Much before Manchester United took giant strides into my life, the only sporting passion I had was Sachin Tendulkar . Watching Sachin Tendulkar bat was the only thing that got me going. The mood fluctuated accordingly on how Sachin had performed on the field.

At my local colony ground, me and my friends tried to imitate the strokes which Sachin used to play and I am sure that’s something people growing up in the Tendulkar era also did. And I am very sure that kids even now would rather imitate his strokes than those of MS Dhoni.

As any kid growing up in India, I was always fascinated by cricket from my early years. As a six year old, I had the privilege of watching the only ODI century Sunil Gavaskar has scored and the first ever hat-trick in a World Cup, which Chetan Sharma took. Both these distinictions happened in the same match, my first ever experience in a live stadium. And the memories are still fresh as a daisy.

But this is not about my cricket watching expereinces. It’s about a man who has rewritten history books and changed the way cricket was watched, played, broadcast in this country and who certainly changed me as a cricket fan.

As the clock ticks by, I know that the moments which have made me happy over the last two decades are now scarce commodities. Each century will be treasured more. There will be elation but mixed with a tinge of sadness. Sachin might look unbeatable but it’s impossible to beat Father Time.

Much before Abdul Qadir was smashed out of the park by a 16 year old-kid and the legend was born, Indians had two favourite cricketers. Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev.

The aspiring bowlers wanted to be Kapil, while aspiring batsmen used to ape the forward defensive stroke perfected by Gavaskar. Then the autumn 1989 saw a curly haired boy with the thinnest of voices and a demeanour which suggested as Denzel Washington said in Remember the Titans, “This is my sanctuary”, the Indians found a new hero.

Even before Sanjay Manjrekar scored a determined 218 against Pakistan, all eyes were fixed on how this boy would do. Poor Manjrekar, didn’t get too much credit for scoring loads of runs against an attack comprising Wasim Akram and Imran Khan, who were at their peak then. As if there was a force telling us “wait till you see the boy bat”.

As the legend grew, so did the madness.  Apart from driving bowlers and captains all over the world insane, the people of India were growing crazy over a 20-something boy.

My first ever experience of watching Sachin in flesh came six years after he had made his debut. My father took me and my brother 400 kms away to Nagpur to see India play New Zealand. I knew the only thing I wanted was a century. After all these years of watching him on TV, this was my chance to see him bat. India were smashed to bits and pieces by Nathan Astle in that game. Back in those days a score of 348 was unheard of. But New Zealand did that. Had the crowd given up?

No way! We cheered on and remained confident of beating the score. We knew with Sachin on the field, anything was possible. And Sachin didn’t disappoint. Although India lost the match, I got a glimpse of things to come in the future. A 60-ball 65 studded with a towering six and some trademark boundaries, we went home happy. It was the day when I probably realised, India winning was secondary to me. I was happy to see Sachin bat and the result was almost secondary.

Perhaps that’s why my indifference to cricket these days doesn’t come as a surprise. Though other factors have contributed to cricket falling down in the pecking order, Sachin still manages to get me in front of the TV. The day he hangs up his boots would be the day all ties with cricket would be severed. You can lose faith in the religion and still have it back. But once the man who started that religion walks away, it’s almost impossible to find a way back.

I think, or rather I am pretty sure, that I once lost out on a job just because in the interview I said Ryan Giggs was my favourite footballer. Why I am sure of it is because till the point of that  fateful question, the interview proceedings were going fine. There were jokes about the industry, things like what I would be expected to do once I join and it did look like I had all but clinched the deal. That was until Giggsy struck. As soon as  I uttered his name, the interviewer shot me a look as if I had committed the biggest act of blasphemy by not naming the then flavours of the season Ronaldiniho or Zinedine Zidane. “Ryan who?”, came the retort. “Sir, he plays for Wales and Manchester United,” I replied matter of factly. That was it. All smiles gone, the interview came to an abrupt end and I was asked to wait for the call back from the organisation, which never came.

But such is the legend of Ryan Giggs. Despite playing over 800 games for one of the biggest clubs in the world, winning almost everything there is on offer for a player, people still don’t know who he is. I won’t be surprised if many of you who are reading this wouldn’t have heard of Giggs.

Football in today’s times is not about the World Cup or the European Championships which are held every four years. Club football is much bigger than international football, a direction in which I think even cricket seems to be heading with the surge in popularity of T20 and the IPL.

