IPL 6: Confessions of an IPL stump
A painful moment in a stump’s life
“No matter how much possibility is there, whenever you get a half-chance, you just have a go!” – Perhaps the most dreaded order a stump gets to hear the skipper giving his fielders. Yes, you got it right! I am a stump, and at this moment you are watching my siblings on television. After all, the Indian Premier League clearly enjoys the maximum viewership in the country.
I had always wanted to write an autobiography, but tell me how can I write without limbs (silly people who carved me!)? So the thought of doing the unprecedented struck my mind when I caught hold of a struggling writer fooling around for stories and the sudden surge of Confessions Pages on Facebook inspired me to explore the domain of sporadic thoughts.
The life of a stump is heaped with gloom regardless of the fact that I belong to one of the most glamorous sporting events in the world. The hectic schedule, those awful dormitories, standing in the sun for as long as 8 hours – all these are only trailers to a tale that’s more tragic than even the Titanic!
Have you ever considered how it would feel when in a pensive mood you are reflecting on your thoughts and all of a sudden a searing pain numbs your base, and the next moment you find yourself flying in the air with your bails blown off? I hate Malinga, I simply detest that guy! No matter what you are doing, he is always so inconsiderate as to thump in one of his ominous yorkers that’ll rattle your pedestal and leave you in postures as obscene as possible! Man, it hurts!
It really hurts more than even Dale Steyn crushing you at 150 kmph. And I blame the batsmen whole-heartedly. What business do you guys have to leave your guard open like that? Can’t you just offer regular catching practice to those fielders on the boundary line? But no, you won’t. Like a stubborn brat, you’d either get bowled or leave your crease and never return. I sometimes wonder if you guys are sold to our foes.
I remember, a couple of weeks back in a Kolkata Knight Riders match, Eoin Morgan’s reverse sweep had brushed me on the right. On any other day, I’d have let my bails fall off, but I was too obstinate and resolute that day. I stayed put, unyielding and soaked in the impact. Funny thing is that those TV umpires kept on displaying replays on the big screen as if what I had done was nothing less than blasphemy!
I have always maintained that the human race is a selfish one. Else, who would think of fixing a mic on the stump? As if adjusting to the mesh of wires isn’t enough trouble, it’s the humans again who make our lives unbearable! Just think where IPL‘s TRP would have been if we hadn’t shielded our mics from the oh-so-flowery vocabulary those cricketers use on the field! Those altercations viewers get to see on screen are only blank pages compared to the novel that’s written on the 22 yards. Leave alone the continuous affection shown by the bowlers, the toughest part is to filter the words when the wicket-keepers come onto the stage. Seriously, is being foul-mouthed a vital criterion for ’keeping?
The going gets worse when the batsmen reciprocate with the tongue rather than their willow. And all of them – even the umpires – feel it’s our duty to filter all these chit-chats! Hey! Have you ever been in our shoes? Have you ever contemplated how difficult it is for us? Yet, it’s you only who blame us when we accidentally burp and you unwittingly mistake that sound for an edge that doesn’t show up in the video replays. Humans are so inhumane sometimes.
They say when you are in misery, try and look around for those who lead a far more miserable life than you; your sufferings are nothing compared to theirs. Well, this philosophy kind of works for me too. At least I have been spared the despair of belonging to that era of batsmen who would frequently get dismissed hit-wicket when they got a message from their dressing room that their wives were calling. Apparently, it isn’t a nice scene to watch a nonchalant heavy pair of bottoms falling on you deliberately or get struck by the willow (as if the kookaburra isn’t enough) unceremoniously. Yes, I’m better off. At least Rahul Dravid has ceased playing on and now drives the ball away from me and not towards me!
This reminds me of all those batsmen who’ve been kind enough to prevent the white cherry from knocking me down. I’ve loved it every time they have jutted out their pads and saved me. If only Malinga would’ve learnt better than getting his delivering arm low enough to dislodge my towers! Some people never learn.
Footnote: Couple of days back, one of my relations of the Border-Gavaskar Trophy fame commented on how hideous I look in my Pepsi attire. I showed him the Hyderabad Sunrisers jersey and that shut him up big time! Wow! Being an IPL stump isn’t all that bad, you know!