At 9.30am or something like that on Sunday morning, with the Ipl last because of start at 10.30am, and with babysitting at long last organized, I tried to organise an Ipl last review gathering. I conveyed three welcomes, via message, quick message, Twitter and Facebook. Each of the three were obligingly declined; one companion was away, the other two rightly considered my Sunday morning welcomes on the verge of excessively late. What a drag. I wasn't disturbed about viewing cricket distant from everyone else; I've been doing barely that for over 25 years now. What I truly needed was an opportunity to discuss settling, to vent a spot, to turn out a couple of doomsday arguments, to tell a couple of ethics tales, to envision conceivable fates including lifetime suspensions, penitentiary terms, abdications, shriek blowing, free requisitions of examination et cetera.
In any case regardless of the fact that my small Ipl-altering tattle spectacular had worked out, what might have transpired might have been appalling. A round of cricket might have been on, and three genuine fans -all cricket bloggers and authors -might have been discussing anything other than. In short, that generally pathetic of scenarios for a games fan might have been permitted to transpire: the happenings on the ground might have been dominated via what happened off it, to such an extent that the true wearing activity might appear to be a minor epiphenomenon of the positively essential substrate. The Ipl last did appear to be quite a lot such as a redirection; it should have been the essential occasion, yet rather it had turned into a sideshow.
In any case regardless of the fact that my small Ipl-altering tattle spectacular had worked out, what might have transpired might have been appalling. A round of cricket might have been on, and three genuine fans -all cricket bloggers and authors -might have been discussing anything other than. In short, that generally pathetic of scenarios for a games fan might have been permitted to transpire: the happenings on the ground might have been dominated via what happened off it, to such an extent that the true wearing activity might appear to be a minor epiphenomenon of the positively essential substrate. The Ipl last did appear to be quite a lot such as a redirection; it should have been the essential occasion, yet rather it had turned into a sideshow.
But even if my little IPL-fixing gossip extravaganza had worked out, what would have transpired would have been unfortunate. A game of cricket would have been on, and three serious fans - all cricket bloggers and writers - would have been talking about anything but. In short, that most wretched of situations for a sports fan would have been allowed to transpire: the happenings on the ground would have been overshadowed by what happened off it, so much so that the actual sporting action would seem to be a mere epiphenomenon of the truly important substrate. The IPL final did seem very much like a diversion; it was supposed to have been the main event, but instead it had become a sideshow. At 9.30am or so on Sunday morning, with the IPL final due to begin at 10.30am, and with babysitting finally arranged, I tried to organise an IPL final-viewing party. I sent out three invitations, by email, text message, Twitter and Facebook. All three were politely declined; one friend was out of town, the other two rightly found my Sunday morning invitations a little too late. What a drag. I wasn't upset about watching cricket alone; I've been doing just that for over 25 years now. What I really wanted was a chance to talk about fixing, to vent a bit, to spin out a few conspiracy theories, to tell a few morality tales, to imagine possible futures involving lifetime suspensions, jail terms, resignations, whistle-blowing, independent commissions of investigation and so on.
But even if my little IPL-fixing gossip extravaganza had worked out, what would have transpired would have been unfortunate. A game of cricket would have been on, and three serious fans - all cricket bloggers and writers - would have been talking about anything but. In short, that most wretched of situations for a sports fan would have been allowed to transpire: the happenings on the ground would have been overshadowed by what happened off it, so much so that the actual sporting action would seem to be a mere epiphenomenon of the truly important substrate. The IPL final did seem very much like a diversion; it was supposed to have been the main event, but instead it had become a sideshow.
0 comments:
Post a Comment