Giggs has never played in a World Cup as Wales never managed to qualify for the finals. Yet ask any football fan and who is clued in about European football would say that Giggs is one player who they have admired the most. Signed up by United at the age of 14, Giggs has been the epitome of loyalty, professionalism, commitment and consistency. In an era where players swap clubs every two years, Giggs has been at United for over two decades and his performances have been stellar.

Just like a vintage wine, he is ageing beautifully. Even at 36, at times he is one of the best players on the pitch and yet you will never ever hear him giving media bytes or being in the news for the wrong reasons. He lets his football do the talking and it’s a pity that not many could see him performing on the international stage. Then perhaps he too would have been spoken in the same breath as some of the illustrious names. Or perhaps he never swapped clubs and got into the news for inflated transfer fees. Perhaps then my esteemed interviewer would have also heard of him and things could have turned out totally different in my life as well.

As the nation basks in the triumph of its football team’s successful defence of Nehru Cup, I am often left wondering whether we miss the big picture when it comes to Indian football. Not to take away any credit from a significant achievement on the part of the team, I do feel that such victories papers over the cracks which are littered all over Indian football.

Last week I was talking to Baichung Bhutia and one could sense the anger and disappointment in his tone when talking about the state of affairs football finds itself in.

Bhutia said that no one expects the team to win a match let alone a tournament when it steps on the field. So when a victory like this comes along, we are led to believe that all is hunky and dory with the sport, when in fact its quite the opposite of it.

One might argue that these are steps which need to be taken if we want Indian football to become a force to be reckoned with. It is something I absolutely agree with. But along with such baby steps, football needs to take giant strides in all other areas.

We still need infrastructural development if we want to capitalise on such achievements. Two years ago India had won the Nehru Cup but still the overall scenario remains as bleak as ever. Players still complain about lack of facilities such as no training grounds, not enough money being pumped in the sport. And this is after they have achieved a significant bit. God knows what all they would have had to put up with if such victories also didn’t come by.

So we should of course take great pride in achievements like this. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves by believing things like Indian football is headed in the right direction.

On the pitch, it may well be doing so. But off the pitch, there are a lot of changes which the game is crying out loud to be implemented. And no matter how successful we might get on the pitch, if off it things don’t improve, achievements like this will become a thing of the past and quickly forgotten. The authorities need to build on this rather than resting on these laurels and bask in the glory of it.

Sports fans across the globe have always had this obsession to argue over who’s the Greatest Of All Time (GOAT). Hours are spent debating, dissecting the stats, the overall contribution and all the other nitty gritties that contribute to the making of a legend, a word, in my opinion, thrown around extremely loosely these days. The usual suspects in these debates and arguments are Muhammad Ali, Michael Schumacher, Tiger Woods, Diego Maradona, Sir Don Bradman, Roger Federer, Jesse Owens and Michael Jordan.

It’s almost impossible to pick from these pantheon of greats, and very often, it depends on your own perspective of looking at the extraordinary achievements of these great men. Of course, your primary list could look different if you thought Borg was the ultimate tennis player of all time or Pele’s achievements dwarf those of Maradona’s. But more or less these are the names that are bandied around.

There’s a very thin line that separates the greats from the greatest. With no disrespect to any of these great men, in my personal opinion, Michael Jordan sits on a pedestal which any of these men could easily occupy yet they fall short.

Jordan was special, in fact he was more than special. He was unique, a phenomena who lorded over the sport like no one else. He was so good that even God had no choice but to call him God. One might just turn around and say the same about an Ali or Woods. But what separates him from these two is the ability to deliver when it mattered the most.

June 14, 1998 seems like a long time back, and as a basketball fan it seems like eternity. Yet the images of that day, and that shot remain crystal clear. A point down, 18 seconds to go, Jordan with the ball in his hand, made a charge in the Jazz’s half. All eyes on him, he has a sighter and with 5.2 seconds to go he makes the shot and sinks it in. It had to go in, there was no way he was ever going to miss it. A million hearts must have skipped a beat when the ball was air borne for a couple of seconds, but no one was ever in doubt with the outcome. After all it was Jordan, who took the shot, a man who was destined for greatness very early in his age.

