The Indian Premier League final was a disappointment. It happened a few kilometers away from home. I wanted to get the experience, be there when mayhem happened. I saw the lights shimmering from far, so near and so tempting, but sonny was against it.
“Don’t waste money, papa,” was his advice.
Good thing I didn’t go. He suggests I buy a balti chicken from the nearest Kentucky Fried Chicken and eat it as we watch.
When I come home with the chicken, having passed the D.Y.Patil stadium on the way, wifey has a fit, well, nearly.
“What Rs 400 odd for a few pieces of chicken. What sort of deal is that? We could have eaten chicken for the whole month. My God, what’s with you people?” She doesn’t approve of KFC or IPL for that matter and retires to bed thereafter.
People, meanwhile, me and sonney, are well into the drubbing Mumbai Indians are receiving. Have I said anything about the “Sachin Effect” lately? It’s that effect Sachin’s exit has on those who follow him. They, all of them, throw their bat around like they are in a badminton match and not a cricket match and return saying, “Well Sachin couldn’t make a century, who are we to try?”
That’s why I feel Sachin should bat in middle order, or last. But that’s my opinion.
So Mumbai Indians lost. I didn’t know this for I was fast asleep on my couch. Sonny would wake me up once in a while, but I said I have to go to work the next day, that being today. Reason was: I knew the “Sachin Effect” and what was going to happen.