A game for West Indian fans. As I imagine the demise of Mumbai, I think of wicked ones from the continent who belittled a man who led Mumbai out with so many miracles. I am not to be excused with my attacks on the gymnast turned bowler, turned batsman . . . I reflect upon a bottle of puncheon and a desire for the one who never outs and how that led to the insult of Lexo Narine. I think of the lands which produce nothing and their claims of bits and pieces. And then I grew sad.

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I think of Cain and Abel

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Now that we've found love outside of puncheon, what we gonna do with it?