Cricket Uncut
A group blog run by professional cricket writers from across the world
Friday, April 15, 2005
Burning fat
There is an old Awadhi saying, "City aawe, par stadium na jaawe." ("He goes to the city, but not to the stadium.") Well, ok, maybe not, but there could be, and blogging is about possibilities. Anyway, here's what I'm getting at: after a 28-hour journey by train to get to Kanpur, I am in the city but not at the ground. High fever and a bad cold have restricted me to my hotel room, the second time in this series I've missed a day of cricket. (I missed the last day of Kolkata Test because of getting the loosies.)
What makes it worse is that it was avoidable. I arrived in Kanpur with a slight fever, some bodyache and a minor cold. Nothing that a few hours of rest couldn't have sorted. But I went off to collect my press pass at 3 pm yesterday, and was made to run around for it, under the searing sun, until 8 pm. The pass was ready all along; they just like making people run around for it; and when they see you suffer, they delightedly tighten the screws.
The media management of the BCCI is something I won't waste much space on: it is run by inefficient amateurs with no accountability and an inflated sense of their own power. Furthermore, they resent us Wisden boys, especially those of us who also write for the British broadsheets. Some of them are failed journalists themselves, and boy, do they hate us. These guys are supposed to be helping journalists, but instead they're a giant harrassment machine. Some of the dialogues I've had these fellows are unbelievable, but more on that some other time.
A thought struck me last night when I was returning to the hotel with my room-mate, Rahul Bhatia. ""Every time I get fever and bodyache like this," I told him, "I think I'm going to lose weight. It's because the ache so much seems like fat getting burnt. But it never happens." Rahul laughed heartily, and sang me an Awadhi song, which got its charm from the insertion of "rabba" at the end of every line.
Enough of this post. I need to finish a piece, unrelated to the match, by 3 pm today, and because of half a day getting wasted yesterday, then tossing and turning all night in agony, I haven't even started the thing. Let's see how it goes.
What makes it worse is that it was avoidable. I arrived in Kanpur with a slight fever, some bodyache and a minor cold. Nothing that a few hours of rest couldn't have sorted. But I went off to collect my press pass at 3 pm yesterday, and was made to run around for it, under the searing sun, until 8 pm. The pass was ready all along; they just like making people run around for it; and when they see you suffer, they delightedly tighten the screws.
The media management of the BCCI is something I won't waste much space on: it is run by inefficient amateurs with no accountability and an inflated sense of their own power. Furthermore, they resent us Wisden boys, especially those of us who also write for the British broadsheets. Some of them are failed journalists themselves, and boy, do they hate us. These guys are supposed to be helping journalists, but instead they're a giant harrassment machine. Some of the dialogues I've had these fellows are unbelievable, but more on that some other time.
A thought struck me last night when I was returning to the hotel with my room-mate, Rahul Bhatia. ""Every time I get fever and bodyache like this," I told him, "I think I'm going to lose weight. It's because the ache so much seems like fat getting burnt. But it never happens." Rahul laughed heartily, and sang me an Awadhi song, which got its charm from the insertion of "rabba" at the end of every line.
Enough of this post. I need to finish a piece, unrelated to the match, by 3 pm today, and because of half a day getting wasted yesterday, then tossing and turning all night in agony, I haven't even started the thing. Let's see how it goes.
