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!
