Sunday, 24 August 2008


First of all, yayyyy! for two reasons. One, we steam-rolled the Aussies in Mohali and Two, Chandrayaan I is successful.

Talking of cricket, over the past year or so, there's been a huge hullabaloo over the death of Test cricket and the rise of the slam-bang version, the Twenty20. While the purists root for the former, the not-terribly-interested-in-cricket-but-want-some-fun type of junta seem to have their allegiances firmly with the latter form. But few can deny that the latter makes more money and is watched by more and hence is here to stay, whether or not at the cost of Test cricket is something that we have to wait and see.

A lot has been written about the origins of Test cricket, and a lot of people with lots of time (LPWLT) on their hands have spent hours arguing about such literature rather than watch the game itself and enjoy it. But few people know the real origins of Twenty20 (T20 for short). Since I am one of those guys with a lot of time on my hands to be profligated on pointless pursuits, I spent time making up a baseless theory for its origins, which I shall now proceed to present in front of the public who refuses pay in spite of hinting, cajoling, hollering and begging by the author, who is, as you might have guessed, I.

It all started on a rather normal day in Bangalore, now Bengalooru, renamed so to satisfy the whims and fancies of another LPWLT. A motley bunch of boys aged 7 to 12 were playing cricket on 9th Main Road, Rajajinagar and another such group was indulging in identical pleasures in SiddaramadiNNe. For the sake of narration, let us deem the former group's leader one Mr R.V, 4th std B section. The latter group is inconsequential and was mentioned just to mislead the readers.

Well, the reality of the matter is that RV was a prolific swinger of the bat with a penchant to connect every now and then and promptly deposit the ball a fair distance away (Mr V can vouch from his couch for this), sometimes to the chagrin of neighbours, inside their houses' compounds. The inevitable happened, and R.V's group (RVG, for short) was evicted from 9th Main Road (TIH, RVG (RVG, FS) WE 9MR, for short). In the face of such adversity, what else can the kids do but to head to Rammandir Grounds? And so, they did. And the rest as they say, is history.

The primary problem with the Rammandir Grounds was the presence of two very busy thoroughfares on either side of the playground. Hence, with high probability, whenever RV swung and connected well, the ball would blaze away into nothingness (more like another kid just swooping on the ball and running away). This problem aggravated over time because of the pocket money that RVG's members used to get was a measly 4 rupees per week, and this loss of ball event would occur every other day, sometimes thanks to the enthusiasm of another member of RVG inspired by the exploits of RV. After the loss of innumerable (3) rubber balls, the consensus in the group was to either make RV non-playing captain or to modify the rules.

When the poor kids were trying to cope with the task of solving this annoyance, another unforeseen hurdle cropped up in the form of mid-term exams. Parents of the warriors of RVG (WRVG, for short) started forcing them to come back and study for the exams after 5 pm. Fast runs had to be scored often to win the matches, but they had to be done without losing the ball. The solution that was hit upon is stuff of genius and the rest as they say, is History II.

The solution was simple, SHORT PITCH CRICKET (SHORT PITCH CRICKET, for kicks). If the ball hit the walls of the playground on full toss, the batsman was out. To save time, bowling was replaced by chucking, thereby causing people like Shahid, Shoaib and Grant to believe that it is legitimate in all forms of cricket. Such was the appeal of this format to the crowd of 70-somethings who used to loiter there with their grandchildren, that they forced the latter into getting involved, and soon a sizeable number were either playing or claiming to play this form of the game. Soon after, floodlights arrived, jobless 20-somethings calling themselves RMC (Rammandir Cricketeers Club) replaced the 7 to 12 year olds and RMC Cup was born.

The ECB saw this, fudged it, and called it Twenty20.

Thassit, now you mofos, find something better to do, I want to finish homework.

PS: I am RV. If you bother me, I will hit you for a six.

PPS: These are some photos of the aforementioned people playing this form of cricket:

Bowling magaaa

Lovely shotu