Mohan Master here. My neighbour’s son, a state-level kabaddi player, had to sell his old Hero bicycle to pay the federation’s “registration fee” before a tournament — and still they made him sit on the bench because the selector’s nephew needed the spot. *Paavam*, I told him, in my line of work a leaking pipe is a leaking pipe, no matter whose name is on the bill. But in sport, the rules are bent like an old copper joint — and the man who fixes it is never the one who broke it.

First, I will tell you this: I have seen RCB fans more loyal than the valve in my 1967 Murphy radio — that thing still holds vacuum after fifty-eight years. But loyalty without sense is like fixing a leaky pipe with faith alone; yesterday I watched the boys drop a catch that my neighbour's ten-year-old daughter would have taken in her sleep. Sollalaam, they will break our hearts again, but I will still take my morning coffee and watch the next match — because that is what you do for a team that has taught you patience the hard way, paavam.