Tags

, ,

Writing

15th November 2010

The Ashes are fast creeping up on us. Like an African hunting dog, or colitis.

Australia’s Test squad has been named. They are legion. They are Xerxes’ infinite hordes massing before the pass at Thermopylae. And we are Spartans. Except less shouty. And hopefully we’re not going to be slaughtered. Also, not so much with the homoerotic grooming – Jimmy & Graeme’s moisturising regime excepted.

Full nets in morning. Recreate match conditions as closely as possible. Flower wants us to “imagineer convincing cricketing landscapes in our mind”. Really? Well, my vision for the Gabba doesn’t include someone wandering past my line of vision talking nonsensical bollocks. Not unless Billy Bowden’s OD’ed on Vicks VapoRub again.

Shit! We left Steven Davis behind in Adelaide. You always forget something on holiday don’t you? Wonder if we can get the hotel to post him on to us?

Afternoon knockabout against press pack. Man they’re an unfit lot. Half of them walk like extras from Dawn of the Dead, the other half look like they’ve been winched out of bed as part of a Jerry Springer intervention special. Level of fielding was somewhere between Stephen Hawking and a brick. Buggers had a ringer though. The really out of shape one turned out to be Mark Cosgrove.

It’s true what they say; you just can’t trust the press.

Advertisements