shut up, cricks on the radio again

 

with absofuckinglutely nothing else to do

im going to vaguely make an effort to follow the crick again

it happens every now and again

come sweaty southern summer time

its usually in an eighth arsed kind of way

most years its just a slight noticing of results

and by the time i got around to making a clickworthy effort

the only version that hasnt been utterly trashed was over

as a junior beaver©

i was quite the fan of the crick

watched it on the telly for hours on end

mostly bored out of tiny brain

marvelled at the effortless cool brilliance of viv and co

agonised over defeats to perfidious albion

i played it at home 

in the hall 

or in the yard

loved my kit of gloves, pads and bocs

even went to games

with dear old nonno and his uova scozzesi

then with friends

a heaving G was always a good day out with mates

but the purile idiocy of commercial tv has long made in unwatchable

not to mention all the mindless wank 

of dancing girls and oily soaked chicken

plus the plastic gimmickry and commentators who put the boof

into utter imbecilic boofhead blokery

put me right off

at least dear old nonnos tip of muting the telly

and listening on aunty

set me up

ive long since stopped bothering with the screeching commerciality of msm telly

even on mute

whatever those fuckwits are pedalling

in the crudest of manner

is something i want nothing to do with

but an afternoon of clicking into the red crystal setter

to hear the gentle murmur of the crowd

the occasional yelps from the players

and the unpretentious chatter of the aunty's commentators

is a most relaxing soporific

whats more

i now have a connexion and real love of hindustanilandia

and found it a great way to bond with the man on the street/train/taxi/restaurant/fucking everywhere...

'oh you are from there? what do you think about (insert obscure player)?

whose encyclodpaedic knowledge 

soon showed up my shallow and dated offerings

haan!