The ability to deliver when it mattered the most, in my opinion, is what separates Jordan from the rest. It’s not as if Schumacher didn’t do it. Tiger Woods has a fantastic record at the Masters’ and winning titles from a point where no one gave him a chance. But throughout his career, when his team wanted it the most, Jordan was there. There hasn’t been a single athlete who was so dominant in it’s team fortunes. Of course, people can cite the example of Maradona in the 1986 World Cup. But for all his brilliance, Maradona was always a flawed genius and often went missing in games. Jordan never did. The bigger the occasion, the more he thrived. As his team-mate Scottie Pippen once said, “When we didn’t know what to do, we just passed the ball to Michael.” And he delivered every single time, yes, every single time, when it was a moment to be stood up and counted, Jordan was there. Cometh the hour, cometh the man, could easily have been coined keeping him in mind.

Not many people remember that before sinking that shot against Utah, Jordan had missed five straight shots. He had the courage and the self belief to back him against any opponent in any situation, an ability which only the best of the best possess. Even if the Bulls were trailing by 20 points into the fourth quarter, you always got the feeling that they could turn it around as long as Jordan was around. He knew, his team-mates knew it, the opposition knew it, the fans knew it, hell even people in another galaxy knew it! What was often termed extraordinary for others was just another day at the office for Jordan. You couldn’t help but shake your head in disbelief at some of the stuff he pulled off on the court.

He dominated the sport like on else has ever done, and I don’t mean just basketball. Pick up any sport and it will be hard to find an equivalent of Jordan. A lot of people might come close, especially the great names mentioned earlier in this post. But there was no like him and it’s unlikely to see him getting dethroned from his pedestal for a long time to come. Even his reincarnated avatar might find it difficult to do so, he was that good. As George Bernard Shaw once said, “Some see things as they are and ask why. Others dream things that never were and ask why not.” Jordan not only asked but probably redefined them as well.

More than a half of the Formula One season is over but it has been in the news for more off the track reasons than on the track. FIA supremo Bernie Ecclestone and his right hand man Max Mosley’s over inflated egos had threatened — albeit for a short while — to derail the sport. Fortunately sense prevailed and as of now Formula One remains in one-piece after surviving the Battle of the Egos.

Although the sport has taken many body blows on the track and there is a sense of monotony developing amongst F1 buffs, thanks mainly to the introduction of FIA’s new rules and innovations, a sentiment which I tend to agree with. Not taking any credit away from Jenson Button and Ross Brawn’s dream start to the season, there is something missing from the sport, and in my humble opinion, it misses a larger than life character, which added spice to the sport.

Alain Prost, Ayrton Senna, Nicky Lauda, all former champions had that eccentric streak in them which added to the drama of Formula One. The legendary Prost-Senna rivalry makes you really feel that the current lot has a lot of catching up do in terms of racing as well as adding that ‘extra’ bit to the sport. And then there was Michael Schumacher, arguably the greatest driver of all time. Schumacher was somebody who was absolutely loathed by everyone barring the Ferrari fans for mainly two reasons. a) He was a great champion and b) He was a sore loser, at least in the early part of his career.

Schumacher wanted to win at all costs, and if he knew he couldn’t, he would make sure to thwart his rival’s attempts. Like the final race of the 1994 season, when he deliberately crashed into Damon Hill’s car, when he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish the race. The collision ensured that the title went to Schumacher. He repeated the trick again in 1997, this time against Jacques Villeneuve, though he lost the title on this occasion. Of course, a lot of people thought it was unsporting behaviour and condemned Schumacher for his actions. But such was his desire to win at any costs, that these things never mattered to him.

Can you imagine Kimi Raikkonen doing the same to Lewis Hamilton? Or say a Button doing the same to Sebastian Vettel? No. At least I can’t. The sport has become “too nice” for my liking. There are no rivalries at all in the sport, and that is something it needs very badly. It needs a champion who has to be hated so much that people switch on their sets in anticipation to see what he might pull off this time. Something Schumacher did regularly.

Of course, it would have all looked pretty juvenile if they couldn’t back it up with their driving on the track. You need someone to make those audacious attempts of overtaking that just simply take your breath away, something which came as easily to Schumacher as brushing his teeth.

The sport badly needs an icon, an eccentric genius who can infuse a fresh lease of life. Sorry Jenson, you might be winning race after race, but there’s no thrill and it’s all pretty bland. The sport misses Michael Schumacher. Sunday evenings have never been the same since he put his helmet away.

The other day I went to one of my relative’s place for dinner and we sat down to watch an old DVD of a Simon and Garfunkel concert. Listening to their music made me wonder, when was the last time a modern day rock/pop band came up and had a cult following. And when I say modern day, I mean in the last 15 years or so. I scratched my head, thought over and over and couldn’t come up with  — forget many — even one band which created a mass hysteria amongst music lovers.

