The best part is often not even the cricket. The last day is your chance to see a carnival atmosphere at a Test match. Everyone from the players to the security guards are more relaxed. Things are being packed up, players mingle with fans and weirdness can happen.

On day five at Galle, I ended up being given a beer by the president of the SLC, was cheered on for my suits by the Sri Lankan support staff and walked past the trucks that were clearing out the toilets.

On day five at the P Sara, I listened to a conversation.

It was too weird for me to process, so I just pretended he didn’t exist.

I felt like this when he fell over wickets against India, bowled Sri Lanka into a World T20 final, took a catch that went viral on Youtube and smashed Australia around the G. Now, finally after all these years, I am willing to admit that Angelo Mathews does exist, and he exists well. Really well. Weller than most. Peter Weller, well.

Forget for a minute he looks like he’s been drawn by a Sri Lankan artist trying to make a cool superhero, and that his skin looks so smooth that I sometimes think it’s not actually skin. And just think about the way he fights.
Allrounders usually come in two ways: gifted and lazy, or plucky and up for a fight. Mathews is gifted and up for a fight. He loves a fight. The worse Sri Lanka play, the better he seems to be. Every time I come into some pointless ODI with Sri Lanka already having collapsed to no real chance of a win, there is Mathews, annoyingly stuck at the non-striker’s end, looking frustrated and angry.

Always angry. So very angry.

Mathews really doesn’t like to lose. And I don’t mean that in the clichéd sports way, I mean it in the you can see it in his face way.

When he brought up his half-century tonight at the WACA, he didn’t raise his bat for the crowd’s polite adulation. He just looked angry. Angry that yet again his team was not playing as well as a team that 8 months ago was in a World Cup final.

Players who don’t like to lose are the best to watch up close. Their faces are magnificent. There is a reason fans talk of Ponting face. Players like Mathews and Ponting just despise losing, and don’t really try and hide it.

The last time he had to carry an unworthy side over the line against Australia, his anger turned to joy, when armed with just a plucky tail, he won the game and was uber-heroic. This time he tried to use that anger again and very nearly did, but even without the win this just adds to his character.

The hero can’t win every time, after all.

I now look forward to my future watching of an Angelo Mathews who does exist. Or maybe I was always right, and he doesn’t exist, because it seems he wasn’t given Man of the Match. Which seems odd.

We start with overpriced bad blended whisky poured into glasses in preparation for their win at the unofficial home of cricket.

Stuart Law is out the back booking flights to bangladesh, his work is done.  Marvan Attapatu is doing stomach crunches.  Lasith Malinga is eating whatever food Duleep Mendis has left behind.

And only Dilshan watches on the whole time. His face tattooed into a single look of “I think we’re alright, aren’t we?”

As the tension, from an artificial plot device, builds, the rest of the characters start becoming more prominent.

Lasith Malinga, who sprays the Lord’s members with samosa crumbs, is vitriolic towards the men in the middle. Screaming at them as the food in his mouth makes his words unintelligible.

Law, leaving his laptop for a moment, comes out to tell Dilshan that he has sent gloves out, and these are magic gloves that will save the day.

Dumith’s run out on the ground to bring gloves and water was brief respite from the seriouesness of the balcony, and his run back a few seconds later with a bat was a lovely almost instant call back that soap operas usually ignore.

The English boys all played their part.  KP the main who could not believe that anyone would put himself before his team.  Kieswetter as the guy trying to look angry while really looking like he was miscast.  To the outsider it may have looked Cook’s face never changed for a moment, but his subtle performance was all in the gap between his eyebrowes.

Mathews and Chandimal were amazing, giving the scene tension and farce, whilst reminding us that good writing doesn’t always have to be drama.  Mathews did so little in his performance that you could argue he was hardly there, but that was the real genius of him, he was the rock that the angst and worry pivoted around.

Attapatu was brilliant as the stoic friend to Dilshan who sits beside him as he goes through all the emotions, but never feels the need to complicate their relationship by speaking.

But ultimately it is Dilshan who steals the show.

Dilshan may be a pirate with a bat in his hand, but on the balcony he is the nervous matriarch of the family.  It’s his face that tells us that he is watching something going wrong.

As Chandimal and Mathews decided to get the remaining runs in agony, Dilshan’s face spoke to us all.

“Have I left the oven on.

Maybe I did leave the oven on.

I really can’t remember if I’ve left the oven on.

