An Indian 12th man and a rejected Pom once met on a cricket pitch. It went like this:
Indian Man (IM): You can do this Dinesh. It's as simple as carrying drinks. Just pretend you need to serve drinks to the wicket-keeper and the umpire alternatively. It's simple.
Pom (P): I haven't had my tea yet. I can't afford tea anymore because I was dropped from the squad, despite scoring brilliantly. I am a brilliant batsman and I get sidelined for a Hobbit and a Mascara boy.
IM: Wicket-keeper looks thirsty. I need to give him some water. I am the Chosen one, the official drinks carrier. I cannot let him die on my watch. If he doesn't get water now he will collapse. I must save him. Owhy just hit the ball, wait..is he coming this way? But my drinks tray is not ready yet! No you shit Pom, stay there!
P: See, I hit balls then I run. I am very good at running. I can run all day. Mascara boy can't even see because of all the makeup in his eyes. Must recommend Revlon to him. Wait, why isn't that bastard running? Did he somehow here my thoughts on Revlon?
Captain Cobra scoops up the ball and throws it to the wicket-keeper. Wicket-keeper takes the longest time to catch it, looks at the batsmen and then removes the bails.
IM: Good, I needed to go back to the pavilion to refill my bottles anyway. Tata darlings!
P: He did hear my thoughts! Now he is going to tell the ECB, who are never going to take me in the team again because everybody knows that they prefer Rimmel. Must kill drinks carrier. What is this? Is this game not over yet? But I haven't had my tea!
Unfortunately for Owhy, Modi is too busy canoodling his groupies to declare the end of the game. It is indeed a sad, sad day when three blonds and one brunette come in the way of one man's tea sipping.