Cricket descends to new depths

God: Morning, bad boy, another warm day down there, what?

Devil: Your almighty sense of humour never ceases to amaze me.

God: Okay, let's get down to business. We're here for a barter deal. Cricket can't be accommodated on my roster anymore.

Devil: Well, I already have my hands full with cycling, athletics and swimming. Even those who've descended to hell are so doped out of their minds, it's really hard administering them.

God: The thing is, if I keep cricket any longer, it will lead to some awkward questions on the day of reckoning.

Devil: Day of reckoning? How long have you been putting that off? There'll be international cricket in Pakistan before you get down to it, you know!

God: It's this sort of cheek that had you fall from grace.

Devil: Whatevvs, G! Tell me, what cricket's done to deserve your wrath?

God: It's become grossly unmanageable and gets tangled in one filthy mess after another - and that's just Ishant Sharma's hair I'm talking about. Do you know the last time I pulled overtime was on granting cricketers' wishes during the IPL auction?

Devil: Hmm. It won't be as much fun for me now that Warne's gone steady. Did you know his girlfriend once played me in a movie? Funny how things turn out, isn't it?

God: Yes, very funny. Now, I propose all cricketers who made their debuts from 1990 onwards can be straight away docketed for hell. Of course, some exceptions will apply. I mean, what would be the point if Rahul came down to you. He'd say it's no different from playing for India.

Devil: Hey, that's not fair! He's a hard worker. I need someone like that to stoke the fires. All I get are lazy, good-for-nothing souls.

God: You asked for them, remember? And you'll get plenty more when you take on cricket administrators.

Devil: What about cricketers already moseying about in heaven? Do I get them?

God: No, I don't think that would be right.

Devil: Why not? I'd kill to get Keith Miller. Come on, be a sport. My pad's full of hedge-fund managers, lawyers and Hollywood actors. Have you ever been to a party with that lot? One bunch is always whingeing on about refinancing my hell-fire debts, and when I do get into a loan agreement, the other lot nixes it citing confidentiality clauses. And Hollywood - let's not even go there. All those old bats can do is moan about the heat - melts the silicone, it seems. Now, Miller. He knows how to party.

God: He does, indeed. What if I gave you Grace?

Devil: Amazing or WG?

God: I am going to pretend I didn't hear that.

Devil: What about Him?

God: What about Him?

Devil: Don't think I didn't notice the cut-off year of 1990 you proposed.

God: You want Him in hell?

Devil: Why not? Granted, he's a bit dull, but he'd be a real crowd-puller. And then people would stop comparing him to you. Won't you like that?

God: Well, yes, but it will be an HR nightmare.

Devil: HR?

God: Yes. They've planned team bonding sessions, fantasy leagues, trust games, all around His schedule.

Devil: You have HR in heaven and want cricketers in hell. How messed up are you?

Listen, you've got to give me something I can work with. I'm accountable to my people too. I can't go back to them saying, "Hey you'll now be rooming with a namby-pamby bunch of cricketers who talk like bankers, wax like supermodels, play like first-graders and celebrate like orangutans in mating season."

God: Okay, you win. You can have Him.

Devil: That's the spirit. Now, what would you like in exchange? Cycling? Athletics...

God: Ooh. Ooh. I want Boxing. Float like a butterfly... I love that one!

Devil: Damn! Him? No, no.

God: Hey, you drove the cricket bargain.

Devil: Curse you. This is a hard choice.

God: It's like being between yourself and the deep blue sea, isn't it?

Devil: Oh shut up.