If I’ve left the oven, what will happen?

No, I didn’t leave the oven on, but I should always double check before leaving the house just to be sure.”

The whole time this happens, Dilshan barely says a word.

Yet, he carries the whole show.

It takes some special effort to be the man on the balcony, and still be the star.

Credits.

He was a filthy guy who often cheated on his live in girlfriend.

One day, before the days of internet dating sites, he met a girl via a phone dating service.

The girl he picked up sounded like an A grade skank, having never met her I see her as cold sore laden junkie type, mostly because that was my mate’s type.

While he was with her, her flat mate came home and walked straight in on them, instead of it being awkward it turned into the male fantasy moment he didn’t deserve. He’d stumbled into his first ever threeway.

Now, this was not a goodlooking, rich or suave gentleman. My mate’s head looked like it was carved from a tree but they forgot to give him features or treat the wood. So this was a big thing for him.

So big that in his excitement, he pushed a little harder than he ever had.

How hard? Hard enough to rip his foreskin.

He was unable to ever fully explain how much pain this gave him, but I’m assuming it was about as painful as a man can experience.

It doesn’t stop there, because now he was in all sorts of trouble, because if he went straight to the hospital, his lady might find out about his behaviour.

So he chose the frightful option of going home, getting his lady drunk, getting her ready for love making, rolling the condom over his dick, and then doing a few thrusts before screaming and claiming he had just ripped his foreskin.

He was a Machiavellian cheating turd, but you must respect him for having the skills and pain management skills to pull this off.

His lady bought it, and took him to the hospital where they put him back together. It was 3 months before his foreskin was back in working condition.

For some, they would have taken this as a lesson and also an achievement, he did not.

6 months later he was offered an even more exciting sexual situation, he was invited to an orgy and yet again being the low life untrustable man he was, he took up the offer.

Now, he’d already touched the sun once with a threesome he didn’t deserve, that he said was heaven before his foreskin gave out and peeled like a banana, so he didn’t need to do this orgy.

The thing is, he just wanted to. He wanted to beat the threesome. For him it was about being the man who could say in a bar, “well the time I had an orgy…”. He wanted to be in a room that was full of the smells and flavours of group sex.

So he went there to cheat on his girl again, and yet again, his foreskin was a fan of karma and it viciously ripped open just as the orgy was kicking off.

This time he was in so much pain he was taken straight to a hospital, and his lady put two and two together and reached the conclusion that he’d injured himself through coitus with another woman and dropped him.

Here he was with a broken penis that would have to be given an adult circumcision, no lady, nowhere to live and no chance of sex for about six months.

I was reminded of all this as Dilshan tried to put his hand in his glove for the second time, he’d already made a hundred at Lord’s, had his thumb almost ripped off twice, proved his toughness and put a spine into Sri Lanka after their last collapse, but he still wanted more. He wanted a double hundred and he was willing to sacrifice his thumb for it and play through the amazing pain.

That takes guts, and a little stupidity.

We respect that. Not our friend’s infidelity, but Dilshan’s toughness.

Positive batsmen are stripped of all hope and can do nothing more than March out in a death waltz and wait for their demise.

Each batsman then trudges off the field knowing that their fate was sealed even before they went out there.

The batsman who doesn’t lose his wicket seems to have a face drained of blood as each of his team mates walks back.

There is the look between team mates where they just know they’re in a collapse, and don’t really feel the need to verbally confirm it.

The coach sits there unable to say anything to changes anyone’s mood.

Players waiting to go look almost frightened of facing a spinner or even some middle aged slow seamer.

The tail are defeated before they even step out on the ground.

And you can see the whole team collapse into a liquid mass of utter uselessness right in front of your eyes.

If you’re in the team, you feel like it’s a virus, it just infects your body and you can feel the negative vibes pulsing through you as the collapse gets more violent.

It’s a dark, dark spiral; it feels lonely even though it’s a shared experience.

Often you have no idea how it started, or how to stop it.

The one consolation is that it’s a quick death.

A collapse is over so quickly that by the time you really reflect on it you’ve lost, and it’s like being drunk and trying to decipher some surreal Mexican acid western and trying to work out what just happened.

That is what Sri Lanka is doing right now.

The collapse is over, the gloom and disease is overtaken by introspection and that shit feeling in your stomach that your parents have seen that sex video where you use a bowling pin on yourself.

