21 October, 2020

So Last Season

The IPL, as we knew it, had a meteoric life. The format it was created in required living dangerously.

Illustration by Saahil
So Last Season

There are many who will mourn its passing, including, most gleefully and digitally, its creator, currently broadcasting a ball-by-ball commentary from London. Little Modi, so as not to be confused with Big Modi, could well be tweeting Woody Allen’s famous quote: “I’m not afraid of death. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” He wasn’t and it happened, courtesy a panel of third umpires normally seen in black coats. Appropriate, since it was a black day for many related to the deceased—players, sponsors, television channels, administrators, accountants, coaches, sons-in-law, owners and co-owners, domestic airlines, five-star hotels, DJs and assorted hangers-on, not to mention millions deprived of diversions like cheerleaders and celebrities and, of course, cricket.

The end was sudden and surprising, since the deceased seemed in good health despite some minor setbacks. It had appeared that physicians and spin doctors had fixed potential ailments like spot-fixing, sweat equity and Lalitgate and were betting on a long...



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