Hey there, fans and followers of the Trygrrs. Allow me to introduce myself -- though by now, you know me all too well.

I am Process. Yes, that Process -- the trusty buzzword wheeled out whether it's after a thrashing by the Toughguns or a hard-earned Test series draw against the Once-uponistas.

I also happen to be the go-to justification for selecting serial underperformers, as you might have seen in yesterday's press conference in Merepurr, the undisputed heart of the capital.

I've been around longer than you might think -- since the dawn of the gentleman's game, in fact. I helped guide the Calypso Kings through their golden era, shaped the Baggy Greens who built dynasties through grit and method. Back then, I was respected -- a quiet architect of team building.

But these days? These days, I'm exhausted.

You see, everything changed when I got the call from the modern Trygrrs. At first, I thought: Ah, a passionate team on the rise. They'll put me to good use.

Very soon, though, I realised my fate: no matter the result, I'd be dragged out like a broken record.

Lose by 10 wickets?
"The Process was 15–20 percent short."

Win by a whisker?
"We're just following the Process."

Run yourself out in a crucial Test match while chasing a cheeky single?
"Process will not work every day."

And yes, I've watched a revolving door of familiar faces say the same lines so often that even the Merepurr mynas could recite them by now. Not going to lie, I was initially flattered by the obsession.

My reputation now? In tatters. Elsewhere, "trust the process" still means patience, vision, mental conditioning, tactical clarity -- but here? It's code for: "We don't know why this is happening, but please stop asking."

Lately, after watching the Trygrrs toss my name around so freely for the umpteenth time, I've started wondering… Do I have a doppelganger? Some evil twin lurking in the dressing room or whispering from the Merepurr premises: "Ah, just do the impulsive thing. We'll figure out the rest later!"

So next time you hear me name-dropped after a defeat -- or a win, or a draw, or a rain-abandoned match for that matter -- spare a thought for me: a once-proud Process, now reduced to a meme with a reserved seat in the press box.

Yours, deeply depressed,
The Process

P.S. Lately, I've been thinking… maybe it's time I enrolled in a silent retreat at Sreemangal, looked inward for a change and -- dare I say -- sipped some seven-layer tea.