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Showing posts with label N Srinivasan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label N Srinivasan. Show all posts

When you had the time of Dhoni's life

by Gaurav Sethi

Past midnight, after the last league match between CSK and KXIP, Harsha Bhogle tried to warm up to MS Dhoni. Instead, Dhoni warmed up to his team’s “many” owners with a word of thanks. He credited these owners with a knowledge of cricket. He spoke of how CSK had seen players such as Ashwin and Mohit Sharma flourish (both were now with KXIP).
While Dhoni speaks long into the night in his post-match chats, it’s not-to-be-missed "gyan". Much like his innings this IPL. CSK’s comeback after two years, proved that the yellow army was stronger than ever; absence had made the heart pump in new zeal beyond Chennai; if your first team wasn’t CSK, it sure was the second. More often than not though, the IPL seemed to be about Dhoni and CSK. They were almost interchangeable.
Even the harshest of India Cements’ critics appeared to have moved on. While N Srinivasan (owner India Cements that probably owns CSK but it’s a tough one) has been largely invisible from cricketing circles for years; Dhoni’s seemingly innocuous remark past midnight, was obviously a word of thanks to the former BCCI president who ran world cricket with his other hand.
n the years that followed Srinivasan’s ouster, Dhoni has with a calculated calm remained silent on issues that threatened to bring down many a house of cards. Much has been implied but no commission or court room has named him. The Kohli years dawned but sans captaincy, Dhoni seemed to have evolved into an ever more potent force.
It is that potent force that the yellow army trains it to Pune from Chennai to see. A sea of yellow soaks the stands as if India had found something new in lieu of blue.
With one run needed for a win, Suresh Raina defended the ball with the passion of a player freshly converted to Test cricket. In doing so, he handed the strike to his captain and the millions who were waiting for that winning six. Dhoni explained to Bhogle that as the field had come in, he attempted the six. As if.
The six was deposited in the hungry stomachs of Dhoni fans. Imagine, one bat, one six, feeds so many. Only to crave some more the next match.
CSK play SRH in the play-offs between the top two teams in the IPL. Yet another chance to see Dhoni. Doing Dhoni things. When will he walk out to bat? When will he point at the square-leg umpire after that speed-line stumping?
As with the greatest shows, there is a set routine. It’s set, because that’s the magic people want to see. The MSD magic. It starts at the toss. Where Dhoni can go on to explain why they’re batting or fielding, it’s as if time stood still. Not being India captain, makes these toss-talks even more precious.
Then there’s Dhoni in the dugout. With coach, Stephen Fleming alongside. A word here or there but no show of emotion. A blink of an eye at best. Is that an eye-fitness routine?
Another wicket falls, the crowds erupt expecting Dhoni. But it isn’t Dhoni, just as well, another chance to explode.
Secretly, how many Dhoni fans will be hoping to watch him in three matches instead of two? That CSK lose the play-offs on Tuesday to go on to play the eliminator — against the winner of Kolkata and Rajasthan, and eventually beat SRH again in the finals?
It has now gone beyond runs, averages, strike rates. After 14 league matches, it feels like Dhoni has always been there at the end of each match — not far from the truth, he’s been unbeaten nine times. And if CSK lose, as they have five times, as per the broadcasting ritual, Dhoni as losing captain, is there to give you a lowdown on what happened.
You can expect anything. There’s been ample lightness made of the team’s advanced years and their lack of dexterity in the field. It’s all delivered deadpan-Dhoni with that hint of a smile and a twinkle in the eye. So even before the interviewer makes it to the next question, reporters can write their post-match analysis with MSD’s inputs.
Whether or not Dhoni scores another run in the next few matches is immaterial. The IPL Hall of Fame is about to open in Chennai — it will be opened by Dhoni, it will toast Dhoni, the CSK years, those sixes, those stumpings, those memories.
And even if it is not, it resides within each of us. Here’s to Dhoni, one more time, and another, and another. Don’t stop.
The IPL started with you. Good or bad or badmash, it was always about you. When Sachin was still playing, when Rohit won it, or for that matter, whoever won it.
It always seemed as if you won it.
And CSK won it the moment they picked you and they chose yellow.
To paraphrase a song, I hope you had the time of Dhoni’s life.

