AND YOU KNOW THERE IS SOME SILLY TART ON PAGE THREE
Regardless of who wins tonight's final the English are going to be annoying. Particularly the fans. They are the most unfit, unclothed, unprepossessing poor excuse for specimens of the human species that are to be found. To be fair England have been fantastic in this tournament. Dominating with early batting (they are all South African), and controlled, malicious bowling. Add to this the rare feat of an English team that carries itself like a brood of hungry predators, as a result fielding superbly and intimidating their opposition. However the flush of winning is beginning to exhibit itself in petulant displays of haughty self-absorbtion. Several members of the team seem to think it is their duty to boss about anybody else they can see. Players are becoming over-exacting. Mike Yardy looked like a schizophrenic the way he chastised himself while trotting out to the outfield the other night. He had merely given a bit of width allowing a ball to be sniped out to the boundary, ignoring the fact that his four overs went for a mere 21 runs strangling the Sri Lankans and making a meal of the match. It doesn't help that the man who should be keeping a cap on all this, the captain Paul Collingwood, is dashing about making stupid statements such as,
Let's be honest, there aren't too many areas we can improve on.While England occassionally find it within themselves to perform as a team possessed, they will be facing Australia, a team who makes a profession of this habit. Personally I couldn't care less who wins but it promises to be a cracker of a match. Its a shame that this specialist limited overs side differs so greatly from the test team or else there might be a suggestion of the English delivering in the next Australian summer. One must always live in hope though. Beware of the sweating, shirtless middle aged men and their annoying looking wives who will undoubtedly make spectacles of themselves between deliveries. Beware also the straw hat, sunglassed, Australian flag as cloak, hoon who will try to compete. In all hope we can avoid the histrionics and watch a thumping good game of cricket. Or we can watch a pack of pompous twits who are taken with themselves, self-destruct. All promises decent entertainment.
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