The Jumbo Circus

All hail the IPL. Because really, what choice do we have?

The IPL is back. For those who may not follow cricket (Like Goans and IB students) the IPL is the Indian (but not Pakistani, or if you’re in Tamil Nadu, not Sri Lankans, [AND ONLY SOME RETIRED AUSTRALIANS, but NO ENGLISHMEN or Zimbabweans {because if we pay them 1,000 dollars, they’ll go back home and declare themselves King and break the economy by trying to pay for one apple}]) Premier League. The IPL is the most entertaining event on the Indian cricket calendar, and the only event on Preity Zinta’s.

I don’t really watch the IPL. I much prefer going out to restaurants and bars, where you can do different things, like watch the IPL. And this year, it’s bigger than ever. It has 72 league games, following which the top 4 teams enter the “Play-Offs” which is sporting parlance for “What the f**k was wrong with semi-finals?!”.

IPL is less about the sport and more about the babes who make up the sideshow

The play-offs go on for another 39 matches, and their fate is decided by a Super Over, which is a normal over that was born on the planet Krypton but sent to Earth by its parents when the planet blew up. After the Super Over, you have an Eliminator in which the losing team is eliminated and the winning team goes on to the final in which they’re auctioned off to some new idiot with money to burn because the current owners are broke.

What I love about the IPL is that teams have exciting names. It was so exciting to watch the Mumbai Indians play the Delhi Daredevils in a game that was won by Shikhar Dhavan’s histrionics. Or to watch the Pune Warriors play the Rajasthan Royals, in a game that was won by Aaron Finch’s classy 64. Or to watch the FICCI Fekus play the Pappu CII’s in a match that was won by people who like making jokes on Twitter.
It’s not just the teams that have exciting names. Basic cricket terms get revamped.

A six is a “Yes Bank Maximum”, a wicket is a “Citi Moment of Success” and a commentator is an “I miss Richie Benaud”. But since we now live in a time of great equality, and everyone has a right to be belittled equally, the sideshow also includes women. Now some of you are going to call me sexist and demand that I apologise to the Attorney General of America, PETA and Amnesty International. But hear me out. The truth is, I respect chicks, I think babes are amazing, and I think all maal deserves rights. I don’t have a problem with items covering cricket. I do have one with the broadcaster’s choice of women though. The women covering the IPL are so clueless that they make Ten Sports’ Champions League panel look like the core team at CERN. And Ten Sports’ Champions League panel could fatally injure themselves with a band-aid.

This is how most on-field interviews conducted by women during the IPL go:
Cricketer: It’s always a tough fight, especially on a track like this, and they gave us a bit of a scare, but we won, so all’s well that ends well.
IPL Lady: I’m sorry you lost, good luck for your next game.
Cricketer: No, we won.
IPL Lady: HA HA, so cute. So tell me, how are you enjoying your stint in India?
Cricketer: Dude I’m MS Dhoni, I’ve been here my whole life.
IPL Lady: Well good luck for tomorrow’s game, I hope you score many goals!

But then again, the IPL isn’t about cricket. It’s a muscle-flex by the good men (and N Srinivasan) at the BCCI, a giant gash torn into the middle of the cricketing calendar for our entertainment and broadcast money. Is it fun? Yes, but so are butter chicken and vodka shots, and too many of those will kill you in the end. And yet, there it is, bludgeoning you into submission every night for the next 50 days, so you either change the channel or sit and watch the gravy train go by. Either way, know this, the BCCI does not give a jhumping juck.

Rohan Joshi is a writer and stand-up comedian who likes reading, films and people who do not use the SMS lingo. You can also contact him on

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