First published here

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Judgement Day for cricket or just the drawing of new battle lines?

by Gaurav Sethi

Just when we had all but forgotten about former BCCI big boss N Srinivasan, he resurfaced at the post-match ceremony of the Chennai Test. On being introduced, he was even cheered on. Though such was the mood at Chepauk after the win, they would’ve cheered anyone.
Srinivasan smiled. A smile not seen in years. A smile that was lost in the face of boos, relentless pursuit of the press and investigators. A smile that resurfaced, possibly because a part of him had reacquainted with that much maligned term his son-in-law used in his Twitter bio.
Had Srini become a "cricket enthusiast" again? And what greater joy for a cricket enthusiast than to be watching his team win, to be shaking hands with his winning captain, to be bathed in cheers by the knowledgeable Chennai crowd.
Just when we had all but forgotten about the Lodha Commission, Supreme Court and the BCCI, the second day of the year, provided more than a gentle rap on the knuckles of India’s cricket administration.
BCCI presidents are immovable objects. Anurag Thakur was no different. The second youngest president in BCCI history, he was holding on to his blazing saddle unmindful of the blaze - another strong trait of BCCI babus.
It was because of this continuous denial that it seemed unlikely that anything would come of Lodha’s pursuit. Deadlines came, deadlines died. BCCI appeared to be on to one of their usual well-orchestrated manoeuvres in the dark. 
And then day broke, and with it, the axe fell on president Thakur and secretary Ajay Shirke.
Is that it for Thakur and cricket? Will there be a Chennai Test for him, where he will stand in the post-match ceremony and be applauded by the knowledgeable Chennai crowd? Or will he be lost in the VIP enclosures of the HPCA, Dharamsala? Lost behind his aviators, left to ponder, what might have been.
It was here in 2000, still in his 20s, that his rise as a cricket administrator began - as president of the Himachal Pradesh Cricket Association. After playing just one first class match, he was eligible to become a national selector for junior cricket. He became a national selector.
From 2011 onwards, Thakur’s rise had been almost quick gun Murugunesque: from a BCCI office-bearer to BCCI joint secretary within months, to the ultimate BCCI policeman, becoming increasingly vocal of the IPL spot-fixing taint - taking on big boss Srinivasan in open letters and in the press.
With Srinivasan’s exit, Thakur became secretary in 2015.
Thakur appeared to be the right guy at the right time. After BCCI president Jagmohan Dalmiya’s death, with the right blessings, he became the BCCI president.
Soon, with these blessings came the curse of the Lodha Commission. Thakur resisted. Then Thakur resisted some more. He dodged their recommendations. Possibly aware that implementing the recommendations could be the death of the BCCI as we know it. Was it even in his hands to implement these recommendations?
By sacking Thakur, the Supreme Court might have done him a favour. He’s run this race as far as he could. The Lodha recommendations were made on July 18, 2016. In less than six months, in his last week in office, Justice TS Thakur has made one mighty landmark judgment.
Tougher tests lie ahead for Thakur. Some in the courtroom, some in politics.
The first Test match in Dharamsala on March 25 seems a long, long way away. And probably the last thing on Thakur’s mind right now.
But if he does make it to the ground that day, he will have one more chance to reacquaint himself with the game as a fan. The cameras may shy away from him that day. But behind those aviators, he will know deep down, before cricket became a business, and before cricket became power, and before cricket became an ego-struggle between powerful old men, cricket was just a game.
And nobody can take that away. Not the BCCI, not the ECB, not CA, not any cricket board in the world. Not Anurag Thakur. Not the Supreme Court.
But can the Supreme Court take away from cricket’s political game? That’s where the real test lies. On second thoughts, a series of tests.

