Monday, 29 November 2010

How England and the Aussies tried to kill TC

Imagine Test cricket to be a little balding guy with a WG Grace beard and a Don Bradman cap who appeared at Straussy's door on the fourth day of the first Test.

"Ya going to take a stumble today, isn't it so Andy?"

"Shuddup," Strauss grumbled. "Take a stumble and then pay the Barmy Army four hundred
crates of beer in retaliation. Never."

"But I'll get sick otherwise..."

Strauss wasn't even listening. "On the contrary, I'm going to trott around my crease and make a hundred. Haha, 'trott' around, did you get that pun? You need to tell Trotters how smartly I used his name, he's with Cooky playing Farmville on Facebook."

Dejected, TC sauntered to the computer room. He tugged at Cook's sleeve.

"Hey, you going to get out for a duck today, right?"

Cook gasped. "Are you nutters? Have you heard of Trescothick? And Cosgrove? I suck once more, and they're going to take my place. I'm going to get a double ton."

TC winced and looked hopefully at Trott.

"Don't even think of it moron. I'm going to plough that entire bloody Gabba pitch. That's why I'm playing Farmville, to practise it."

The pitch after Trott was done ploughing.

Half of TC's beard turned gray and he hurried to the Aussie dressing room.

"Listen all of you filthy twats!" he shrieked.
 Watto was the first one to look up. Only Kattich was smart enough not to.
"All of you lousy bowlers who can't take some darn wickets, go play for Greenland! You're polluting me with your abysmal bowling, disgracing me, dumping me away like crap-how am I, Test Cricket, supposed to live then? You get those Poms out for 200 and keep the boring draw away from the Ashes, keep the possibility of losing 5-0 open, otherwise..."

"Otherwise what little shoutbag?" Ricky smirked. He was a bit surprised too, he'd never seen a more grumpy dwarf like him.
He continued,"It's all part of the plan, you know. Mitch being trash and all, stupid Straussy is going to think we suck at playing but it's all psychological mind control really, and then on the big day we strike. We're still figuring out when that big day will be, though. Maybe in the last Test."


"No buts, please. Go play checkers with Binga."

Seething and boiling to a red pumpkin, TC took off his Bradman cap and ate it. Then he cursed, spat on the Gabba pitch and dissolved in fire.

He ain't dead though, he watched the Aussies and Poms go according to plan and draw, and now he's waiting for the next game.

If that's a draw, then that's minus one from his steadily reducing lives.

Ban those draw freaks and pitch curators.

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