In fact, the only few names which I could come up were Green Day, Coldplay, and to stretch the list, I had to include Linkin Park in it as well. At this point, I must tell you that when it comes to music, I am very snobbish. In fact, music is the only form of entertainment, where snob value is the highest amongst people. You will rarely hear someone say “Oh, I can’t watch a SRK movie” or “All Yash Raj Movies are trash”. But when it comes to music, people have erected these mental barriers around themselves, which doesn’t allow them to go beyond the genres which they like. Like a friend of mine the other day said, “I just can’t listen to the likes of Rihanna”. Of course, it’s music, so personal tastes do vary from genre to genre among people.

In my case, I genuinely hate the Hip Hop genre and to a certain extent rap (Eminem is the only exception). Most of the artists sound the same, they have some of the most ridiculous names (what sort of a name is Three 6 Mafia for a band?!) and the words of their songs are inexplicable to say the least.

My wife is the exact opposite of me when it comes to music. Though she rarely allows me to use her iPod, when I do manage to lay my hands on it, I find all genres of music on it. From Bob Dylan to Black Eyed Peas. From Frank Sinatra to Freddie Mercury. From Pink Floyd to Pussycat Dolls. She knows what’s the “in-thing” and knows the songs of artists whose names even I can’t even pronounce. For instance, Soulja Boy, who is apparently a rap artist!. It’s something I really admire, she is always open to listening to new music and gives it an honest chance and then forms an opinion.

This other friend of mine, who like me is still stuck up on the music of 70’s and 80’s, says that its not because the new artists haven’t been that great. It’s just that when we were in college the likes of Pink Floyd, Metallica, Pearl Jam, Nirvana left an inedible mark on our minds. Even in college, there used to be these two groups. One who were always high on music and other “stuff” who preferred the likes of Cobain and Gilmour and the other who’s dose of music had the then contemporary music of Ricky Martin and Michael Learns to Rock.

But even then, Pink Floyd was never the “in-thing”. At least when I was growing up, the likes Backstreet Boys, Boyzone and the million other boy bands were a rage. Girls loved them, guys didn’t like them but listened to them as they weren’t all that bad, while some — as is the case with any genre — trashed them like anything. The point being even they had a fan following. These days, I guess it’s too much about one-song wonders band/artists. People like their songs but soon are forgotten.

So when last week Michael Jackson died, me and wife were having this conversation about how no artist/band in the last few years have managed to dominate the charts over a period of time. She said don’t crib as it’s your fault only. “Who’s asked you to listen to the same songs and artists over and over again?”. But I love them, was my immediate reposte. She agreed that there have been no new rock bands in the last decade or so to have a cult following. But added “Just because your snob value is so high, doesn’t mean good music hasn’t been created post the 80’s”. True, I guess, we can’t sob, sob…when we are so snob, snob!

I have always had an enormous amount of respect for former Pakistan cricket captain Imran Khan. He was a born fighter, a fantastic and courageous leader of men, and had an on field attitude which was unparalleled. He fought tooth and nail for every inch and even though he some might say that he wasn’t supremely talented, he is arguably one of the finest cricketers of all time. Why am I suddenly talking about Imran? Well, this week, I thought Imran pulled out a perfect in-swinger from his repertoire of deliveries, albeit off the field. He said that T20 cricket is more of Tullebaazi (read chance cricket) where one doesn’t need too much planning and it’s more about luck and taking chances. To be fair, he also said that he was happy that people were flocking to see so many people turning out to watch Tullebaazi.

What’s even more interesting is the fact the current Pakistan skipper Younis Khan came in for a lot of flak when he came out and said that he would be disappointed if his team gets knocked out of the T20 world cup but won’t take it too seriously as he equated T20 with “fun cricket”. Even Sachin Tendulkar in a recent interview had said that he likes T20 but it shouldn’t be played at the cost of test cricket being affected. Chris Gayle has already said something on the lines that Test cricket is boring and he prefers the more “fun” format.

Since I wasn’t around at the time One Day Internationals were introduced back in the early 70’s, I am sure that similar doubts must have been raised. Resistance to change is always very strong when it comes to cricket - both for the players as well as fans. But T20, at least to my dislike is rapidly incorporating too many changes. I read somewhere that the ICC is mulling over the concept of an ‘Eighter’. Already the concept of maidens seem to be history in the scorecard, with dot balls column replacing the good old maiden. Sixers are called maxium (prefix a brand name of your choice) before it. And strategy breaks were seen at IPL 2.0 to please the advertisers.