First published here

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How Dhoni is the ultimate comeback man

by Gaurav Sethi

Following the fourth one-dayer on Thursday, MS Dhoni called on N Srinivasan at his residence, on Friday morning for a breakfast befitting of the IPL Champions, CSK. Somewhat ironic, as little of either the CSK or IPL remains. But this was a breakfast built on hope, and the possibilities a new IPL team could bring. In hindsight, there were many breakfasts rolled into one, behind closed doors, here's how many an interest unfolded, that too without hardly any conflict.
Act 1
9.28am: Mahi's superbike announces him even before Srini's butler can. Inside Srini sits at the head of a somewhat dauntingly long dining table. The room is unlit, with its thick curtains undrawn. Light strains of a song, I have but one heart, from a Coppola film, trickle through. Mahi tip-toes into the room, much as he has often done from 0-40 in his many memorable ODI innings, largely unnoticed, mostly singles and twos.
Srini looks up from his filter coffee, nods at Mahi, who approaches him, and kisses his outstretched hand. "Godfather..." he mumbles under his breath. Srini replies - "Mahi, I'm gonna call you, Michael, sit down, Michael..." Srini gestures nowhere in particular, so Mahi (Michael) sits at the far end of the table. Srini speaks softly, so softly, Mahi can barely hear him. He shifts to the next chair. Still can't hear him. Advances yet another chair and another chair and still another chair until he's ultimately sitting under Srini's nose. Mahi asks Srini - "Sorry Godfather, could you repeat yourself, I didn't hear a thing you said?" Srini nods undramatically, mumbles, "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse" To which Mahi snaps, "What, you got me a new bike? A new IPL team?" Unmoved, Srini says, "Fresh masala dosa and filter coffee". Dhoni feigns enthusiasm - "Of course, that beats any bike, and yesterday's win has really whetted my appetite."
The masala dosa and filter coffee arrive but are largely untouched as Srini and Mahi have much to talk. Finally Srini dismisses the dosa, "That will be cold, bring Michael a fresh masala dosa..." The butler is baffled, Mahi helps him out, "He means me." Mahi excuses himself to go to the washroom.
Meanwhile, all along, there's a suspicious form hiding behind the curtain.
Act 2
MS walks in, in a business suit, the butler announces him as the vice-president, India Cements. He greets Srini with a sir, and places his laptop and file next to him as he draws a chair alongside the boss. The curtains have been drawn. Light strains of a song, "Speak softly, love", from a Coppola film, trickle through. Srini draws MS and his laptop closer, a masala dosa appears, goes largely unnoticed, as the two talk of the drop in share prices. "MS, what do you make of this development?" Srini asks largely befuddled by the latest development. Dhoni nods, runs the chairman through a detailed PowerPoint presentation - "Sir, as you can see, it's quite clear, that the economy has taken a beating, but that is unimportant, as the process is what is important to us, and cement is part of the process... So even though construction has taken a beating we must continue working on the process, sir." Srini nods, "Yes, I have employed you as VP for just such answers, long as we live in denial and refuse to let these rumours of conflict of interest affect us, we have a healthy future ahead of us in the building industry, any other suggestions?" MS ponders and then as if hit by a lightning bolt, confesses, "Yes sir, I have been thinking, that vital to the process is diversification, even as we remain true to our core values of building, how about we extend our interests into Lego? Srini is beatific, "Soooper, boy, soooper, your increment will be a fat one... Oh look, your masala dosa will be all soggy, new one for you".
MS excuses himself to go to the washroom. Meanwhile, all along, there's a suspicious form hiding behind the last folds of the drawn curtain.
Act 3
Dhoni bustles in, in his yellow CSK jersey. Light strains of a song, The pickup, from a Coppola film, trickle through. Part of the room is floodlit and a recreation of the Chepauk VIP box. TVs with CSK's various IPL triumphs are playing. Srini has his sporty shades on, is dressed casually, having just returned from a game of morning golf. Masala dosas arrive, and so do, Raina, Jadeja, Ashwin, Mohit Sharma, Ishwar Pandey. Raina insists on taking a selfie with Srini. Dhoni and his bunch of CSK boys look at Srini expectedly. Srini asks, "Would you like to all join the ICC, we could float a T20 league called the ICC-PL?" Raina and Jadeja sound chuffed by this latest suggestion, however, Dhoni, is far more contemplative when he says, "But what about that old bastard, conflict of interest? Should we not just join a new IPL team for two years?"
Meanwhile, all along, there's a suspicious form hiding behind the curtain. Dhoni looks at the curtain and then at Srini, "All along, I've noticed there's something behind the curtain..."
Srini dismisses it, "Oh that, nothing, just a cricket enthusiast."
(However plausible this might sound, this is largely a work of fiction.)

