Wednesday, 30 May 2012


A civilized sport, a day out for many across nations where picnics can be consumed whilst enjoying the sound of balls being batted about and wickets being taken.

Well at least it was!

What was a wholesome pinnacle of sport for the class system has been debased by those who are frankly no better than football hooligans. Yobos lie half naked gulping down pint after pint of overpriced larger and spraying half eaten burger remains over those unsuspected few sat around them. Air horns blare out from stands that Jerusalem once issued forth from. 

Blue hazes hang over stands from the language used and every Tom, Dick and Harry tries to claim membership in the Barmy Army when they come to but one game dressed as some form of supposed children's entertainment and don't know the difference between a wicket and a boundary.

This I know to be true from more than mere conjecture as the irritating Fred Barlow made me accompany him to a match. Now several things annoyed me about the whole occasion 1) My guns were confiscated until the end of the match and at least five people within spitting difference needed a bullet to dissuade them from idiotic activities. 2) Skin tight leather is not comfortable to sit in in 30 degree heat with no shade and no breeze. 3) Not once during the day did Fred buy me an ice cream.

I had always seen cricket as something akin to Wimbledon in the untouchable stakes.  An unshakable pillar, a cornerstone of true culture that would stand the test of time. Sadly it seems that when taking centre court there will be less Pimms, strawberries and cream and more Carling and pork scratchings this year given the fall of cricket.

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