Sunday, 28 February 2010

Reading Between Lines: Lee quits Tests

"I'm not 21, I'm 33."
# A not-so-oblique dig at the authenticity of Shahid Afridi’s birth certificate in particular and the integrity of the Childbirth Registrar of Pakistan in general.

"Trying to bowl at 150kph for five days is very hard on the body."

# This current Oz line-up is infested by so many incompetent nincompoops that a bowler should be ready to bowl all five days of a Test match.

"My reason for retiring from this form of the game is so that I can preserve my body."

# The chumps in the mainstream media missed a breaking news here. Lee is learning body-preservation i.e. mummification which opens up a new alternate career option!

"It's not the finish or the end of me."

# After launching Acestar underwear, Lee’s imminent ulterior plans include cutting an album with Himesh Reshammiya and appearing in a parallel movie that pits him against Rakhi Sawant.

Pix: The Daily Telegraph
(P.S. Starting this new “Reading Between Lines” series which aims at dissecting innocuous-sounding press conferences, decoding and unmasking the hyperbole/circumlocution/gobbledegook and lay bare the naked truth for the reader’s convenience.)

Wednesday, 24 February 2010

Shahid Afridi's Secret Diary: Ball-Biting

Saled my bloody TV to kabadiwala.

Not asking me what is the bloody because. It gaved me bloody ache in the neck like nobody's business. Every time I switched it on, it showed me biting the bloody ball like nobody's business!

Nobody trusting me when I am tolding it's accidental. They speaking its only dental. Had Inzy Bhai doing it, they would be calling it Inzydental.

My bloody blood boiled like nobody's business. I gave two bloody whistles too and nearly became a bloody pressure cooker!

Every time I looked at the TV, I saw myself like nobody's business. I once mistook it for mirror and started combing my hair in front!

Then I used my head. Saw Zidane doing it to Materazzi. Never knewed it hurts like nobody's business. The TV set on the floor swimmed before me. But I recall who I is. So it should be OK.

I realised the bloody footage must have got stuck somewhere behind the TV screen like nobody's business. Happens with bloody gramophones. Something stucking and you hear the same line repeatedly again. So thoughted to sale it and broughting a new set.

These media !@#$%&* made a bloody fortune out of that footage. It's buffaloing like nobody's business! First they ask for bite and when you bite, these sons-of-what-nuts still have problems! They are jealous of us success fool peoples like nobody's business.

I'm sure when they wenting to hell, the Almighty will make Kakori Kebabs of them and feed them to Musharraf's dogs like nobody's business.

Tomorrow, one toothpaste company approached me to biting the ball again in their commercial. I was agree. After all, two err is human. And I have erred only once. Have seeken PCB's permission, hope they allow.

(P.S. This is the beginning of a brand new Shahid Afridi's Secret Diary series, the frequency of which would be directly proportional to the availability of the required brainwaves.)

Wednesday, 17 February 2010

More Tests in Eden, please

Have you seen them in queue before the ticket counter, Sir? I have.

A student had bunked class. A clerk had played truant. A shopkeeper had concocted a cock-and-bull story for his bossy wife and a youth sold a white lie to his girlfriend to be in the same sweaty serpentine queue with strange people.

And they laughed heartily as they talked about how they made their way and admired each other's ingenuity.

Shoved now and then by the mounted police, these faceless people, brought together by a common passion, had to be inside, Sir.

For just being inside would insulate them from all the ills of their daily life. Inflation, unemployment, marginalization, ideological disillusion, political cynicism, diminishing role models...

In the end of it all, some returned home with a ticket in their pocket and a smug smile on their lip.

Others dragged themselves back. But it was not over yet. As is with life, there always are a few more stones to be turned.

And the match-morning, they would invariably be inside! Having begged, borrowed or stolen there passage.

And once inside, they do wonder, Sir.

They give Harbhajan his spunk, mojo and bragging right back.

They turn Butterfinger into Goldfinger and make Laxman take blinders and do strange things with his willow.

They send nostalgia permeating through the air. They talk reverently about Dravid and indulgently about Azhar. And moan how they miss Kumble.

Sir, they infuse new life in the corpse and make Test cricket jump off its bier and pirouette!

There must be something about these people. Let's have more Tests at Eden, sir.


Thursday, 11 February 2010

Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye!

Stop me if you have heard/read this before.

Apparently, the tolerance level for bad singers is pretty low among the Filipinos. And even lower when it comes to Frank Sinatra's version of 'My Way'.

Nip a potential Himesh Reshammiya in the bud – pretty much sums up the feeling there.

And they don't belong to that shallow school of thought that restricts its displeasure to hurling a few rotten eggs here and a few stale tomatoes there and go home content with the false conviction that they have done their bit to earn a night's repose.

According to modest estimates, half a dozen such poor singers have vanished off the face of earth for their fatally imperfect rendition of the number. The local media keeps a tally of what they call 'My Way Killings'.

