9 a piece and everything to play for

 Guest piece by the real author- Chaitanya 

A tale of a mercenary, two brutes and a tame submission that never was.

It's IPL season. The 18th season. The one RCB is going to win. The one which will see the first team total of 300. And God knows what else.

Keeping in line with the season's delusions, we started today's game at maidaan on time, and went 30 overs without any controversy and all was peaches and roses. But there's nothing new there. We, at the maidaan, are a well oiled machine. 

Nothing to talk about there. 

There are other things to talk about. We are a bunch of 40 yr olds playing tennis ball cricket. Time is a great leveller. Whatever sparks of talent we once had must have been extinguished by now. There is a certain contentment in this knowledge. There is bliss. When we attempt a shot, there should no longer be a high elbow, the bat should no longer be close to the pad (or leg), timing should be hard to find, if ever and feet should be hard to move. That should be the norm.

But then, much to everyone's great annoyance, you find out that it isn't. Harsha moves like his feet have forgotten the existence of his now substantial belly. His hands still know how close to get to the pads without being hindered by them. And his eye is still fast enough to pick up length, change of pace and the small filament of fur on the ball. 

If I had met him in my youth I'd have hated him. Meeting him now in my forties is even harder. You are not supposed to do the things he does. Not like he does. Not with that consistency. It is soul crushing, hope killing stuff.

It is clear everyone hates him. He is in neither team. And he did himself no favours today - scoring 50 odd, taking catches, inflicting stumpings. 

Contrast that with the beasts that followed. Arjun with his ugly hack of a swing that doesn't know what a straight line is. And when he clubs those miraculous sixes, you see them for just what they are. Miracles. The opposition always has a chance. A top edge somewhere, a missed straight ball somewhere, or at the very least a mix up gifting his or his partner's wicket. This is brutality you can live with.

As is Sameer Mohanty's. It is frustrating to watch his powerful hits. But there are also mistimed hits that go just over the fence. There is some solace in knowing it was mistimed. It was a mistake. Thinking you'll get him the next time.

By the time the carnage was over, no one except Satya was spared. And the Canes piled in 165 in 15 overs. It waspainful to watch for the Wolves. It was a crushing blow. Enough to make them want to give up. Almost.

Vicky teetered on the edge of giving up, his prophecy of a devastating total by the Canes having come true. Worst case scenario.

Vicky excels at recognising and harnessing others' potential. So much so that he forgets his own prowess. He reminded himself, more than anyone else, today of his devastating ability to use the long handle. He gave the Wolves hope. He along with Naren set about getting the Wolves believe in the impossible. Chasing down a total of 166 was never going to be easy. But the Wolves kept in touch with the asking rate. Never falling hopelessly behind. 

A miracle was slowly becoming likely. Then Harsha happened again. For the second time in the game. God! You can't but hate the guy. Him and his smooth hands. 1 catch and 2 stumpings later the miracle that could have been, got sledgehammered. 

All in all, it was still a record breaking day for maidaan. 300 runs scored in a day for the first time. A day full of carnage, rekindled belief and a headache that just won't go away. Harsha - from the bottom of all our hearts - we hate you.

PS: Some guy named Dhruv also did something, though it is hard to remember what he did.