I belong to a group of middle-aged, slightly-spherical
Indian men that plays an enthusiastic and clumsy game of tennis every weekend. We
were relaxing at the court-side after an energetic session a few weeks ago, when
a fellow player announced in a voice reeking with smugness: “Sorry, Folks, I can’t
play next week. I’m off to Australia to watch the game.”
“Wow!” I said, “When are you going to Melbourne?”
“The Melbourne game is over, ass. I’m going to Perth
tomorrow for the third test in the four-test series.”
“There’s another game going on in Melbourne,” I said, “It’s
called tennis. It’s the game we just finished playing. But of course it’s only
a Grand Slam event, one of the four biggest tennis tournaments of the year. That’s
nothing compared to an India-Australia cricket test.”
Sarcasm about the magnificence of cricket slides past a
die-hard cricket enthusiast like ice cubes on a marble floor.
“Exactly!” he said, “Unfortunately I’ll only catch the last
two days of the test.”
