April 18 : It looks like a lot of people are getting disillusioned with the Indian Premier League (IPL) and I don’t just mean Subhash Chandra Goel and gang. The murky background stories aren’t letting up, so much so that many Bollywood producers are trying to acquire the right to this web upon
web of intrigue, suspicion, revenge and malice with absolutely no sign of the third umpire. I, like you dear reader, am thirsty for some answers and so I hired a detective who posed as a buyer to crack this case from the inside. This detective came highly recommended and his resume, which stated he had been both a tourist guide and a chemical engineer, said it all.
This is his story, though the punctuations are all mine:
“The bids for new IPL franchises were held at a five-star hotel in Mumbai, which must for security reasons remain nameless. Besides, the management at the Four Seasons Hotel had us all sign confidentiality agreements, as well as pay for our tea and condiments. This I found a real bore as I don’t take tea, and I can barely spell condiments.
We were escorted into a long conference room by a group of cheerleaders only wearing track pants. Frankly, I personally would have had no problem with this as long as they were females, which they weren’t. We soon sat around a round table and while most assumed the posture of elbows on the table, the gentleman on my right tried to be different by going for just the one elbow on the table routine. It was only later, when I had reason to congratulate him, that I realised he had only one arm.
Soon three officials from the IPL organisation committee arrived. Funnily, they were all wearing masks. While two were disguised as the Phantom, the third one made the most striking picture as he came dressed as the famous singer Meat Loaf. Again it was only when we heard him sing that we realised it was indeed the original Meat Loaf himself who had been roped in for the closing ceremony. This begged the question, so which of the two was the real Phantom?
The bidders include two Japanese businessman in disguise — one, an architect, came as himself and the other as the only management graduate employed by the Russian mafia. All were extremely friendly, though I must say the Russian fellow’s laugh was a tad too superficial especially since he only guffawed every time anybody raised their hand, which as it turned out was a little insensitive to the guy on my right.
We were next asked to place our bids for our selected cities on a piece of paper which after it was passed around was put into a ballot box. After this Phantom 1 asked us to give them five minutes. Phantom 2 invited anyone who felt like to recite a poem or sing a song and Meat Loaf started his rehearsal.
After a cold 300 seconds, Meat Loaf was asked to put his hand in the ballot box and pull out a winner. He obliged. But unfortunately his hand got stuck in the box. While Meat Loaf leapt and yelled around the room, a new ballot box was organised and everybody voted again. This time Phantom 1’s far more slender hand picked out the winner. However, since the writing was in Japanese the entry was disqualified. The next winner turned out to be yours truly. Of course, the moment they asked me to deposit the signing amount of Rs 54.7 crores, I turned and fled, knocking over Meat Loaf.”
Thus, the intrigue folks continues, who finally won the secret ballot? Was it fair and square? Did Meat Loaf ever get his hand back? Who was the genuine Phantom? Sadly, these questions may never be really answered.
The IPL bidding process is consigned to a position (like the Loch Ness monster and the Yeti) of mystery. The enigma will endure.
By Cyrus Broacha