First published here

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Rajeev Shukla Returns!

by Gaurav Sethi

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Also published here

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The Tendu of small things

by Gaurav Sethi

It took two cameos for Sachin to capture the World Cup.

Sachin appeared in a suit and a tie
He was there, a reminder that he wasn't there anymore
Sachin flashed, Sachin didn't flash hard
He painted his portrait and yours too
With a camera phone this time

A chitchat here and a chitchat there
Sachin was gone before long from the cricket
Sachin's never ever gone long from the cricket
a chit chat here and a chit chat there
Sachin was talking TV cricket

I didn't see much of him talking TV cricket
Prefer it when his bat’s the ventriloquist
And it speaks Thonk Tonk Thud Tonk
Some divinespeak that always spoke
Seldom squeaked

Sachin returned to the ICC world cup
For Indians and those that love Indianness
He was the best ambassador on two legs after that ambassador on four wheels

Sachin appeared in a suit and a tie
He was there, a reminder that he wasn't there anymore
A chitchat here and a chitchat there 
Before you could say Srini, the finals were lost
Before you could say Srini, the crowds BOOOOOOED
Before you could say Sachin, the crowds OOOOOOOED

Sachin and Srini stood there together
One gave away a trophy,
One was the trophy.                                                                                                   





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Dhoni's Advise.

by Gaurav Sethi

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Srini's early promise.

by Gaurav Sethi

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Bipolar Cricket

by Gaurav Sethi


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Shakib vs Srini

by Gaurav Sethi

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Shakib crotch-grab video

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The Final Cut - 3 : Thank You Sachin

by Bhaskar Khaund

Final part of a series exploring an alternative version of  Sachin Tendulkar's final Test
(Part 2. http://www.boredcricketcrazyindians.com/2013/11/the-final-cut-2-yes-prime-minister.html)



This series is now retired. It only remains to say : Thank You Sachin.

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The Final Cut - 2 : Yes Prime Minister

by Bhaskar Khaund

Second in a series of three exploring an alternative version of  Sachin Tendulkar's final Test
(Part 1 here http://www.boredcricketcrazyindians.com/2013/11/the-final-cut-1-twist-in-tail.html)


(To be continued)

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Come home to Papa...

by Bored Guest

“Hanging on in quiet desperation

 Is the English way”

Perusing match reports at the end of the first day’s play in Nagpur, it appeared that this tune was suddenly en vogue again. What a coincidence I thought, since my mind had been mulling over a modified version of it. Modified, you know, to reflect the fact that the hapless souls clinging on by their fingernails whilst dangling over the edge of the precipice weren’t the English. Yes, the temptation to sing it aloud having swapped out the identities of the two countries playing out the Test match was strong. But I kept balking at the bit.

It was that word desperation. That didn’t fit.

So I just read on, finding myself in an utterly unfamiliar and unsettling position – of having missed the events of an entire day’s play of a Test match. Willingly. I had looked askance without a conscious or preplanned ambivalence. The telecast had been a click of the remote away, but I never did indulge. Why this Test match, the entirety of the tour had been a perplexing period. And I had struggled with it. Struggled to come to grips with my detachment from it. I could not recollect the last time this had happened. Yes, Pujara. And Cook. Even Joe took root. But it all remained so distant. It certainly wasn’t apathy, but my ambivalence was continually nagging at me.

“This could be a momentousTest match” intoned the first sentence of the match preview on Cricinfo. Momentous! The first word that came to my mind when I saw that was: bollocks. Bollocks, for there were no moments of significance to be had here. All the moments had passed. In fact, they littered the sides of the highway to oblivion the Indian team had ridden to reach Nagpur. The moments were still fluttering to earth from the long and agonizing free-fall the number one team had embarked on. Starting with that running cannonball jump off the balcony of Lords eighteen months ago.

