Tonight I had a night off. And I could have spent it in my room masturbating over preggo porn and watching Nasir Jamshed, but instead I went out to dinner.
But, I still made it about cricket.
My dinner was at the Ministry of Crab, the restaurant owned by King Kumar and Mahela Jayawardene.
They love their crab there. Far more than is probably ok.
I mean, I love crab, but I assumed it would be crab and other things. But it was mainly crab, a few prawns and boneless chicken.
Crab tastes great. I really love crab, I won’t hear anything against crab.
But, crab is hard to get into, it’s a better idea in theory than on your plate.
I don’t really want to work for my food.
I just want to eat it as fast as I can.
I don’t want to wait more than a decade to be satisfied.
And this is Bangladesh.
I know that somewhere behind the shell, there is the sweet sweet meat, but how long do I have to wait to eat it. And sure, I am not the person who is actually breaking the shell, but I still have to watch them. I have to fall in love with Iqbal, Hasan, Crashraful and Mortaza as they turn from promising young players into middling middle aged players.
I put in that emotion, and I get little meat. I get nothing. I just get disappointed over and over again.
But, whether it’s ordering crab or watching Bangladesh, I’ll continue to get involved, because that’s what I do.
With crab, it will never pay off, with Bangladesh it might.
Result: Shakib did his thing. Ian Bishop wore a suit that would have impressed a race of aliens who see through vibrations. Pakistan also played.