IPL Opening Ceremony

I watched it, not ‘live’, but the repeat telecast.

It was S.H.I.T.

The Indian Cricket Board (BCCI), the Event Management Company should be instantly tried for treason. And if found guilty, they ought to locked up in prison for the next 20 years.

Pity Alcatel Prison has shut down.

A metal-wire strapped-up Priyanka Chopra floated in air for a while. I wondered what it was all about. Anyway, I’m sure her heart was in her mouth praying hard the wires didn’t snap, because, below sat an audience waiting to “gobble” her.

What shocked me was that most of the time she and a few others were speaking in Hindi to a primarily Tamil crowd. Even Captain Cool, Dhoni replied to her in Hindi.

Amitabh Bacchan’s poetry – which I thought was beautiful and presented with that touch of class as only AB could have done – was in Hindi too. Rather silly if you ask me.

The South African percussion band and the duo “Colonial Cousins” were nice to watch, but Prabhu Deva’s performance was despicable and outright cheap. I wonder if any of those moral policing groups, who generally have nothing much to do, might have noticed a glaringly obvious obscene gesture and have plans to haul up the dancer?

Perhaps not; They do it at home all the time for want of anything else to do. Maybe they’ll take dancing lessons from Prabhu Deva and improve upon dirty dancing to the tune of ‘why this Kolavari Di’.

God knows how much money flowed into the dirty Cooum River and then sidetracked its way into some dirty pockets. I mean, after all it is dirty money isn’t it and has to take a dirty route?

Time will tell if we hear of another scam called “IPL Scam”.

The cricketers were bored to death. They looked it. Some of them probably haven’t never seen anything as bizarre as that before. But then fellas, it can’t be more bizarre and frightening than some of the females who escorted the team captains through the sliding doors that opened to “Open Sesame” as in Alladin’s hideout.

Who choose those women with faces that looked like a donkey’s ass struck by lightening, and that too, twice in succession?

Ah, well!

Strange enough, somebody was missing. Anna Hazare! I mean, there’s corruption in sports and sports management. Right?

Maybe he was there in disguise, sans Gandhi cap, and Khadi kurta, pyjama, his one plate and one glass. How could he undertake a fast on an evening when Bollywood, Kollywood, Sandalwood, and other forms of timber were present in large numbers clapping to the rubbish of a feast out there?

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