With all the walk/don't walk talk, it got me thinking about some bad decisions that have gone against me.
-----
I'll never forget my absolute worst.
I was opening the batting and I was flying. Tiny ground, fast outfield. A big score was mine for the taking.
I'd raced to 30 from a few overs when a new bowler came on. Think Chris Harris from NZ, a mere dobbler. Cannon fodder. I asked for centre again to re-focus and prepare myself for the carnage that was about to unfold. His first ball, a sad little leg cutter, rolled out of his hand so slowly I thought it would stop in mid air. Being his first delivery, I decided to give it some respect and see if he extracted any movement from the pitch.
I plonked my front foot down to play a forward defensive shot, bat solidly beside my pad. Boycott would have been proud. To my surprise, the ball deviated slightly and took a thick edge, bouncing just before 2nd slip. The bowler went up with a groan and I turned around to see the ball sneak through the slipper's legs towards third man so took off for a single.
Suddenly, things got weird. The opposition started laughing and whooping, like 11 jacked up hyenas. I looked up at the umpire, an obese specimen with a face only a mother could love. His chubby, sausage like index finger was raised in the air.
I was out.
I looked back at my stumps. Perhaps I had trodden on them in my haste to run off for a single. Alas, the castle was undisturbed. I shuffled towards the umpire:
"How am I out?"
"LBW"
I stammered something about edging it through slips but this not so jolly fat man would hear none of it.
"You're out. Piss off"
I trudged off the ground, my dreams shattered.
I was 9 years old. Hopefully I'll get over it one day.
-----
I'll never forget my absolute worst.
I was opening the batting and I was flying. Tiny ground, fast outfield. A big score was mine for the taking.
I'd raced to 30 from a few overs when a new bowler came on. Think Chris Harris from NZ, a mere dobbler. Cannon fodder. I asked for centre again to re-focus and prepare myself for the carnage that was about to unfold. His first ball, a sad little leg cutter, rolled out of his hand so slowly I thought it would stop in mid air. Being his first delivery, I decided to give it some respect and see if he extracted any movement from the pitch.
I plonked my front foot down to play a forward defensive shot, bat solidly beside my pad. Boycott would have been proud. To my surprise, the ball deviated slightly and took a thick edge, bouncing just before 2nd slip. The bowler went up with a groan and I turned around to see the ball sneak through the slipper's legs towards third man so took off for a single.
Suddenly, things got weird. The opposition started laughing and whooping, like 11 jacked up hyenas. I looked up at the umpire, an obese specimen with a face only a mother could love. His chubby, sausage like index finger was raised in the air.
I was out.
I looked back at my stumps. Perhaps I had trodden on them in my haste to run off for a single. Alas, the castle was undisturbed. I shuffled towards the umpire:
"How am I out?"
"LBW"
I stammered something about edging it through slips but this not so jolly fat man would hear none of it.
"You're out. Piss off"
I trudged off the ground, my dreams shattered.
I was 9 years old. Hopefully I'll get over it one day.
Comment