Atlas shrugs

With a mean Zeus menacingly cracking the whip, you have to admit that poor Atlas basically had no choice but to fall in line and hold heavens on his shoulder.

In my case, however, running a blog is a matter of choice and not compulsion.

Between me and Atlas, there is a mutual appreciation of the sweats we sweat and the blood we bleed.

Gentlemen-thinking-along-the-same-line stuff, you know.

And we both agree, there comes a time when you ache for break

So Atlas shrugs – he confided to me that Ayn Rand once caught him in the act – and I take a sabbatical.

And if WADA is interested, here are my whereabouts.

I'm off to the sunnier climes of Cooch Behar for the rest of the month, recharging batteries before I return and hit back with vengeance.

7 Predicaments of being Sachin Tendulkar

1. Uninvited Ashes flops, of Australian variety and twittering tendency, pop up for free lunch and free tuition;

2. You have to listen to your garrulous bats;

3. You are asked to recall the Hypocritic...err...Hippocratic Oath and check the pulse of Test and ODI, lying on deathbed side-by-side, before suggesting remedies;

4. You have to reveal something as intimate as your DNA profile for a foul 30 kg coffee table book;

5. You have a fight to fight with no less than AK Anthony and his defence ministry over a Mussoorie bungalow;

6. You have a duty to inspire not only budding cricketers but also actors of cricket movies. e.g. Shreyas Talpade;

7. Vinod Kambli has quit international cricket only, not reality shows.

Become official Royal Challengers Bangalore blogger!

At Doosra, we don't do charity. It's better left to a politician's spouse, retired bureaucrats and shrewd corporates.

But you have to make exception at times when the issue concerns the entire blogosphere. And this is surely the first of its kind, at least in this part of the globe.

To get to the nub, Royal Challengers Bangalore is hiring Chief Blogger -- apart from Chief Photographer and Chief Motivator -- for Champions League.

So if you consider yourself a wordsmith and fancy travelling with the team, just have a go at it.

Who knows maybe you'd be dining with Anil Kumble, sharing a (health) drink with Rahul Dravid and even hobnobbing with Katrina Kaif!

The last obviously at your own risk. RCB has made it clear they won't be responsible for any loss of limb or life for any act of indiscretion on your part.

Details are at the RCB website www.royalchallengers.com.

Remember, your deadline is Saturday, midnight September 20th.

Fake IPL Player is passe. Become real IPL blogger.

Tendulkar equals Rip Van Winkle!

"It (two decades of international cricket) has been a dream for me."

Sachin Tendulkar could not have been more forthright.

Alas, the abysmally chump mainstream media simply failed to grasp it.

I'm a traditionalist who insists reading the lines is the safest way to get the picture than admiring the white space in between them. But apparently, it's in vogue in the Fourth Estate these days to read only between the lines.

Well, let the chumps rot and understand what Tendulkar meant.

For a perfectly normal, average human being who doesn't consider metaphors something like O2 that he or she can't breathe without, for whom the bare stats and mere words are of the essence, beneath that innocuous-sounding sentence lurks a breaking news!

Here is a Doosra scoop.

A little bit of arithmetic and you know that Tendulkar has eclipsed Urmila, if you know your Ramayana well, and just equalled Rip Van Winkle in the Hypersomnia Hall of Fame!

Tendulkar's spooky bats!

Time to withdraw my hitherto-held views.

If my Google search serves me right, I remember cribbing how Tendulkar evoked only awe, not argument and was too polite to polarize.

By and large, I observed he was far from a debater's delight.

But that was clearly another era when Australia held Ashes, Phillip Hughes did not twitter and Dhoni didn't own a Hummer.

Since then, as if to atone for his lack of form, Tendulkar has come out with some jaw-droppers, eyeball-poppers and mind-bogglers that cleared the cobwebs to offer a clear vision of his fascinating persona.

I was particularly intrigued by his recent comment that his bat speaks to him.

Tendulkar understands the languages of wood, and dead one at that!

I guess the Tendulkar household at La-Mer doesn't even raise a precursory eyebrow when one of his bats walks out of the storeroom to greet a groggy Tendulkar a polite 'Good morning sir'.

Or when it reappears at the end of the day to bid him a courteous 'Good night sir'.

Move over Dr Doolittle. Dr Little Master is here!

Contemporary cricket's 7 most talked-about body parts

Doosra gets physical. Well, make it anatomical. That would not only pre-empt dirty connotations but also lend the piece a rather serious tone.

Much like Stephen Fleming talking about blockhole. Or is it Stephen Hawking talking about blackhole?

Whatever.

Gone off the rails a bit? Well, let me put the record straight.

Doosra goes anatomical. Mind you, that is what we had agreed on. And a bit metaphorical as well.

You'll agree, any blogger worth his salt, sugar and jaggery would do everything to bring Lalit Modi and John Buchanan into the picture and hence the detour.

So here goes the list of contemporary cricket's 7 most talked-about body parts, both figurally and figuratively.

1. Spine: The vertebral column that Virender Sehwag, fed up of the invertebrates, insists on in every Delhi selector.

2. Nose: The Olfactory System belonging to John Buchanan, cricket's own Pinocchio, which has a mind of its own and a tendency to poke itself at the slightest opportunity.

3. Forefinger: The erratic appendix in Rudy Koertzen’s body. Some batsmen are ready to bear the expenses if Rudy agrees to get it surgically removed.

4. Toe: An average cricket administrator's most endangered part when Lalit Modi is around.

5. Ear: The portion of Sachin Tendulkar that the latent Mike Tyson in Phillip Hughes wants to 'chew off'.

6. Heel: The posterior end of the foot that actually belongs to Kevin Pietersen but medics insist on calling Achilles'.

7. Knee: The joint of Andrew Flintoff's right leg, a definitive testimonial of how dud NASA is.