Hey, that ain't sporting

The summons had been cryptic and persuasive. Each honcho of the political party had got an identically worded whip of sorts: "An urgent all-party meeting is being organised and you are kindly requested to attend. Please do not send your representative but be present yourself since the matter is of do-or-die importance." The absence of an RSVP at the bottom all but precluded any query there might be about the nature of the said conclave.

At 10 in the morning, queued up before the stadium - for that was the venue for the congregation - were cool luxury sedans and intimidating sports utility vehicles. Each car had the aura around it of a regal chariot, and each person who stepped out looked like a regional raja. Those who follow current affairs on news television would have been able to identify almost everyone - after all presidents and general secretaries of national and state political parties were alighting from the cars. The personages exchanged greetings heartily enough though the keen observer would have easily peeled away the fake layers of affection in their voices.

There were some unpleasant moments when the VIPs were frisked at the gate, and some of their aides were denied entry. "Sorry Sir, instructions are strict. Only the names on this card will be allowed into the venue," said the gatekeepers politely, waving a pink card. An air of mystery hung in the air in the plush conference room at the stadium. Very few of the around 150 people present knew what he or she was there for. However, each was secretly glad that the seating had them all on the same level, no daises, no special chairs. And thank god, there was a top seven-star hotel catering the lunch and tea.

It took time for everyone to settle down, but at length, a much respected octagenarian stood up and without a preamble started aggressively with, "We can't be sporting about this, we have to fight it like we were grapplers on steroids. We have tackled global enemies, now we have to dribble past our home foes." Having startled the gathering into listening to him, he went on for some time and then yielded to another white-clad big wig, whose peroration was equally combative: "Our goal is clear, and if we have to play rough to win, so be it. But it is our right, and this right that has been so assiduously exercised by us till now has to be protected at all cost."

Having heard out the two speakers and realised how truly dire the situation was, there was vigorous nodding all around. "Yes, this is serious, we have to act now," whispered one snow-whiskered fellow. Another, who was diametrically opposite him in age and politics, concurred, "Of course, how can we capitulate after having resisted the numerous attempts to curb our tenures or impose age limits on our eligibility to hold office!"

The consensus worked out at the end was that a committee would be formed to look at ways to avoid disaster under the able chairmanship of a minister of the government, who, as the hoary-haired first speaker pointed out, had done yeoman's service for generations and would continue to do so despite his 94 years of age. "We cannot sit back while the Supreme Court asks the cricket board to reveal how it works. First cricket, then football, soon judo, wushu, kho kho, even tennikoit. Where does that leave us? Transparency is not our watchword, we will run the sports administration as we see fit," he said, and 150 presidents and general secretaries of the country's sports bodies agreed enthusiastically, as if they were all members of one grand, united, undissenting political alliance. Which, of course, they are.

Free Run is a fortnightly look at alternate realities
joel.rai@bsmail.in