The IPL is over, and it already feels like a dream.
Was Akon (owner of a South African Diamond mine) really there?
Did I really watch almost 50 games of cricket in the last few weeks?
It seems weird, because I really can’t remember much from the tournament itself.
I know old guys and spinners seemed to play well, the South Africans enjoyed being home and more than a few young Indians struggled with the extra bounce.
It is the stuff outside the cricket that sticks in my mind, the peripheral bullshit of this freak show tournament.
Danny Morrison acting like a coke addled clown. The very rarely seen token black cheerleader. The rest of the commentators getting so far up Lalit’s anal passage that they couldn’t even see the cricket. An odd glimpse of empty stands. Expensive cameras that wobble and are mostly out of focus. The constant shots of SRK acting like he didn’t know the cameras were on him. Fake horns. Lalit Modi having a mobile phone on each ear when the camera is on him. The un- nerving feeling you get from slick subliminal advertisdlfing. Badly scripted and suicidally un-funny pitch reports. Games that sort of morph into each other. And a beauty contest slipped in there somewhere.
And that is about all.
I know more happened, it had to, there were over 50 games played. One every day, sometimes two.
Too much of a good thing or just too fucking much.
There is no doubt the cricket is better than watching a repeat episode of two and a half men, but how much better?
The whole tournament is sort of like watching 300, it is so staged, such a camp comedy, amazingly over the top, and so mind-dullingly entertaining that it doesn’t matter if you forget most of what you have seen.
It is all about the moment, and Lalit knows it; he is the god of all gods, and by the looks of it will be for some time.