Almost since the first time I saw Crashraful bat, I liked him.
Back then he was a cocky mentalist with a taste for the flashiest shots of pure madness.
He could make a cut shot as addictive as heroin.
Everyone who saw him on song couldn’t help but be amazed.
Now he is shit.
I could write more than shit, I could explain about how he leaves balls that are going to hit his stumps, plays shots that can only get him out, and walks out to the wicket like a man who was getting paid 1000 bucks to cut his favourite auntie’s head off.
But shit does it.
At Lord’s in the second innings Crashraful played some of the prettiest shots you could see, then he went out.
Usually you just go out.
I can’t think of a test cricketer that leaves the ball worse than Ashraful. It isn’t leaving the ball in the channel outside off; it is imitating Christopher Walken in Deer Hunter.
While he was once an attacking batsman like Bangladesh’s current superstar Tamim, now he is either an out of form slogger, or a befuddled middle order village batsman.
Not even a good one.
In the last 3 years Crash has played 17 tests for one score over 50. In none of the last three years has he averaged over 16.
There is a chance that this is all a phase. The equivalent of a middle class teenager with a pink Mohawk with pierced testicles.
The problem is that after 55 tests he averages 22.
Even though I have always liked him, I think my time is up.
I can’t watch him suffer like this any more.
So I’ve decided to take Crashraful to the vet, give him a long pat on the head, tell him everything will be ok, and leave before the Vet puts him to sleep.
Sure, I’ll feel guilty for a while, but I think it is for the best.