Right, it’s Ashes time. Excellent! In case it needs explaining, this is a cricket series between England and Australia.
Well this is very exciting. Can you tell I’m trying to be excited? I’m certainly typing in an excited way. I hope our willows are fruitful and our googlys are… ummm…. googly. I hope the slips and creases are not slippery or creased. May our flippers be decidedly flippy and our maidens be, god I don’t know, bowled over? And I hope our wicket is a big fish. Or something like that. OK so I threw the fish bit in. It doesn’t make a jot of difference to me.
You either LURVE cricket or you just don’t get it. Can you tell I’m firmly in the latter camp? My family love their cricket, as does my husband. I have tried to like it, believe me. I went with my husband to a game. The players ran out to a rather limp applause and some dribble, and I started to get excited. Maybe I’ll be a cricket person who says things like, “That LBW was not a duck.” Then they started to play. Half an hour later I had read my newspaper cover to cover. I tried to watch the cricket again. Hmmmm. Men dressed in white moving around a pitch. Some with long batty things. If I wanted to be really bored I’d rather do it at home, so I left.
I just don’t understand it.
I should have known I’d never be a cricket fan ten years ago. My boyfriend (now husband) took me to the pub to watch a game against South Africa. The game went on forever, but I actually didn’t hate it. It was very close and in the end we won. I told my boyfriend that wasn’t too horrible, that stuff actually happened apart from the grass growing. He explained that while he was pleased for me, they were in fact the highlights, not the entire game.
Need I say more.