Harris Sportsthoughts

Thoughts about Sport

Play The Game Son

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There is no sport that puts on a more satisfying farce than cricket. And last night in Guyana we had a belter. A game which ended in confusion as the result of a man grappling unsuccessfully with the arcane laws of the sport. Of course the shambles will be the cue for furious head-shaking and much wailing that cricket is being slowly put to an unedifying death by the petty legislation of slow-minded administrators.

But we should remember this: farces are supposed to be entertaining.  So let’s just all relax a little and enjoy these little tableaux for what they are worth.

West Indies coach John Dyson was central to the piece, armed with his clipboard as a prop. He began to check his crib sheet on that clipboard almost as an involuntary tic. And every time he did so, he visibly wilted a little and aged a year or so. It was like watching a sitcom: it wouldn’t have jarred if a snatch of canned laughter had played out every time Dyson had returned to the infernal clipboard. Chris Gayle wasn’t laughing: he just sunk deeper into dark despond.

The contrast with the other dressing room was stark. Andrew Strauss walked off the field sporting the confused but ecstatic grin of a small boy who’s just watched his sister take the blame for painting the cat blue. The England team dissolved into incredulous giggles. Paul Collingwood summed up the mood by childishly attaching a torchlight to his head. Nice one Colly.

And in the commentary box, David Lloyd chuntered on repetitively like a drunk on a bus. “Play the game son, play the game.” Bumble is right of course, but sometimes the fun doesn’t start until the play is over.


Written by harrisharrison

March 21, 2009 at 8:41 am

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