without so much as a sausage

Disappointee's,

As one who has followed the kid's career since he was a teenager and went on to become the finest, most stylish, heavy-run-scoring test batsman of his generation, and was marked out for the Captaincy early on, you'd expect that his unexpected comeback from retirement would be of some passing interest to me.
No one doubts my loving the bloke, but there he was at Pratten Park in Ashfield, just a couple of suburbs down the Old Canterbury Rd from my gaff and a few suburbs east of the streets of fear, batting for Western Suburbs, who were running stonemotherless last in the Sydney District Cricket 1st grade comp with zero points, before he was called up.
The Stats Guru discovered the ground was opened in 1912 and was named after some long-forgotten municipal grandee and according to the official listing is: "very simple in its facilities. There is a small grandstand in the north-western corner with the rest of the ground surrounded by grass hills. For several years the grandstand had fallen into disrepair and had been closed; but restoration work saw it re-opened in late 2007".
The bush telegraph in the corner of the loungeroom chattered into life on Saturday evening, picked up the tickertape, to see a message from my Spy at The Ground reporting that MJ Clarke, batting at No.4, had put together a rusty looking 48 for Wests, against a reasonably handy Randwick-Petersham attack, before being trapped plumb in front [an old problem].
On the second day of the game, Pup apparently made a quick 30 in a few overs to the delight of the massive crowd.
The outcome of the match eluded me.
No idea what the strength of Sydney grade bowling, or batting for that matter, is like in this day and age, but you'd guess that that's where they'd still pick the Sheffield Shield players from.
Early on in his non-illustrious career, clearly remember the most dour, dullest, boring opening batsman ever to play for NSW, Greg Mail, known to his mates as as "Snail" or "Junk", being asked what his ambition and most fabulous achievement in the game would be.
He replied "to play ten years of first-class cricket".
That's setting the bar high, and, goddam it, he almost achieved it.
Nine years...fell just one year short, with the final hurdle in clear view.
The quintessential journeyman.
Happy that he walked away with a first class average of 32.16.
Who or what conviced Pup that he could be anything but a journeyman at this late stage is anyone's guess.
And it's not exactly as if he's fallen on hard times.
Didn't hear a thing Pup said on interview during the brief clip that was played on the television news, being distracted by a large group of bearded men wearing turbans surrounding him, and beaming at the camera.
Who knew that Clarkey was so popular and the subject of so much adoration in the Sikh community?
The fishwraps keep saying he's got a "T20 focus"
Perhaps that's where his future lies -- the IPL?
But you won't find much of the camaraderie you crave there, mate; the bitchiest, cattiest dressing rooms in world cricket, but all reports.
These dudes aint playing for peanuts, they're playing for sheep stations.
Among the spurious "contract offers" being mentioned in the press are a two month gig with Middlesex to play county cricket [two months? that's five minutes in county terms], and a Sydney Sixers offer for the '16/'17 Big Bash season, even though their playing roster is chock full, nay bursting, with blokes who can actually play T20, and make no bones about the fact that they do it for a comfortable living.
Being on the bench for a T20 side aint no place to play.
And there's no captaincy and no test cricket on offer, and for a good reason.
Once you've been to the very pinnacle, and you give the game away, it's a very very very long way down, and what's more, you go out the backdoor without so much as a sausage.
Michael, of all people, you should know that cricket is a cruel game.
Perhaps the saddest event of recent weeks has been the cancellation [no sorry, indefinite postponement] of "The Legends of the SCG Gala Dinner", at which RN Harvey and MJ Clarke were to be the star turns, at anywhere between $200 and $1000 a seat, depending on how close you were to the Legends table.
No explanation was given by the promoter, and no mention was made of the probability that ticket sales might have been a bit on the slowish side.
Oh, Pup.
Help me, Jesus.
How did it come to this?