Congrats to the Black Caps, though I am loathe to call you by the unashamedly commercial tag placed upon you by an unimaginative marketing division. Watching you beat South Africa in the ODI series had me thoroughly glued, albeit to a tiny pixelated window in the corner of my computer screen covered in constantly rotating non-sensical advertising.
Your win makes me pine for the green fields of home, to have a ball or bat in my hand and making school children look bad for the last time in my life. Until I have my own children, but then I'll be finding really creative ways to make their lives harder.
Ahh cricket, you beautiful pastime. How I love you, your nuances and pedantic detail, your drama and emotion. You're wrapped up like a cinnamon bun and I want to eat you up.
My love for the game is no secret, but my age is. I hide my real age behind a wall of youthful exuberance, long hair and a rosey complexion. I have no doubt that I'll play the game as long as I am physically capable, but do worry about when that will be. If only because I still harbour dreams of representing my country. I figure if 80,000 people or so fall ill I'm in with a shot and I want to be in prime condition.
I worry though that the selectors will see through my thinly veiled facade when I flash that wrinkly Luke Perry grin and I finally can't suck my gut in any longer. I worry that at that point, despite the low physical capacity of the other dregs, I will be overlooked.
It keeps me awake at night.
It would be funny if it wasn't true. Or does that make it more funny? But be sure I always know where my whites are if the New Zealand team ever need an extra player. I'd hop the fence faster than Fosbury could flop it and they should know I'm always standing by.
There are several highlights to my own cricketing career, a lot of wickets, not so many runs, some unlikely catches and a willingness to compete for every ball. But it's the times I've netted with the Black Caps which I'll cherish the very most. Not because I got to rub shoulders with them, several of them are dicks, but because I got to test my skills against them.
Any time I beat the bat or took a wicket, I was quick to flash a look at Wright or Greatbatch or Vettori or Bracewell to see if they were noting my name down. As if that's the way selections work. "Gidday mate, noticed you bowling there, how dya feel about playing for New Zealand?"
Reality takes a swing and a miss.
While I shake off that glazed stare into the universe, I'd like to mention I'm not all bluff and guts. Bowling to Dale Steyn in the nets last year I had Aleem Dar standing in. I stepped up, engaged in some idle banter, told the umpire what ball I was going to bowl and had Steyn out three times in six balls.
This moment is probably as close as I'll ever come to fulfilling my dream of playing for my country. I've certainly had better batsmen out, but having Aleem there made it real. Steyn also got a serve from his team mates and I grew an extra foot.
Context is a wonderful thing though and I should point out at this juncture that I was unable to dismiss Chris Martin three years in a row after he painfully played inside the line of every delivery I sent down.
So you can't win em all and I'm unlikely (never say never) to make the team. Seeing the Black Caps defeat South Africa reminded me of what New Zealand cricket is all about. Punching above your weight, dreaming the impossible dream and never giving up. Well done lads. You set a great example for all the dreamers out there and I look forward to pulling the fern on one day.
Your win makes me pine for the green fields of home, to have a ball or bat in my hand and making school children look bad for the last time in my life. Until I have my own children, but then I'll be finding really creative ways to make their lives harder.
Ahh cricket, you beautiful pastime. How I love you, your nuances and pedantic detail, your drama and emotion. You're wrapped up like a cinnamon bun and I want to eat you up.
My love for the game is no secret, but my age is. I hide my real age behind a wall of youthful exuberance, long hair and a rosey complexion. I have no doubt that I'll play the game as long as I am physically capable, but do worry about when that will be. If only because I still harbour dreams of representing my country. I figure if 80,000 people or so fall ill I'm in with a shot and I want to be in prime condition.
I worry though that the selectors will see through my thinly veiled facade when I flash that wrinkly Luke Perry grin and I finally can't suck my gut in any longer. I worry that at that point, despite the low physical capacity of the other dregs, I will be overlooked.
It keeps me awake at night.
It would be funny if it wasn't true. Or does that make it more funny? But be sure I always know where my whites are if the New Zealand team ever need an extra player. I'd hop the fence faster than Fosbury could flop it and they should know I'm always standing by.
There are several highlights to my own cricketing career, a lot of wickets, not so many runs, some unlikely catches and a willingness to compete for every ball. But it's the times I've netted with the Black Caps which I'll cherish the very most. Not because I got to rub shoulders with them, several of them are dicks, but because I got to test my skills against them.
Any time I beat the bat or took a wicket, I was quick to flash a look at Wright or Greatbatch or Vettori or Bracewell to see if they were noting my name down. As if that's the way selections work. "Gidday mate, noticed you bowling there, how dya feel about playing for New Zealand?"
Reality takes a swing and a miss.
While I shake off that glazed stare into the universe, I'd like to mention I'm not all bluff and guts. Bowling to Dale Steyn in the nets last year I had Aleem Dar standing in. I stepped up, engaged in some idle banter, told the umpire what ball I was going to bowl and had Steyn out three times in six balls.
This moment is probably as close as I'll ever come to fulfilling my dream of playing for my country. I've certainly had better batsmen out, but having Aleem there made it real. Steyn also got a serve from his team mates and I grew an extra foot.
Context is a wonderful thing though and I should point out at this juncture that I was unable to dismiss Chris Martin three years in a row after he painfully played inside the line of every delivery I sent down.
So you can't win em all and I'm unlikely (never say never) to make the team. Seeing the Black Caps defeat South Africa reminded me of what New Zealand cricket is all about. Punching above your weight, dreaming the impossible dream and never giving up. Well done lads. You set a great example for all the dreamers out there and I look forward to pulling the fern on one day.
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