Yes, eighteen months and counting now. Eighteen months of watching it all unravel. Starting with England, where it went belly-up and rigor mortis appeared to have set in at Edgbaston; rendering the rotund R.P Singh’s mad dash from Miami to The Oval a perverse comedic exercise. And then Australia. And it wasn’t long before that tour took on all the gravitas of an extended experiment in proving that it does indeed swirl clockwise in the southern hemisphere too. They weren’t packing as much as a Swiss-army knife in that gunfight.

So it has been. For eighteen long months. That which elicited brow-knotted surprise at Lord’s was followed by bewilderment, shock, anger, frustration, morbid fascination and then the inevitable resignation. Endless days spent gritting teeth and silently goading them on to at least plant their feet and take a few swings. Bare their teeth. Futile exhortations that yielded diddly-squat. Rarely providing a semblance of a sustained contest. There were the results, yes. But the results didn’t come close to trumping the vibe emanating from them. Or how painful watching them had been. The spinelessness, listlessness and jadedness had now proven so contagious that I was just willing the current tour on to a rapid denouement.

Was it Kolkata that shut the door behind emphatically? Was that depressing Test match the moment when it all came full circle? Or full clockwise swirl? When the free-fall was arrested with a resounding thud? Was it really the straw that broke the back?

I did give that thought some credence now in Nagpur – albeit briefly. Only briefly, for it just wouldn’t stick. Didn’t add up and tie it all up conveniently. Kolkata was no straw that broke no back. This straw had been chewed up and spat out ceremoniously a while ago. The more I think about it, it was Perth that precipitated my current state. It had crossed a line at the WACA and then in Adelaide, it well and truly jumped the shark.

Seven in a row it was back in Perth. Seven back to back train wrecks that had each careened one way and then another before the pileup of twisted metal. The mind had been numbed by the relentless debacles that out-jostled each other into our living rooms. The wells of disappointment and bewilderment at the team at the pinnacle plumbing the depths had evaporated dry. Adelaide had been rendered completely irrelevant by then.

The only hope remaining was that some introspection, an iota of it, would surface to begin the process of healing. Of beginning to think about starting to commence the process of turning this iceberg around. Even alcoholics have moments of clarity when they fleetingly contemplate and acknowledge the root cause of their condition. Moments that can possibly lead them through the fog towards the light. Alcoholics Anonymous sessions perhaps.

Instead, in Perth, we stumbled upon an Alcoholics Unanimous meeting. Right after train wreck No. 7. And the foul taste from it has lingered and festered ever since. And enveloped the entirety of this tour in multifarious ways. For that was the day we heard the words “Once these people come to India…” I, for one will always look back to that day as the pits of this eighteen month long fiasco.

We had almost given up on asking for a fight by then. Or yearning for a contest. There was certainly no entertaining of turnaround thoughts. We weren’t seeking any acts of contrition either. Or soul baring honesty in utterances. All we could hope to see was a sign. Any sign. On or off the field. A sign that acknowledged the team’s own state and abject performances and fronted up. A sign goes a long way, you know. Instead came the appalling and offensive posturing. The bizarre and shameful defense. Felt like we were now being slapped in the face with a limp noodle.

This dam was always going to be breached at some point and so it was with these words offered in the face of the annihilation “Once these people come to India we should not be hesitant in making turners, and that’s where we would get to know whether they are mentally strong”. Oh, just a knee-jerk act of frustration not to be taken seriously, correct? An act of petulance at a vulnerable moment that brooked nothing more than a snicker? Kohli’s finger in Sydney was an act of petulance. This ran far deeper.  This was when it really stung.

Back home, the big chief, the grand poobah, the big-fat-noodle himself offered this in comfort and solace as he hitched up his suspenders in the face of that defeat: “Next New Zealand is coming to India and it will be followed by England and Australia. We will beat these three teams on our own soil. They cannot beat us here and we will feel very happy.” Between the players’ reactions (or lack of) and their custodians’ platitudinous bags of wind lay bare a malaise afflicting Indian cricket. The results should never have been a surprise.

