, ,

Writing3rd December 2010

Ricky Ponting’s getting touchy again isn’t he? There he was, chuntering away to Straussy at stumps. Pointing fingers. Looking like he’d swallowed a bee and was about to crap a pineapple.

More so than usual, I mean.

So what set him off this time? “He shouldn’t be on the pitch,” run out? Time wasting? Contentious referral? Disputed catch? Being Harbhajan Singh without due care and attention? Opposition batsmen hitting the ball too hard?

Nope…Jimmy Anderson didn’t ask Brad Haddin nicely enough to pass the gravy boat.

Jeez. Has he never read about some of the past Australian players? Lillie and Tommo spent the 74/75 Ashes sounding like they were recording an audio book of Charles Bukowski poems. You’d hear better language if a trawlerman got his bollocks caught in a net.

Weird. How can someone who’s 5 ’10 have short man syndrome? When he’s short of decent players I guess.

It’s not easy for us either, of course. We’re been away almost a month and a half now and the strain of missing loved ones is starting to tell. It tears you up to hear the emotion in KP’s voice when he’s finished speaking on the phone. I mean, signing him up with Surrey, what a bastard his agent must be.

I know Broady’s having a particularly hard time of it too. He can’t remember spending this much time away from his hair stylist before and if he doesn’t get resupplied by conditioner soon he’s looking down the barrel of a major flaky scalp outbreak.

Christ, the sacrifices we make. People at home think they understand. But they don’t know what it’s like, man, they don’t know what it’s like.