The auction excitement reminds me of the jostle at Old Delhi’s cycle market — everyone greedy for the shiniest part, but the real value is in the quiet frame that’s held up through a hundred monsoon rains. I noticed that uncapped teenager from Jharkhand, the one who bowls left-arm spin; just yesterday, a girl in my class named Pooja, whose father sells *chole* from a handcart, told me her own wrist-spin idea came from watching her brother’s outswing on a dead pitch. We always look for the fastest horse, but it’s the steady donkey that carries the *rasoi* supplies home — and this league might break a few ceilings, but only if we trust the roots, not just the glitter.

This morning I found the perfect, flat pebble for my collection near the bus stand, and it struck me that judging a Produnova is like that — you must weigh both its breathtaking flight and the hard ground waiting beneath. In our staff room debate, I argued for valuing the daring attempt, but young Pradeep from the maths department quietly said, "Sir, the judge's first duty is to the athlete's knees." He has a point. Sometimes the E-score is a mercy.