Yes, come to India. Come home to papa. With that the tone for this series against England was set. My tone at least. Match after match in the 8-0 pasting, I had watched incredulously as reactions at post-match interviews and press conferences at the venues and back home took on surreal tones. India just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – playing away from home – it appeared. Just an anomaly. One that would be rectified soon.

And as this series dawned, the chickens from Perth well and truly came home to roost. There cannot have been a cricket series in memory (mine at least) where the topic of home-field advantage and playing conditions reached such cacophonous levels. Even before a ball was bowled in a Test and as England were playing out their practice matches, commenced the relentless swirl of player and media thrashings that soon became unbearable.

Opening any newspaper every morning revealed yet another buffet, another twenty two yards of horse manure laid out for our consumption. Unmanned drones were dispatched to upcoming venues. We even saw pictures of curators. One miffed curator called all of it “immoral”. The board retaliated by flying in a replacement.  Was Dhoni upset with the curators? Or was it the other way round? Always smelling a morsel, leave alone a drop of blood, the sharks from the media thrashed around till it frothed. It did go to eleven and was deafening and relentless.

And I was still looking for just a sign. In the midst of the bedlam. That was all one could ask for given that all was lost. And here, the team abjectly disappointed. Their performances in Mumbai and Kolkata were caricatures of their performances in England and Australia. The trauma of their lame and disgusting threat (“We’ll show them at home) that was now skewered like a kebab appeared to have sunk them into a deeper funk. They looked like they had ODed on quaaludes at Eden Gardens. This lot honestly looked like they couldn’t wait to get it over with.

How did it come to this? Why has the spine and heart to swing their way out of a corner become so alien to this once impressive bunch of cricketers? Why is there such a collective loss of leadership and backbone in this lot? Why do they lose even the veneer of a team and not a rag-tag collection of misfits the moment adversity nudges them in the ribs? And why has Indian cricket descended into such a morass the instant they reached the summit?

In the end, it was still just a sign we sought. A bit of grace, a bit of class in defeat, a little less evasion and obfuscation and a dose of introspection would have made a difference. At any point. Would have erased that surreal halo of entitlement which they wore around right through these eighteen months. Sure, the losses would have still stung. The mix of the squad would still need to be addressed. And yes, retirements would still need to be discussed. But just an honest and open inward gaze, that’s all. A blunt look at performance and technique and effort, curator be damned. Catharsis has a funny way of working. Things might even have turned out a bit different.

Today, at the end of it all Dhoni offered: “But there are not many things that will come close to when we lost the 2007 50-over World Cup. This is not even close to that.”

Just telling us how much this one hurt would have sufficed.

This is no ordinary fall. That word desperation never did fit all along.

And coming home to papa can never be bleaker or as empty ever again.

“The time has come

 The song is over

 Thought I’d something more to say”



By Sriram Dayanand
who blogs at Boundary Conditions and protects his tweets @sdayanand

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Rajiv Shukla's careless whisper

by Gaurav Sethi

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Super King's next move

by Gaurav Sethi

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Series to Series OR Oh I'm Happy, Hope You're Happy Too!

by achettup

Inspired by the genius of N. Srinivasan's "They cannot beat us here and we will feel very happy" and urm (sorry to put you in the same sentence champ), David Bowie

Series To Series

Do you remember a team that's been
In such a grisly loss
I've heard a rumour from Board Control
Oh no, don't say its true

They got a message
from the Chairy Man
"Oh I'm happy, and you'll be happy too
We've lost
All we had to lose
Domestic T20 following" ;)

The shrieking journos are grinning
Just pictures of stars gone by
in sinking ships
Ain't got no future and ain't got no care
But we're hoping to clip the past it bellowing

Series to series, humped by Humpty
We know CSK's Boss is
a numpty
Sprung out as cricket lies
hurtling to an all time low

Time and again they tell us all
White washes happen now and again
But the little blue caps turn purple and orange
Oh no, not again
Getting rich with our valuable friends
"Oh we're happy, we've made you happy too"
One flash in the pan
but its happened yet again

I've never done good things
I've never done bad things
I've never done anything for the men in the blue
Want to axe a senior or two?
Wanna see a home win instead?


