THE only thing I hate about cricket is that I am unfathomably bad at it. Reader, I am very, truly, Bambion-ice-skates awful. Cricket has often been described as a cruel game; those long hours in the field, getting out first ball, bowling for 15 overs for absolutely no reward—these are just a few of the many mental and physical horrors that can occur on the pitch.
However, for me, cricket’s greatest trick, its most cruel joke, is that I spend almost every waking hour reading, watching, listening to and playing the game—yet despite my intense passion, I am still terrible. Like the most deranged of scorned lovers, I keep coming back, knowing that the great willowand-leather scorpion is guaranteed to sting me in the face yet again. I don’t really bat, I can’t really bowl and my fielding is dubious at best. I can sledge, I suppose, but then it’s difficult for the batsmen to hear you when you’ve been stuck on the boundary to minimise the damage your ineptitude might inflict upon the scoreboard.
Bu hikaye Country Life UK dergisinin November 20, 2019 sayısından alınmıştır.
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Bu hikaye Country Life UK dergisinin November 20, 2019 sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Giriş Yap
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