A Game With Honour And Tradition

It ain’t cricket anymore – it’s a bloody poor
substitute; way back when, if we gave a bit
of stick to the bloke at bat we knew quick
as a wink we’d cop a gobful from the chief –
he didn’t miss a thing standing in slips, eyes
in the back of his head. Had a turn of phrase
as subtle as a brick – Y’ got something wrong
with yer lip he’d ask? Then shut yer bloody
trap and let the man bat. There’s eleven of
us and just two of them he used to say, not
odds you’d trade for a bollocking now is it?
I used to think he was really a third ump.

Gone are those days. It is no-longer a game
with honour and tradition. The captains are as
willing as the rest to embrace bad behaviour,
umpires couldn’t pass a vision test or hear a
ball snick the bat, administrators, a sorry lot,
compulsive masturbators & anally retentive
when it comes to using technology to decide
when a batsman is out. Spectators are worse
than a dressed-up and rowdy curse flouting
the gentility of the game while commentators
and sports writers make us all feel ashamed.
And since when was ‘monkey’ racist?
© 7 January 2008, I. D. Carswell