Series to series, humped by Humpty
We know CSK's Boss is
a numpty
Sprung out as cricket lies
hurtling to an all time low

My chairman says
to get things won
you better not stray
outside homely dens

Sing it, it can't be half as loony as the bleatings emanating from our administocrats:



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Whistle Blower

by Aditya

My team has lost a crucial match recently and are about to play a virtual quarter final match against a team at their home ground.

In the previous match my batsmen struggled to cope with the surface and posted a below par score and were completely outplayed by the opposition (The average 1st inning score over 6 matches in this tournament at the venue has been 130).

For the above said virtual quarter final match the home team has a very formidable record at their home venue and have even beaten the best team of the tournament as well quite easily ( Average 1st inning  score over 5 matches in this tournament at the venue has been 131)

My team’s best chance to win the game is to play on a flat wicket as the opposition doesn’t have the fire power to match my team in such conditions.

I am heading the organisation that runs the tournament as well where I can influence many decisions and can get away with it as there is no transparency.

My team is the defending champion and not making the top 3 of the tournament will have a huge revenue loss for me and not making the top 4 would be seen as an under achievement for my team as well.

Next on My agenda: Shifting a couple of playoff games from the home ground of the best team in the tournament which will make life a lot easier for my team.  

Yours truly:
NS

For the Article - Hat-tip to the chief architects of Spinners
and D*F IPL

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Team Building Exercises for Chennai Super Kings

by Gaurav Sethi

CSK and India Cements owner, N Srinivasan hops into the hall in an India Cements sack, followed by Kris Srikkanth and the resident CSK astrologer, also in their cement sacks.

Srikkanth: Wadducallit ImGoingHoppingMadInSacks…

Astrologer: Shhh Sri sir will hear you, shhh...Sri Sir…you’re enjoying hopping

Srinivasan: I have not digested my lunch only

Astrologer: For team morale sir, we must lead the ways

The CSK team is gathered in the hall, they start to get into their CSK India Cements' sacks.

Srikkanth is excited, he's just spotted his son, and makes an effort to run-hop to him in his sack…

Srikkanth: Wadducallit MySon…Anirudha

In his excitement, Srikkanth trips himself, and falls over in the sack; Anirudha embarrassed titters weakly at his mates…

Astrologer: Aaah there you are Mathew Hayden..I was telling Sri Sir that like you played lucky mascot in IPL you will play lucky in semis

Hayden: But I don’t wanna play, mate….ummm Hussey should play…

Srinivasan: Should we start the sack race…boys

Hayden: Can I hit the sack, mate…don't wanna play nuthin no more

Badrinath in sack, tries to get off the bench but falls..MSD reprimands him

MSD (to Badri): Areh, you don’t need an early start…you will come later

Badri sullen face sits back on the bench

Srikkanth can be seen pushing his son forward, while the son tries to shrug  him off. Vijay tries to hop ahead – not hopping straight, he attempts to hop across the line and falls.

After Vijays early fall, MSD shouts at Badri to come off the bench…while the astrologer is still pushing Hayden. Murali is frowning, someone has made the 8 in his 800 t-shirt a zero. Raina puts on skates and gets into the sack. His fate, not to different from Vijay’s. Hussey meanwhile is half way across the hall, Badrinath has just started, Kemp can’t fit into a sack..

MSD (to Hayden): Where’s Morkel, Matt

Hayden: Ummm he hit the sack, mate..

MSD: No he didn’t, I don’t see him in the sack, mate

Hayden walks away, thought blurb over his head – “these Indians”, thought blurb over MSD’s head, “these Aussies”.

A sexy CSK groupie starts to flirt with MSD and asks him

Groupie: Know you’re married and all, but you wanna hit the sack with me...

MSD (bewildered, twitches and then winks): Areh? How does my being married stop me from playing in the sack with you

Groupie jumps with joy and nearly jumps MSD there…

MSD (as if looking into camera): Ub hoga usli mukabla!


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