes being bought by Rising Pune Supergiants for Rs 14.5 crores’.
Jill: ‘How do you mean, Jack? You feel it’s too much to pay for Stokes? You think he’s not really worth it? But then, Stokes is English, and you can’t stand all the attention he’s grabbing, can you? It’s the green-eyed monster, isn’t it, you shameless Aussie.’
Jack: ‘No no, I mean I can’t get my head around this crores stuff. What’s a crore anyway? How many zeroes are involved? And how does it translate into Australian Dollars? And they expect me to file a report by this evening. It’s a nightmare, Jill. And since you bring it up, yes, I think Ben Stokes is a trumped up, overrated cricketer, and these Pune johnnies are in over their heads paying that much for him. Though I am still trying to figure out exactly how much in my currency. Crikey! And RCB shelling out Rs.12 crores for Tymal Mills?’
Jill: ‘Tymal who?’
Jack: ‘Exactly. And he’s from your country! A fast bowler who bowls only slow deliveries’.
Jill: ‘Ah well. Easy come, easy go eh? About this crores phobia of yours, yes, I see what you mean. They haven’t quite got round to talking in terms of millions in these parts. Open any Indian newspaper and all you see are lakhs and crores. Happily, I’ve brought with me a conversion table, and I can help you with it. But you’re wrong about Stokes, he’s quite a hunk. I meant an all rounder’.
Jack: ‘Quite, quite. We’ll see about that, but wow, that’s a great relief Jill about the conversion table. Am I glad to see the backs of those log tables and slide rules! You’re a life saver, Jill.’
Jill: ‘One does one’s best. We English girls were always taught to be prepared for any eventuality. My Uncle Boycs, we all fondly called him that, always carried twelve pairs of pads and twenty pairs of gloves, and ten abdominal guards with him, whenever he travelled abroad. The MCC was fed up paying his excess baggage fares.’
Jack: ‘Never mind about your Uncle Boycs. I don’t wish to talk about a batsman whose motto in life was “never touch a ball outside the off stump till the lunch break”. And forever jabbering on about how his mother could have hit that ball with “a stick of rhubarb”. Do you know he once hared off to play golf in Calcutta while a Test match was still in progress?’
Jill: ‘Thanks for nothing, Jack. You had to bring that up, didn’t you? If you continue in this vein, you can whistle for your conversion table. I’ll leave you with your log rules and slide tables’.
Jack: ‘The other way round, surely. Anyway, please accept my apologies. Just don’t start about your Uncle Boycs again. I’ve had it up to here with Uncle Boycs. Let’s return to the IPL auction, shall we? What about this Dhoni ouster from captaincy at Pune, then? Thrilled for Steve Smith, mind you, but I smell a rat. Something fishy there’.
Jill: ‘Make up your mind, Jack. Do you smell a rat or fish? It can be one, or the other -both equally unpleasant. Anyway, I see what you mean. For crying out loud, MSD is God in India. People far more qualified than us here have tried to get him on the wrong foot, but he is always showing everyone a clean pair of heels. So, don’t even go there.’
Jack: ‘I agree Jill. And there’s Virat Kohli, just signed a whopping Rs.100 crore deal with Puma. That’s as much as Usain Bolt gets from them. Again with the crores, I know. What’s the world coming to? And it just occurred to me that Stokes’ captain in the England one-day side, Eoin Morgan, barely managed a piffling two crores from Kings XI Punjab. Even an auto rickshaw driver’s son, Mohammed Siraj from Hyderabad, got more than that. How’s that going to play out when Morgan and Stokes meet on the same side? “Hey Ben, you are batting at number 6 today”. “Like hell, Skip. Either I go in at number 3, or I am outta here in my Ferrari. So put that in your pipe and smoke it”.
Jill: ‘I see what you mean. Changing the subject completely, why limit the number of foreign players in the IPL playing elevens to just four? What kind of a damn fool rule is that? All that this is achieving is that a handful of players from Australia, England, New Zealand, Sri Lanka, South Africa and the West Indies are making money hand over fist, and young, unknown Indian players are starting to hit the big time. Even the Afghans are getting into the act.’
Jack: ‘And the Indians are thrashing everybody else on the field of play. Look at Chris Gayle. Massively popular in India, superstar for RCB - he’s even modelling for a brand of condoms! But the West Indies board routinely ignores him. Weird.’
Jill: ‘And no Pakistan players in the IPL, did you notice that Jack? That’s political, of course.’
Jack: ‘My, you are really clued up aren’t you, Jill? Nothing escapes your eagle eye. Look, we’ve had five beers. What say we mosey along, grab ourselves a curry dinner, and see where the night takes us?’
Jill: ‘Meaning what exactly, you Aussie rogue? I have to file my report by 1am IST early morn, then it’s a quick flip through Uncle Boycs’ memoirs, and then beddy-byes for an early wake-up call tomorrow. That’s where the night takes me, Mr. Jack Romeo. Good night’.
Jack: ‘No sweat Jill, just didn’t want you to feel I didn’t try. What say we try some masala dosa, a Bengaluru speciality for breakfast tomorrow? No? Too spicy? Scrambled eggs on toast and coffee? Righty ho.’
(The writer is a brand consultant who loves music and good humour)