The good news is by Friday they’ll be playing at Lord’s, and this will be no more than a punchline and ever fading public humiliation.

It just feel like in the hours after it happens.

I think the collapse is why cricket clubs started serving booze, and that always helps.

Instead of doing everything he can do to ensure his average raises above it’s modest forms he gives it away when trying to help his team win a test.

His eyes are rather soft and deep, he has the innocence of someone who hasn’t had to be relied upon for runs as his main profession.

He’s never really made any runs before today, other than two charity hundreds.

He seems kind and thoughtful, liked he’d be really interested in how your nan is.

His test average is lower than Lou Vincent’s.

He’s rarely asked to bat twice in a test.

He isn’t seen as the new Gilly, Kumar, Alec, Dhoni or even Haddin, when people say he’s a wicket keeper, they don’t mean a shaved monkey with gloves stuck on his hands.

In no way does he seem self involved or like his shit doesn’t stink.

He’s never going to be captain.

But in this test he was thrust up the order, against the odds, while better players were dismissed or hit, he just batted.

His first real hundred, in style, first innings in the UK, nice fucking work you soft handed wicket keeping gun.

It was an innings that a real test batsman would be proud of, so Prasanna should be even more proud because I doubt anything thought he had an innings like that in him.

Jayawardene still isn’t a test batsman, but today he played like he wanted to be one.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

Paranavitana is also not a smasher, or a stylist, or even flamboyant in any way.

He should be a not that easy to remember how to spell punchline on a site like this.

The thing is, he seems to have a bit of something about him.

He has the look of the man who knows his way around a city.

It’s 7 at night, he needs some cough medicine to mix in his vodka, and he knows which shop sells more than one per customer and which technician to get a couple of OxyContin on the sly few a few bucks more.

A limited issue zero issue batman comic is out, he doesn’t line up, he knows the store to call so they’ll have one bagged and boarded for him.

It’s 9am and his favourite titty bars aren’t open, but he knows which café will have the mammaries he needs to kick start his day.

And if he finds himself naked in a field at dawn, he knows which bus will be driven by an alcoholic bus driver that won’t care that he has wrapped up his groin with a local newspaper.

Not that Paranavitana does all this, he’s probably fully clothed when on public transport.

For him it just looks like a cricket composure, a touch of, I got this.

It’s probably just test match composure, that elusive component that all those with potential want to convert to.

He just seems to know what’s happening, it’s only a new thing, but few learn it straight away.  He just doesn’t seem to get too flustered and plays his game no matter what goes on around him.

Paranavitana’s composure makes me feel less anxious watching him.  If it’s 3am, and we don’t know where the nearest pub is, I’d like to be out with him.

However, if you know of match fixing, and you speak up saying you know details of match fixing, but don’t actually substantiate your claims of match fixing, what does that mean?

Does it mean you’re full of shit?

Or trying to get more publicity for your actual announcement?

Or is just what old grumpy bastards do when they aren’t talked about that much?

Cause Hashan Tillakaratne’s comments don’t make much sense to me.

“This has spread like a cancer today. There were threats of this issue being exposed at various times. But it was pushed down by giving money to various people. If the people who were responsible for that are listening to this, I state this today with great responsibility, I will shortly reveal the names of those responsible.”

Why shortly, why not just now?

If you know who is involved, you know and you can say it.

King Kumar things he shouldn’t throw names out there, which I agree with, unless he knows and can prove who is guilty.  Then he should. He should throw like fuck.

If it were any other ex-player, I might almost accept his reluctance to just name names.

But my one really strong memory of Hashan was an incident in an ODI against Australia. And it was that long ago that I am sure all the details are wrong or made up.

It seemed so normal, he played a shot, was caught at point, and should have just left the crease.

Instead he stood his ground and claimed he hit the ball straight into the pitch.

It was before the days of third umpires, and the umpires just didn’t seem sure as to whether it was out.

Hashan was kept at the crease.

On the replays it showed that it hit the top edge and went straight up in the air.

Hashan had fooled them all.

It was my sort of cricket, but it doesn’t make him more trustworthy.

Ofcourse, it’s late, and maybe all those details are wrong.

That is still my memory of Hashan and I’m just not ready to jump into bed with Hashan until he comes out with actual details.

Also, all this could all be a ruse set up by the former Sri Lankan selectors to cover the fact that they completely ended their teams chances in the world cup final with their stupid four changes.

That would mean that Hashan was guilty of spot fixing his comments…