a shot bird by his own admission

Canine Fanciers,

At long long long last MJ Clarke finally gets the respect from the general public that he so richly deserves but thought he had waited in vain for, for all these years...
And what did it take?
The death of a mate.
On the field of battle, if that's not putting too fine a point on it.
Suddenly, everything is changed and different.
Unintended consequences galore.
Here's a bloke who got a standing ovation coming into bat at Adelaide; something he would NEVER have got a fortnight ago, when the selectors were on the verge of dropping him over some terrible misunderstanding about fitness regime or something or another.
Of course, MJ Clarke and the Hughes family conducted themselves with admirable dignity during the terrible state of affairs, much to their credit.
And just after it came time to bring in your bat from the front porch at the start of the hastily cobbled together first test match, the Captain goes down in a screaming heap, after putting on a very well made half century.
Everyone feared that he would forever go down in the scorebook at 60 retired hurt, and that would be that.
From the time he picked up a chronic case of Shagger's Back when he was just 19 years old he knew that he'd gone too long and too hard on the workbench.
And who can blame him with the lie downs he's had?
But no.
Not happy with that; so having crashed, decided to crash through and make his hundred - bugger the agonising pain - and in the process managed to elevate himself to somewhere near national hero status.
That's the enchanting thing about Test cricket - you can go from day one wailing and gnashing of teeth, to second day heroics.
A "Captain's Knock" in the finest sense of the phrase, and everyone in the ground, nay the country, knew it.
And then late in the proceedings on Day Five he does the other hammy a mischief and declares on the wireless "I'm farked. Gorn for the season" or words to that effect.
As my Spy at the Ground telegraphed through "how many times do we have to witness the death and resurrection of Michael Clarke in this match?"
No need to worry, now.
Pup is a shot bird by his own admission.
"I may never play cricket again".
Keeping wickets is no place to run the game from, so have a Board Meeting and tell the Chairman and the Three Wise Men to appoint SPD Smith as Captain forthwith, and be done with it.
By all accounts the Baby Faced Killer is up to the task, and is currently on fire in all departments to boot.
MJ Clarke will retire in the knowledge that he had to earn respect the hard way, but in the denoument, at the seeming death of his career, he got it in spades.
Never mind the tragedy heaped upon tragedy.
Just like Glenn McGrath, who filled his boots at Lord's and deserves a bronze bust at the Grace Gates, MJ Clarke similarly deserves the same treament at the Vic Richardson Gates - who else is going to make five tons and two double tons at the ground in the near future??
Doubt we'll see it again in our lifetimes.
Just ask the Stats Guru, he'll tell you all about it.
He's had the abacus whirring.
In any case, the Guru's charged with using his authority to write to the Secretary's of the relevant Clubs, demanding that the statues be erected.
Goodluck Jonathan, with that.
Retired hurt be buggered, Pup thought, until he found as he struggled off the Oval for what will be most certainly be the very last time, that the future was behind him and the past was catching up.
A frightful sight to go out limping, not once, but twice, then, forever.
Final demise is no small thing, but, at 33, Clarkey knows what's shakin'.
Relinquishing the Captaincy won't be easy, but at least he'll be able to dine out in Adelaide forever on his record.