We have a half dozen TV sets in the rediff.com office in Mumbai, and that is just in the editorial section. And when India is playing cricket, every one of those sets is on -- mostly with the volume off.

Not because anyone is worried about the sound disturbing editors at work -- I think, increasingly, it is more a fear that some of the stuff coming out of the box should carry a statutory warning: Listening to this can be injurious to your sanity.

From the instant hysteria of, say, a Tony Greig ("That's a six... no, it may not go the distance... it's been easily held at short square leg") to the nonsensical natter of a Navjot Sidhu, it's all getting a bit much.

The nadir was reached when those pretty young things who were part of the 'commentary team' during the Champions Trophy in Sri Lanka made you reach for a barf bag: 'What colour socks are you wearing?' asks one of the PYTs to a cricketer just coming off the field; another joins the male anchor in explaining fielding positions and the dialogue goes, 'The fielder here, in this position, is called fine leg -- and speaking of that, I can see some fine legs right here.'

'Oh, Charujeee,' goes the PYT in the co-commentator's slot, 'What are you saying, Charujeeeee!'

Increasingly, the sensible comments -- for specimens, check out the cricketing insights on offer when a Barry Richards or a Michael Holding or a Geoffrey Boycott, Yorkshire accent inherited from his grandmoom and all, are at the mike; the sense, sensibility, and silken humour of a David Gower, et al -- are getting drowned in the din.

It's enough to make a guy long for the good old days of silent cinema.

While on the subject, Martin Crowe is brilliant -- among the best there is -- when it comes to analyzing the game. During the last World Cup, he wrote for rediff.com, and some of the comments he made about preparing for the game were eye-opening; time and again his calls on what the game plan of a team would be were prophetic.

Having said that, could he please stop, already, about Harbhajan's batting style? Yes, Bajji with the bat is always good for a laugh -- but hey, the dividing line between humour and degrading personal insult is a thin one and, personally, I think Crowe's crossed it by a country mile.

There was so much said on the subject, it made you wish Bajji was listening, instead of batting out there -- that young bloke has a mind of his own, and he is quite apt to turn around and ask Crowe if he had read any good scorecards lately. Like, say, the one relating to the first innings here -- where a certain Harbhajan Singh, who for Crowe is a 'sick joke', made 20 without the benefit of any reprieves, which was only one run less than the Kiwi top scorer, Stephen Fleming, made with some help.

Face facts. Bajji is no batsman, plus pace of this kind, on a wicket of this nature, will naturally scare players of his ilk silly. To his credit, instead of backing away and letting the ball hit the stumps, he took the bowlers on -- not once, but twice. And put 38 runs against his name in two tries.

Yes it wasn't aesthetic, but then, if you want to see 'pretty', watch him bowl.

It was certainly more effective, though, than the ridiculous slog aimed at Bajji himself by number six batsman Scott Styris, or the 'charge of the light in the head brigade' of a Jacob Oram, against the same bowler.

Pace, at least, carries with it the risk of physical injury -- what excuse do some higher-rated international batsmen have for their ridiculous contortions against the turning ball?

If you prepare a grass court for a cricket match, then Bajji will play a tennis forehand -- fair is fair.

The good bit about Bajji -- and other tailenders these days -- is that unlike in the days gone by, these blokes at least show an inclination to sell their wickets for some runs, no matter what the conditions are.

Singh, Ashish Nehra and Tinu Yohannan between them added 38 runs to the Indian total, just one run less than top scorer Rahul Dravid, in the second innings; the last four batsmen added 28 of the 99 the team managed in the first innings.

So hey, if they have their own idiosyncratic ways of doing it, we'll take that -- and take, too, the runs that come with it.

Incidentally, I think it was earlier this month that Wisden put out its latest edition of the Bunnies Eleven, the world's worst tailenders. I don't, offhand, remember the entire list or the order, but I do recall that it featured the likes of Glenn McGrath, Jason Gillespie, Muthiah Muralitharan, Cameron Cuffy, Steve Harmison, and Ray Price. Not Bajji, but yes, Ashish Nehra, as I recall, was third or fourth on that list.

Not surprising, that, since his Test scores before this series turn out to be 0, 0, 0, 3, 1, 0, 0, 19, 0, 0, with four not outs in there as well. And yet, this bloke, at a pinch, managed 7 in the first innings, 10 in the second, valuable runs in the context of the game.

Reason, I would think, to applaud.

In passing, one of my all-time favourite cricket jokes concerns the ultimate bunny, B S Chandrasekhar. As the story goes, the phone rings in the dressing room, and it is Mrs Chandrasekhar on the line. 'May I speak to Chandra, please?' she asks.

'He's just walked out to bat,' says the player who answered the phone.

'Oh, okay, never mind, I'll call back in a while.'

'No, no, it's okay, just hang on, he will be right back,' says the player.

The best part of the joke is that it was gleefully narrated -- some of us suspect he even manufactured it himself -- by Chandra himself.

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