Keep Typing, Monkeys!

20/20 Hindsight

In a move that was, like all things IPL, unexpected but not surprising, Lalit Modi has invited a poet to perform at the closing ceremony. The performance being, of course, a recital of his latest work, an ode exalting the league. The hitch: the bard is an American who never has seen a game of cricket. Away he ground at match bulletins, and out he churned this:

Like bowling pins on an ice-rink did wickets tumble
When the ball spun off the fingers of Kumble,
'Twas like the fireworks on the Fourth of July
When the sixes flew off the willow of Ganguly,
One billion point one hearts were achin',
Whenever to the pavilion walked Sachin!
Cricket to IPL is like movies to Cannes,
Unearthing Ojha, Marsh and Nannes!
O IPL, thou art , despite your auctions obscene,
A beauty pageant to men like Jayawardene,
A shot at glory, though the odds are bare,
To the likes of Jakati, Pandey and Tare,
An opportunity to play nefarious fungi
For second-rank cricketers like Tyagi,
Or E Coli,
For V Kohli
And the story of Hansel and Gratel
For Yuvi, Munaf and Parthiv Patel,
Lost as they were. And like Zimbabwe,
Never really in IPL was der Merwe!
A treat it was to at cheerleaders ogle,
As was listening to the outspoken Mr Bhogle,
As was listening to the outspoken Mr Bhogle.