Although the biggest joke, and yes it was a joke only, had to be last week’s New Zealand-Scotland World Cup match which was reduced to 7-overs-a-side. Yes, 7 overs! I mean, for heaven’s sake, we all have played much longer matches in our gullys while growing up. How does a captain motivate his team for such a match? How does a batsman plan his innings? How does a bowler execute his plans for different batsman? Of course, that match could very well be a one-off and I might be reading too much into it. But seriously, the men running the show, need to understand that a fan is not devoid of cricket to such an extent, that he will watch a ridiculously shortened game! He might watch it, but deep down he will find it absolutely cringeworthy.

I, for one, definitely don’t believe that T20 would put the nail in test cricket’s coffin. As a sports fan, I am not too worried about that. What worries me most is, in fact, other factors such as lack of quality players, the current state of cricket in traditional powerhouses like Pakistan and West Indies, and most importantly, extremely flat and placid pitches all over the world.

Please give us back a bouncy Perth pitch, where batsmen actually fret before taking guard. Or the Sabina Park of old, where you knew that you were in for some serious business. If the authorities don’t wake up and do something about these things then that day won’t be far, when Tullebaazi will replace Ballebaazi!

Apart from feelings of bitterness, hurt, disappointment and anger at Manchester United’s meek surrender of their Champions League crown, the other thing which was going through my head was “How will the next three months pass?” No football on weekends mean that the television for the next 80-odd days is a mere show piece for me than anything else.

I have never been fond of odd-number years, which is ironic since I was born in one and got married in one as well. But no international football tournaments mean that you are left twiddling your thumbs and waiting eagerly for the next season to start.

Which in-turn means, that I can’t say no to any of my wife’s humble demands (like a movie or dinner, and on very rare occasions a trip to some shopping mall). Neither can I say no to any social engagements as my wife after saying no to most of the weekend get-togethers for the rest of the year wants to make up for the lost time.

Summer, in even-numbered years, are much more fun since there is always an international tournament on every two years. If not the World Cup, then the European Championships are always there to fill the void.

Of course, apart from football, there is tennis to look forward to. French Open is already mid-way and without tempting fate, I think Roger Federer might just win the one that has eluded him so far. And very soon, Wimbledon shall be here as well and the voice in my head keeps on saying that Federer would avenge last year’s defeat. Though I harboured the same hope for the French Open as well, but even that voice had a hearty laugh at the thought and asked me to stop daydreaming. This was till,  Rafael Nadal was still in the fray. That voice, surprisingly has gone quiet, even since Nadal was knocked out.

The T20 cricket World Cup starts next week as well but since I have a passing interest in T20, don’t think will watch any of it. Though the papers, TV channels, will come out all guns blazing to make it sound as if it is the biggest sporting extravaganza of the year. Speaking of cricket, even the Ashes, this time around, have failed to arouse much interest. The Australian team looks like a shadow its’ old self and England, in my opinion, will flatter to deceive yet again.

And on top off it, the on-going stand-off between multiplexes and movie producers mean that one can’t even go out to catch a movie as well. See, I told you, there is something about odd-numbered years that make sure that summer is longer than usual. Is it just me, or the weather is terrible this time around compared to last year?

After watching Manchester United winning their 18th English Premier League title, I celebrated for less than an hour. Here is how my “grand” celebrations panned out. Saw the presentation ceremony for 5 minutes, which was abruptly cut short by the sports channel. Went online, caught hold of a live stream, saw the celebrations for about 20 minutes and then relived the season for about 30 minutes in my head. After that, it was back to the nitty gritties of life, thoughts moving on the next trophy, in fact, to the next season as well. So in a season, where I had countless anxious moments, was left with almost no finger nails to chew on and took a lot of flak for being anti-social on weekends (more on that later), the jubilation lasted all of 60 minutes.

Family, friends, acquaintances have told me countless times over the years that I have an unhealthy obsession with United. Passion is one thing, but at times they think that I take it on an extreme level. Although I don’t subscribe to that view and think of myself as a regular supporter who just loves the club passionately and wants them to do well.

Though there have been a few occasions over the last 13-odd years when I might have stepped over the line. A few TV remotes have bore the brunt when United have lost a match. I almost punched a very close friend, who by the way is twice my size, when he offered me fake consolation after a United defeat. Things have been thrown, glasses have been broken, and many such things were a common occurrence if the result went against United. I haven’t taken calls, avoided meeting friends, had arguments earlier with my mum and now my wife, on why can’t I just take it as a game. Of course, my wife having known me for donkey years always knew this about me. But I won’t be surprised if one day she penned down a book called How Manchester United Ruined My Life!

