Start the day with my usual routine: yawn, stretch, wash, breakfast, pray to Thor for the strength of his righteous anger to level the modern day disciples of Jörmungandr found disguised as Australian cricketers; all followed by some light poolside calisthenics and a tangerine afterwards for a quick energy boost.
As I said. The usual.
The fifth test is almost upon us. How did that happen? One minute we’re dad dancing on the Melbourne outer, the next, bets are being laid on who can bowl out Michael Clarke cross-eyed. Poor Pup, I’m beginning to felt sorry for him; the only way the guy could be more unpopular is if he was caught dating himself.
Finally some good news about Kevin Pietersen: following his ‘we won the Ashes because I can’t carry out even the simplest sporting coup d’etat without shooting myself in the face‘ outburst on Saturday, KP has managed to go all day without saying anything too stupid. Although given he now sits next to Swanny at meals and in the dressing room that might well be a case of hiding an elephant in the herd.
Anyway, I need to get my beauty sleep before tomorrow’s game. If we don’t follow up our success so far with a convincing performance at the SCG I’ll never get into Valhalla, let alone one of those executive boxes at Castleford Tigers.