The View From Row Z

At this early stage, the IPL narrative lacks a little coherence. No sooner has one sweaty pro finished explaining himself post-match than another pair of bright-eyed captains are strolling out to fling a coin in the air. No team, not even Punjab, can be out of it this early and so there are no big winners or losers yet. As a film script, it needs work; perhaps cut to the knockout stages, throw in a few more last-ball thrillers. And lose the cheerleaders.

Still, if the plot is confusing, there are plenty of compelling characters to keep you enthralled, including two early contenders for the role of unlikely hero. If the IPL were a Hollywood film, perhaps one of those cute animated ones featuring the voice of Johnny Depp, Tom Hanks or Harsha Bhogle, these two gentlemen would be ideal for the parts of the hapless underdogs who take on the mafia or who stumble into a Wild West saloon bar dressed as chickens.

First there is the underrated newcomer, an awkward-looking lanky boy from a small island, with a wonky name. When his name appears on the team sheet of the Rajasthan Royals, everyone scratches their heads. Who is this guy? Kevon? What’s wrong with Kevin? Does he think he’s something special? And what’s he doing? Call that a run-up? Oh boy, he’s going to make a fool of himself, I can’t watch…

Week one of IPL 5 has been a touch frenetic. Like a kennel full of eager puppies released into an open field, the players have been tearing about all over the place. Fielders have been flinging whatever is to hand at the stumps: balls, pebbles, beetles, water bottles, plastic chairs, and more often than not the ball has gone whizzing past the sticky things, initiating another exciting game of chase and fetch.

And it’s not just the fielders who’ve been hyped up like toddlers after a long car journey. With the eyes of millions on them, some of the batsmen have overdosed on adrenalin, going about their business with the reckless abandon of mad axemen on the run from the police, swinging away as though each chance to smash a cricket ball might be their last.

Take Suresh Raina. One of the IPL’s crack leather dispatchers, he’s always done his thing with a certain style. But when Deccan’s Dan Christian came on to bowl, Suresh went berserk. Ball one he heaved over extra cover with all the panache of a sumo wrestler flinging a sack of potatoes into a van. Ball two he swung at so hard that he nearly knocked himself out with his own bat. Ball three he hit straight up in the air with his eyes closed.

I suspect, if she’s being honest with herself, Katy Perry only has the vaguest idea what all that was about. But still, a gig’s a gig, and she fulfilled her contractual obligations admirably, as did MS Dhoni and chums, who were required to stand on stage in their best canary yellow outfits, like self-conscious children at a family gathering, with Priyanka Chopra in the role of the embarrassing aunt. At least they didn’t have to sing.

Game one of 76 wasn’t lacking in showbiz either. Mumbai are as glamorous as sweaty men in polyester can get and took to the field sporting the kind of costumes you usually see worn by circus trapeze artists, complete with fetching gold café lame flashes. And in the commentary booth, we welcomed back the unique vocal stylings of Mr Daniel Morrison, with his trademark mix of 1980s New Zealand street slang and random. Pauses.

Early on in proceedings, he gave us all food for thought by reminding us of that old adage, “a fast game is a good game”, although he did then have to clarify that it wasn’t that old, and since we’d never heard of it before, it didn’t really qualify as an adage either. In any case, today’s game was neither fast nor good. At one point Chennai went 28 balls without scoring a boundary, which quite frankly is heresy in the church of Twenty20.

Tuesday, 3rd April “So you really watch it? All of it?”

Yes it’s true. My name is Andrew Hughes and I have an IPL problem. It isn’t the same problem that most English people have with the IPL. Those three letters don’t provoke me to derisive nasal sounds or to mutter dismissively about “Indian domestic cricket” from behind the county pages of the Times.

No, my IPL problem is that for a few weeks every spring it takes over my life, but I can’t talk to anyone about it. I am the only English person I know who watches the thing. Incredulity is the most popular reaction when I tell people I’m looking forward to the IPL, followed by benign amusement and then concern for my state of mind.