As I passed the oval tube a blonde man in a green tracksuit dawdling around looking like someone had stolen his lollipop.
I left swanny at the tube station looking confused and made my way to the ground. At the ground I met my contemporary, chief animated viddy blogger ayalac.
There we discussed Trotsky’s influence on modern art, the true meaning of un chien andalou, and what the dow jones affect of foreign wheat markets is.
Then we saw a fox on the sightscreen, it sat there for a long time, at first in the sun, then in the shade.
Finally after alot of guffawing, a groundsman went over and chased the fox, although chased is probably too harsh a term, and the fox bolted. It wasn’t an Essex fox you see, they are made of tougher stuff.
Then the cricket started, well infact it had been going on all along, but we were thrust back into the moment as Shoaib dropped a catch.
Then he gave a moan reminiscent of a hump back whale being penetrated by a wet Japanese man.
And he lay there for what felt like 24 seconds, but was probably 22, or 23, before getting up and not being able to find the ball.
Shoaib hadn’t been on the field all day, because of the fox, but now the groundsman had got rid of the fox, and his hands were warmed up from the drop he was ready to rock and roll.
During his spell, in which his run up seemed to start from the second row of the members, he spent his off overs infront of us, dying.
Think of the unfittest man you have ever seen, someone panting, gasping, swearing, holding on to life by the merest whisker.
That was he.
He breathed so hard it hurt us to watch.
Then Shoaib took it to an all new level, like a young prince calling to a mere peasant servant, he called for his favourite fox chasing groundsman to come out and do work on him.
Shoaib, like a royal Whitney Houston lay on the ground while the man with the green thumbs and palms of ecstasy rode his neck.
It was sensual, sexual, and gratifying for all involved.
Even the young guys who kept talking about how good a bowler Brett Lee was at the top of their voices. Being so close to the great diva does have its advantages.
At one stage he was wearing two jumpers, this was just after he had recreated a scene from flashdance, and he told his friend the groundsman that in Pakistan it is 40 degrees, the groundsman nodded in awe, like a servant peasant that he was.
Then a ball got hit fine of him at fine leg for four.
I suggested, in a gentlemanly manner that if he chased after it that the effect of such a chase may result in warmness.
Then things got tricky.
According to Ayalac’s ears, which are exquisite, he said yar, yar, yet did not move.
According to your humble narrator he said nar, nar, yet did not move.
This provided much discussion.
Then they called the day off, Shoaib went back to his hotel room, probably with the groundsman, but probably not the fox.
And we went to a pub, and thoroughly discussed the days play.
That Shoaib, what a crazy kid.
Shoaib Akhtar 14 1 63 0 4.50 (1nb)
