So, here we go again. Deep into Sunday night, we'll again have our hearts in our mouths on that final over of another IPL final. Which makes this the right time for Baby Boomers like myself to ask ourselves the question: when did we succumb to IPL's razzmatazz? And betray that game most of us grew up worshipping?
Cricket was once about character-building. But almost overnight, cricket got cheerleaders, strategic time-outs, orange and purple caps, drone cameras, dugout microphones and specialised batsmen - sorry, batters - called 'finishers'. In the 70-80s, no kid ever wanted to be a 'finisher'. The goal was to become an opener, or a dependable middle-order batsman with solid technique. But, today, some of the loudest IPL enthusiasts are Baby Boomers and Gen X-ers in their 50s-60s.
Somehow, this lot seems to have changed sides. The senior cricket fan today lives a double life. In public, he declares, 'T20 is not real cricket.' In private, he's standing in front of the TV screen at 11.42 pm following a cliffhanger.
Yet, we watch IPL differently. Young fans watch emotionally, while we view it more clinically. A 25-yr-old sees a 6 and shouts, 'Brooooo!' Our reaction? 'Hmm. Slightly overpitched ball... In our time....' While watching, we delve into history every 6 mins. Yorkers remind us of Waqar; elegant cover drives of Gower; every aggressive captaincy move takes us back to Lloyd. Our minds are essentially an ESPN archive on steroids. Even while enjoying IPL, we continue mourning the death of 'proper cricket'.
The greatest gift people in their 50s- 60s bring to IPL is perspective. We have seen enough to know that talent is common, but character is rare. We can spot which youngsters are likely to play the long haul, and which ones will be forgotten by the next auction.
We also watch it with certain practical modifications. The volume on TV remains permanently at 38% because someone at home is sleeping, and we are considerate. We wish there were subtitles because commentators now speak at the speed of horse racing commentators. We pause matches every 40 mins for tea, bathroom visits or medication. Unlike younger viewers, we experience no guilt whatsoever about falling asleep during strategic timeout, and waking up directly in the final over.
T20 cricket is wonderfully senior-friendly that way. One glance at the scoreboard, and we immediately reconstruct the entire narrative with the confidence of retired detectives.
Many Baby Boomers-Gen X-ers even develop expertise in fitness science during IPL, discussing Kohli's athleticism, Sharma's trimmed look and Bumrah's injuries. This from men whose primary exercise for years has been little more than hunting for misplaced reading glasses.
But perhaps what makes IPL special for this 'experienced' lot is nostalgia hidden inside the chaos. Every match reminds them of how far India has travelled. We remember listening to commentary on scratchy transistor radios. Remember how we needed regular adjustments of the antenna to our B&W TV sets, and entire neighbourhoods gathering around one TV during Sharjah finals.
We remember when cricketers travelled cattle class carrying their own bags, and earned less over their careers than what today's players make from shampoo endorsements. Today, franchise values rival MNCs. An uncapped player earns more in eight weeks than most CEOs earn in a year. And, oddly enough, instead of resenting this transformation, most 'old-timers' seem delighted by such developments. Because somewhere deep down, we know we earned this spectacle.
We sat through rain-affected draws, defensive captaincy, slow over rates and endless selection committee debates. We survived the era where a one-day score of 250 felt impossible. After all that patience, life owes us a little madness.
