After making us wait for more than a year,
The Indian Premier League is finally here.
The game of uncertainties is on once more,
And this time it’s played on foreign shores.
‘It’s just a game’, some wise people might say,
‘How can it consume you, in such a grand way?!’
So I begin to warm-up, for an impassioned appeal,
Motive’s to simply wrap them, in this sporting spiel.
The game in it’s new format, is called Twenty 20,
Lesser number of overs, but the fun is still aplenty.
One thing of note, is how they compose a team,
Gods rub shoulders, with those who’re still green.
Players can’t relax, sit-back, take a much-needed nap,
Lest they lose the race, for the orange or purple cap!
Yes, there’s something about, this new-fangled game,
You really cannot help, but a favourite side claim!
Bulls bored by the sensex, have joined the TRP party,
As out come charging, Deccan’s Fidel Edwards and RP.
Matty Hayden single-handedly, can set an entire side back,
When he comes down the crease, for a powerful whack.
The Pathan brothers were born, for this kamikaze cricket,
One bats like a shot, other swings his way to the wicket!
Royal Challenger’s top three batsmen, to Yuvi’s hat-trick fall,
King’s XI have an advantage, but there’s still the great Wall!
The Mumbai and Delhi teams, may blow hot and cold,
It’s a matter of time, before Sachin and Veeru strike gold.
SRK’s Knight Riders have been, pipped by the big dads,
But no one can deny that, their’s were the best ads!
All is not won or lost, on the fast South African outfield,
Over long coaching sessions, quite a lot of it gets sealed.
But all eyes are on the trophy, while they idle in the hut,
As only the top four outfits, will make the semi-final cut.
At such a crucial juncture, now stands this tournament,
A victim of analysis-paralysis, is every team management!
Even in the VIP box, where team owners and sponsors sit,
Some nurse a drink nervously, others just pray for a big hit.
In a nation of billion votes, mine goes out to bat and ball,
The battle is out in the open, guns are not allowed at all.
The common emotion is putty, to a simple flick of the wrist,
The winner is decided on merit, there’s no room for artifice.