wracked with disease

Between Seasoners,

On the Saturday of the third test match, happened to find myself in the Lord Howe Island Bowling Club for the traditional Saturday night fish fry.
You know the sort of thing; a chilled foaming frostier as you look out over Hairy’s greens, then a bottle of crisp Chablis to follow, as you chow down on great chunks of Lord Howe Island “Greenback” Kingfish in tempura batter deep fried in rice bran oil, with a wedge of juicy lemon and salt, and a token salad.
You know it makes sense.
Good with chips.
As we walked in, couldn’t help but notice that the cricket was playing on the lone television screen in the joint.
As we dined, remarked to The Good Lady Wife, “we’ll look at that, will you, it looks as if my bloke is well on his way to a ton!”
and sure enough, MJ Clarke made it to triple figures to save the game, shutting the gate long after the horse had bolted clean across the plains of Rajasthan after the Debacle at Mohali.
The Chairman and the panel of Selectors have the most to answer for for mine for sending away the wrong team, and then continued with muddle headed decisions to try to justify their original ridiculousness, only to see it all fall in a screaming heap.
When Pup was on 97 the barmaid started fiddling with the remote control to try to tune in the Bledisloe Cup match from Hong Kong from across the Tasman, on account of there were a few rugby people in the club.
The Lord Howe Island Woodhens have provided just the one Wallaby – in the shape of Skeggsy.
Persuaded her to change it back just for a minute or two, and lo, the cover drive and the kissing of the helmet.
Now we can go to pigs rooting in mud, union style, love.
One of the very few highlights of the past few weeks of grisly test cricket, save the Krejza kiddie’s incredible fluke ten fa on debut!
Like scoring a double ton, and then finding yourself never picked again!
No surprise here that Cap’n’ Cockhead decided to save his own bacon in the last.
Why wouldn’t you?
No use being hoisted on your own petard, is there?
If you were The Captain of Australia, you certainly wouldn’t want to surrender the title to the likes of Clarke in a hurry, even if it was for only one match, and even if you knew Pup would do a perfectly good job scattering the chooks at the Gabba, for no good reason at all, would you?
Never mind that it’s further evidence at the disposal of the Royal Commissioner.
Never mind that the Vice Captain came back from India wracked with disease, after feigning general unwellness to get a runner on the last day of the final dénouement.
Never mind that Ponting knows well within himself that he’s now an old man in the game, who has always suffered mightily from niggling injuries.
...and so to the Wooloongabba Ground...
A little birdie is singing that there might not be room for a regulation spinner in Brisbane.
Sorry Jase. Sorry Cam.
All seam attack; play two quicks, a seamer, Roy can bowl anything you want, play Fig Jam too if you like, both handy with the bat as well, with Pup’s very odd left arm dibbly dobblers as a last resort.
Why not?
Cricket Australia sent Symonds a brand new tackle box full of barramundi lures, with a note of apology attached, personally signed by James Sutherland with a “welcome back!” PS, but he wasn’t happy, demanding “where’s me new rods?”

Bless.