The general consensus among the crooners there is that you sing the number in the local Karaoke bars only after you have: i) a bullet-proof jacket inside; ii) updated your life insurance premiums; iii) signed the will in presence of your lawyers; and iv) kissed your kid on the forehead one last time.

So now you know why Harbhajan Singh should thank his stars that: i) he's not a singer; and ii) he's an Indian to boot.

Pix: AP

(P.S. 'My Way' lyric here)

Monday, 8 February 2010

Exclusive: Sneak peek into Pawar-Thackeray meeting!

Blogosphere nearly had its first martyr!

Being a fly on the wall has its own peril. More so when your insurance premium is not updated.

To cut a long story short, Doosra flirted with peril to be privy to the IPL sweet nothings that Sharad Pawar (SP) and Bal Thackeray (BT) whispered in Mumbai!

For the facts, BCCI President Shashank Manohar was also present on the occasion but his contribution to the discussion was largely limited to goggling at SP and BT, besides the occasional feet-shuffling.


SP: Balasaheb, this is not done.

BT: I'm happy you acknowledge it. Sugar costs as much as silver. Pulse drops when you ask about pulse price…

SP: got me wrong Balasaheb. I was talking about IPL. Why aren't you allowing the Australian players in Mumbai?

BT: Allow them! Over my dead body! I just can't let them here. What if they settle here and start driving taxis? Picture them bargaining with passengers in English, and not in Marathi! Whither Marathi Manoos?

SP: Come on Balasaheb, cricketers are well off. Most of them have chauffer-driven sedans. Why should they drive taxi here?

BT: This is hogwash, cricketers being rich. The other day I read about some underfed cricketer, some Afridi tribesman, eating ball. Such is their plight and you want me to believe they are rich? Rich, forsooth!

SP: Come on. He's just a mad guy.

BT: And you guys chased that mad guy? Is it Indian Premier League or India's Premier Loonies?

SP: Come on Balasaheb, what's your problem?

BT: Now that you asked me, arthritis has confined me to bed. I don't see much either. The other day I spilled some secret beans to Raj, mistaking him for Uddhav. The beard itches and doctors said after so many years, the sunglass can only surgically be removed. Hell lot of problems. Old age you know…

SP: Oh...Balasaheb, I meant why don't you let the Australians play here?

BT: Allow them there! Over my dead body. No, actually I can. But I have conditions.

SP: I'm all ears.

BT: Brett lee should become Brett Liquor...err...I meant Brett Leekar.

SP: What!

BT: Yes. Then they should celebrate Valentines Day getting rakhi tied on their wrists by their girlfriends. They should write exclusive columns in 'Samna' and subscribe it as well. Nobody reads it these days you know. Then irrespective of their teams, they would say 'Jai Maharashtra' before beginning every press conference, eat only Vada Pao in lunch and discuss Chhatrapati Maharaj in team meetings. You understand?

Servant: Sir they left long ago. Congratulations sir, this year's IPL will be without the Australians. Mr Pawar made a TV announcement just now.

Cartoon: Satish Acharya

Thursday, 4 February 2010

Make Hashim Amla Gujarat’s Brand Ambassador!

It won't probably come under 'Off The Rocker' head but sample the recent decisions and you know the celebrated Modi acumens too have their occasional feet of clay.

Simply not at their best, neither Lalit nor Narendra (NM henceforth).

Take the case of the Gujarat strongman. Otherwise a sound egg, NM made Amitabh Bachchan (AB henceforth), God bless his daughter-in-law, Gujarat's brand ambassador!

This is when the moth-eaten fabrics, smelly hair oil, stop-start pens and rummy cements that AB peddles on telly are certified dust-gatherers.

And AB visits Gujarat only when his flight can't land in Mumbai and needs to crash-land in Ahmedabad.

Paris Hilton is more Gujarati than AB, you might say.

So why not make Hashim Amla (HA henceforth) Gujarat's brand ambassador, NM?

HA has Gujarati roots at least!

And like all successful Gujaratis, he has only roots in the state while the trunk and branches continue to flourish abroad. What's the Big (B) deal?

Pluck a beard each and HA beats AB, and beats him hollow.

Also consider that HA doesn't even wear alcohol logos, which would have fitted like glove with the state's policy of sobriety.

If NM's heart can bleed for the Gujaratis in Kenya, why not the nearby Durban?

One plausible reason could be that NM doesn't like the name, Hashim Amla. But there is a way out!

Call him Hashmukh Amin then and make him Gujarat's brand ambassador!

Monday, 1 February 2010

7 reasons why Afridi bit the ball

1. Afridi had exhausted his supply of chewing gum;

2. Someone told him cricket ball is called cherry and being the unsuspecting soul, he took it rather literally;

3. He was conducting some rudimentary research for a scientific paper on 'Edibility of A Cricket Ball';

4. He wanted to get back at teammates who taunted his bowling lacked bite;

5. To convey the message that Pakistan is not a toothless side;

6. He was doing an Adam-biting-the-forbidden-fruit-in-Garden-of-Eden impersonation for a reality show;

7. He had a bet with Stuart Broad that his teeth are stronger than the Englishman's boot nails.