And this is the interview where Sam calls Farokh Engineer a pleasure giver.
Alastair Cook seems like a nice guy.
OK the hunting and working class things are a bit odd, but I doubt he abuses small children or throws faeces at monkeys.
And I respect the fact that even though he has a fairly flawed technique he makes more runs than most whilst never sweating.
It’s just that I’ve seen it.
I’ve dreamt of him, fantasized about him being a reptilian, and seen more hours of him batting that I’ve seen Robocop 2, the Matrix, Predator and the 1985 Perry Mason Godzilla combined.
During the Ashes I thought it was because he was taking down my team, but no, it’s not that, it’s just Cook, he burrows into my skin and gently nudges away at my life force for days on end.
It’s enough already with the fucken Alastair Cook.
Had I attacked a woman on the bus because I hated her hat, I’d probably get less hours of community service than one Cook innings.
They just go on and on, they never change, there is no difference, it’s just the subtle strangulation of accumulation and death.
If Cook was a dictator, he wouldn’t put his face on anything, or declare wednesday to be Alastairday, people would just start disappearing when they said anything that wasn’t polite or Pro Cook.
That is why right now I want an Asteroid to come down to earth and smash into Cook as he turns it on the legside for one.
I can take no more, and if the only way to stop Cook is with this fiery space rock from hell, and I have to go with it, then fuck it, kill me, kill him, but make this stop.
Oh please make this stop.
Sometimes the only option is a large crushing force from above.
Please space rock, save me, save us all.