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29th December 2010

Weeee are the champions my fri-end! Dum, dum! Dum, dum!

God, I hate that @#*%ing song. But what I love is a stadium full of 20,000 people who all want to buy me a drink. Not possible to attempt that in a day of course, but being a quick thinking young cove I’ve gone round the outer and collected enough credit card details from drunks to keep me full up with Bishop’s Finger for quite some time. If only Broady was here too, he’d collect enough money to cover all his match fines and still have some left over for a Babycham and coke.

Time for a lap of honour, followed by a quick display of formation sprinkling in the middle.

The Sprinkler has proved an excellent way to bond with our supporters; a great leveller. It says, hey, forget we’re not in the same wage bracket as you – most of the Barmy Army are investment bankers taking six months off to spend their annual bonus – forget that, because deep down we’re just as uncoordinated and embarrassed on the dance floor as you are. Not me, obviously. I’ve got the kind of hips that make Shakira look like Ann Widdecombe. But the rest of the squad move like, well, how you’d imagine English cricketers to dance I suppose. Even the Saffer’s are pretending to have left all sense of rhythm and self-confidence at Heathrow customs. You can’t buy dedication like that…

After the dad dancing it’s back to the dressing room and a chance for a drink with our nearest and dearest – the journalists who ghost write our newspaper columns and forthcoming tour diaries. It’s a sad moment when we’ve updated them with quotes on the day’s play and have to move on to see our family and friends. You know I don’t think I’ve seen KP as happy as when he’s tucked away in a corner with Paul Newman (the Daily Mail cricket correspondent, not the far more interesting corpse). It fair brings a tear to the eye; although that might be the effects of a cheeky little Jacob’s Creek ’82, courteously of Kevin from Bromsgrove’s Visa Card.

God bless you, Kev. I shall party till the dawn thanks to the three digit security number to your expense account with Merrill Lynch.

Now, where was I? Oh God, yeah.

Weeee are the champions my fri-end! Dum, dum! Dum, dum!

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