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The Spare Crib/ Abhilasha Khaitan

Eyes wide shut!

I don't know if I should call this career planning, or the golden handshake. But it does seem like they've decided that I've to work for my lunch. There's been talk of videotapes and such, you may have heard the buzz? No, they're not expecting me to buy the recorder. Agreed, there is no such thing as a free lunch, but this would be a mite expensive, even for lunch in Australia, eh? The way I see it, yours truly will be wielding the weapon. Why else would I be included in these long-winded discussions on gadgetry and camera angles and what have you?

As you can see, there's very little emotion coming through from me. I've decided that I would rather be sitting this one out, if only to give the younger lads a chance. The prospect of Brett Lee running in towards me, at a zillion miles an hour, has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I would volunteer to be the damn cameraman, during the match, through each day, each ball. I would! I would!

Let's be dead straight on this one, huh? I ain't scared of Lee. What the heck, this is Boxing Day we are talking about, not Hallo'een, right? Right!! But I must admit to being a mite puzzled. Especially since he's had to so much to say for himself? As has the rest of Oz? Help me a bit here -- I'm a trifle confused about what these selfsame people had to say about the other speed gun, from Rawalpindi. 'Speed ain't the key, wickets are what its all about' is what the refrain was then, wasn't it, when Mr and Mrs Akthar's son landed there and vowed to bust the speed record? I've heard about changing one's perspective, but in just a couple of months -- 'Brett's going to be the fastest ever' thus spake his captain and his ilk. That's what I call a speedy change. Suddenly wickets cease to matter, not that we mind!

Enough about them. About us.

I have something to say. I love Sachin. I respect and admire Paaji. I don't understand them, but that's irrelevant. Remember the football fever, which died down a few days back, and I was so happy? Prematurely. Now we're on to yet another ball game. Volley ball, if you please. Could somebody tell me when we're going to be playing some cricket?!

But they're working really hard, you know? Errr... I mean, we are working really hard! Paaji takes fielding practice too seriously, and most of us were not that, well, energetic. But, we're getting better. We are!

The way we're looking at it, is, given the H factor, we can't be sure of anything but ourselves? The H factor? You have no clue? Come on, I'd like not to mention names, so go on, understand. Man much like the Terminator? Makes my hair stand up, if you can stand a pun? No? I'm not harping on this one anymore, but the bottom line, is we have to help ourselves, because no one's standing in a queue to help us.

Or so Mongia discovered. But that's a touchy story, and one I wouldn't like to dwell on. Its rather sad, really, but he couldn't go to the Gold Coast? And, between Christmas at Melbourne and New Year's at Sydney, and the same in Guj-land, what would you choose? Go on. Tell me? I would hate to have to, I know I would!

Anyway, I'm going to be one busy guy, from now on. Catching it all through the camera's eye. It's a tough life. Hard work and me. Great team. (Why me? Was much happier practicing math!) You never know, when James Cameron gets in to making the sequel of the Titanic -- what do you mean, there can't be a sequel cause the bloody ship sunk? So the survivors can't build a boat? -- anyway, come the day, he just might hire me to do the cinematography bit, right?

And meantimes, while I'm waiting for Cameron to come calling, I can always handle this camera Paaji got us. And earn some brownie points for doing it. Willingly. Unselfishly. So, maybe, just maybe, if I'm on my best behaviour, and if I can pick even one bad action from Sachin (which would be a surefire indicator of how attentive I've been) then I could still make it to team for the SCG.

What's the odds, and where's your money?

Forget it. I don't think I want to know.

The Spare Crib/Abhilasha Khaitan