Apart from that, there have been times when to watch a United match I have gone to extreme lengths as well. Once, while living in the hostel, just when a match about to start at 1.30 in the night, the cable connection went off. I promptly called the cable guy and woke him up from his slumber asking him to fix the cable. We had a conversation which can’t be repeated here but after a few threats were exchanged between us, he caved in and put the channel.

Then there was a time, when due to the cricket match being shown on the hostel telly, me along with another United supporter, travelled a good 100 kilometres to and fro to his distant relative’s house to watch. I have landed at acquaintances’ houses at vague hours, if there was a power cut at my place. I have wriggled out of social engagements countless times, so much so, people have stopped inviting me if they know there is a game on. People who want me to take part in such engagements are generally sweet and kind enough to not hold such events on a matchday. So even though I don’t agree with the unhealthy obsession, I can understand why they think so.

But over the years, I have mellowed down considerably. For instance, I deal with United defeats in a much better way. I get upset but I try to get it out of my system as soon as I can. Things aren’t broken anymore, neither do I avoid people nor do I find myself switching off the cell phone to avoid messages reminding me of the agony I went through.

Somehow, I think that has rubbed on to the way I celebrate as well. Earlier, I used to be high on a title victory for days. I never stopped rubbing it in to friends who supported rival clubs and made sure that they almost came close to hating me. But now, I find myself sympathising with them, a favour which I am sure they won’t return if the roles were reversed. Not that I am too worried about this change which has happened, but still after devoting so much of my time, I would have liked to celebrate some more. Ever since the weekend, I have been humming these few lines of an Ozzy Osbourne song, “Times have changed, times are strange, here I come, but I ain’t the same”. Well, that just about sums up how I feel!

Two weeks into IPL 2.0 and I still find myself completely detached to the happenings in South Africa. Sure, I saw Sachin Tendulkar bat on more than a couple of occasions. I make it a point not to miss any of Shane Warne’s spells, and if an SMS beeps in about a match going down to the wire, I do find myself switching on the TV to catch a few glimpses. But, if truth be told, I have an attention span of a goldfish when it comes to watching cricket these days, especially T20.

Friends accuse of me having an inexplicable bias towards the IPL and say that I locked the part of mind which could appreciate T20 and threw the keys away long time back. It’s not true, as I said, I do make an attempt to watch T20 and at times do find it entertaining even if not that engaging. Yet, I don’t myself enchanted by the spectacle or be even remotely interested.

I have heard colleagues saying, “Oh, IPL is a flop this time around,”. Others will say, “There is no sense of connect as it is happening in South Africa.” Neither of this is true.

IPL, in my opinion has been a success story so far. And I don’t mean it in terms of TV ratings or the money being made by the franchisees and advertisers.

Step into a sports bar and try asking them to change the channel to watch a football match like I did earlier this week. Dozens of people, not in the most sober state of mind, will boo you and ask you in the choicest of words, to simply buzz off. Somebody even yelled at me, “Get lost you pseudo, want to watch football when our national sport is being played”. Err, you are not watching hockey, freak show, I thought of telling the man but decided against the idea, seeing a Kingfisher bottle in his hand. Though one of the guys serving at the bar did took my side and said he too wanted to watch the football match. But couldn’t do much than give me a sympathetic pat on the back as if saying ‘I understand how you feel’.

Which brings me to the second point, of having no connect this time round. Was there a connect in the first place? Despite people going gaga over the IPL and crying out loud for being “super fans”, I still don’t see any connect so as to speak with the teams.

Facebook status messages change with every victory or defeat. One day somebody is Bangalore’d, so the other day he is creating a lot “Halla” over Rajasthan Royals. Kolkata becomes Kol‘kant’a. And from “Chennai all the way” it becomes to “Go Delhi Go.” Loyalty in sports comes at a premium but when everything is all about fun and games, it’s not too difficult to see why people crib about no sense of connect.

A cricket blogger friend of mine says that you need to watch IPL thinking that the average T20 spectator and an average test cricket follower are two different species. And the game “caters” to different sort of spectators.

This is what I mean when I say the IPL has been a success story. It has given birth to a whole new generation of fans for whom the Royals Rule. And it has successfully managed to divide cricket fans all across the globe in different categories to build an audience for itslef. Silly me, here I thought we were cricket followers and not format specific followers.