Death of a sparrow

The thud was a familiar one though a rarity of late. A sickening blow for Jack. Like Silva at Lord's yesterday according to Aggers Jack should have taken better avoiding action. The ball ballooned at least 30 yards away from Silva. Jack fell below the sill. (Pictured) Like the England fielders I went to express sympathy, to check all was okay and took an additional 'hydration break', in my case coffee, in their's surely Harrogate Spring Water now the official water of England cricket, while first aid was applied in Jack's case by the missus, in Silva's by the lime green vested twelfth and thirteenth men.

Helmeted Silva, no tail ender survived to face the rest of the barrage just outside Sir Geoffery's comfort zone. Jack struggled but could not reach his (Reflected in picture.) where he would be safe from namesake hawks. Maybe because of the Window clutter Jack's radar failed him. Tale-enders then for Jack. (pictured) Like so many others mentioned in 'French and Spanish Cricket for Beginners' from Amazon UK it was I that did a cock-robin on the sparrow. Like Aggers I'm prone to the commentator's curse. I'd remarked that sparrows were making a come back. In 2003 when the book was written sparrows were scarce.

"The missus explained that if the poison chemicals that we pump out don’t get the sparrows themselves, they kill off the food the sparrows eat, like bugs and caterpillars and so the sparrows cop it. It’s a bit of a Hobson’s. If there’s no food, they don’t eat and they die. If they eat the poisoned insects they’re dead meat. They haven’t adapted like our town foxes who take away the dead meat from the rubbish we put out. (No obvious comments please, leave that to me)."

I still feel that I put the mockers on the sparrow like Gove has on 'To Kill a Mockingbird' and like Gravesham Council has put on the foxes with their new Wheelie bin approach to recycling.

What comes round goes round. 99-1 at 'Nutrition Break'

The pleasant gentleman, a barrister on a day out of court, who was sitting next to me pointed out that the person sitting in front of us was Tony Francis of ITV Sports coverage and Heart of The Country fame. I should have recognised him from his voice. Reassuring, informative, interesting. Is he still on air? If not he should be. He'd show some of the present day accursed World Cup commentators that being a broadcaster helps when broadcasting.

I saw only two other celebrities. David Gower returning to the JP Morgan ( Not the Irish one who plays for England)Media Centre from his on-field duties looking resplendent in Blazer and Slacks together with a clone far enough down the cricketing scale of recognition (CSR)to remain unrecognised by me.

I tweeted to TMS that if Blower's crane was described as now being vertical Anderson and Broad would be joining Sachithra Senanayake to have their actions checked. I didn't get a response being even lower down the CRS than Gower's clone.

My conscience - a sort of all encompassing barrage of messages emanating from some deep rooted JP Morgan internal social media centre - was telling me not to miss our Cricket Club Selection Meeting scheduled for 7 that evening. I figured that as Sri Lanka had lost only 3 wickets by the 'Mini replenishment' break I'd had full value from my £10 over 65 ticket.

Thanks to the fast train I was able to watch the last 10 overs on TV. I'm almost glad that we didn't do it. I would have had to explain that I was almost there. I hope the pleasant gentleman barrister stayed. He would have appreciated the drama of the final over with the judgement of the the third umpire adhering to the firm set of ethics exemplified by Cricket, Rumpole, David Gower and Tony Francis.

The missus showed me her latest Dry Point Etching (pictured) of daffodils competing for the limelight. She asked me for a title for the work. 'I'm Narcissus' was my suggestion. That reminds me to watch 'Kill Bill Vol 2' to watch Uma Thurman forcing her way out of her coffin as I have a feeling that Suarez will hammer a second to Balotelli's first nail into England's coffin on Thursday.

Each to their own

Past Dreams of Cricketing Reality

This was written in 2006. Admittedly it was an account of a dream reported in French and Spanish Cricket now to be found as French and Spanish Cricket for Beginners on Amazon. But the game was set in Sri Lanka. Scary or what? The book has already put the mockers on a number of celebs and institutions. I'm afraid to read it again. Are you? Well you should have read it in the first place. Read on:-
We were all out for 51. I didn’t face a ball, but unlike the two previous wickets to fall I didn’t turn my back until we all had to walk back to the pavilion. The writing was on the wall after the first two overs. They were 41-1. The only wicket to fall was where I caught one of their openers first ball at the deepest of deep fine legs.

The captain who’d been fiddling with his ear since the end of the second over came over and tossed me the ball. I dropped it. The batsman who was going to face laughed out loud. I’ve never sledged anybody in my life not even on the iciest of conditions. I didn’t intend to start now. The wicketkeeper was that waiter that I’d introduced to the club.

I walked past the batsman with disdain. ‘Remember that bloke who was stumped off a wide when you played for the Shrimpers? I asked him. He nodded. ‘Well he had a fat ass like this one and we can’t afford another over.’ I went back to my mark and bowled wide of it. In his attempt to reach it and still hit it out of the ground the batsman with the fat ass toppled over and was stumped.
I bowled the next bloke first ball. ‘You aint going to face another ball.’ I told the non-striker who’d got most of the runs.

Just to prove the point I knocked the middle stump of their number five out of the ground. The next ball didn’t leave my hand. He was half way up the wicket before I reached the stumps. I stopped and hovered with the ball just over the bails. ‘Cheats won’t prosper.’ I said. ‘Take this as a warning.’ He went up to talk to the new batsman. I let the umpire know and went back to my mark.

This time the batsman facing set off before I bowled. Unfortunately for him not only did it miss the wicket but this time it was me that had overstepped the mark. The wicketkeeper who was now standing back ran him out. The non striker had heeded the warning; this time he hadn’t even followed up and they didn’t cross. ‘Still here then?’ I said hoping he was a bigger arse than the one I’d had stumped. He was.

I set the trap. I moved square leg slightly behind making it three behind on the leg side. I saw him wink at his own umpire at square leg. He suspected another run out on a no ball. He had every intention of not being run out. Even I was getting irritated by my final field adjustments. Once again he set off way before I got there with his tunnel vision looking only toward the leg side fielders. ‘I’ve warned you once!’

I could have said as I flicked the bail off.’ Why don’t you learn to play within the laws.’ All I said was ‘Howzat’. The umpire nodded in that Batistuta self righteous way as if the judgement of Solomon had just been delivered. Of course nothing had been delivered, so we were back on track with four balls to go and four wickets to fall. In circumstances like that you can’t leave things to chance, so I had two bowled and two caught and bowled.