Ricky could have just stayed and waited to die in this game.
Instead he gave it one last go. That’s Ricky.
With no legs, and his bloody stumps leaking blood all over the place, Ricky pulled ten largely lifeless bodies out of the dungeon, up the stairs, past the boobie trapped shot guns, over the crocodile infested moat and truck he found in the woods.
It was an amazing effort considering how close he was to death as well.
The problem for Ricky was that there were no keys to the truck.
He was just stuck there with the ten other blokes waiting for the killers to come and end him.
The waiting looked like it pained him, but when this all ended, as much as he fought to survive, he must have felt some relief.
Ricky, it’s over, there’s nothing left. You can leave now, it’s ok, we won’t mind. Your effort was special,yet it just doesn’t matter anymore. This is no longer your problem. There is now nothing you can do other than retire. If you can drag out a hundred with a broken finger and still lose comfortably there is nothing left for you to do here. It’s someone else’s job. No one said you had to keep playing until Australia gets good again, you’re entitled to retiring as much as anyone else with 3 world cups, a host of series victories and some demon batting performances.
Your work here is all done, get a gold watch off James Sutherland, ask Channel 9 for a job and play a bit of celebrity golf.
Ricky, thanks and good luck in the future.
Let the next guy try and drag his team mates out of the dungeon while your enjoying a cold one in a corporate box.