A Feast Of Cricket's Guilty Pleasures

The first few days have established the atmosphere nicely, aided by Bangladesh's sashaying around their own party looking like a million dollars, but the hubbub is about to increase noticeably. The A-listers have arrived, hoovering up the remaining canapés, distracting the snappers and showing off their entourages. Only the bolshevism shown by Ireland looks like preventing the Super 10 stage from resembling a Full Members' club, as notions of equality and opportunity are replaced by the established batting order.

The World T20, in all its unpredictable, telegenic, effervescent glory, has established itself as a tournament that gives with both hands: the games come thick and fast, high in calorie content and E-numbers, but the weight is quickly shed. With a few vigorous blows a batsman is back in form, while bowlers can "leave it all on the field" during a maximum of four overs, safe in the knowledge that they are expected to get tonked anyway. Supporters gorge themselves on boundaries and ambient pop (sic), then go home, move on.


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