Once upon a time, in a land not far away, cricket was a simple game of bat and ball. Bowler ran in, leapt, cocked wrist, released; batsman watched, shuffled, moved forward or back, whacked; fielder anticipated, chased, picked up, threw.

Then came small laptops with big memories, armed with elaborate software capable of micro-analysis, coaches, trainers, psychologists, bio-mechanists, and things began to change. Finally, Kolkata Knight Riders arrived on the scene and, with a 18-member support staff telling 24 players what to do, nothing would ever be the same again.

Following KKR over these past few weeks has been like watching someone fall in slow motion. The best way to get a laugh out of your audience is to slip on a banana skin, everybody knows that — The Three Stooges did it successfully for years, and the team’s owner Shah Rukh Khan has not been averse to a spill or two during an illustrious film career. But broken bones don’t induce laughter quite as effectively as a hurriedly dusted trouser seat, and gradually the comedy behind KKR’s demise has disappeared, its place taken by a tragedy that’s neither riveting nor sublime. It was hard to sympathise with them from the start because they’d brought their troubles upon themselves; somehow you can no longer throw your head back and laugh either.

Only a few sarcastic sniggers emanate these days when they step on the field, hold a media conference, or when another controversy explodes in their already serialised dressing-room. For example, when skipper Brendon McCullum said this week that the team needed to be more consistent, the joke was instantly on him. You are already consistent, merciless bloggers pointed out, having lost seven straight matches and looking good for eight, nine, ten and eleven. Number eight was logged the following day against Bangalore.

... contd.