You could be forgiven for thinking the current Australian cricket team are a touch on the bland side. By a touch on the bland side, I obviously mean the blandest thing since the Poms started making curries. A team consisting of a few stalwarts, a bunch of who-the-fucks, and Michael Clarke.
A decade ago I loathed cricket with a fervour that I now reserve for hippies and gun-happy Americans. But I knew who most of the Australian cricketers were. Not because of their skill (a low score meant it would all be over quicker - yay) but because they had a bit of personality.
Maybe you can’t entirely blame a cricketer in these modern times for being completely devoid of personality. To be fair, they are media-managed to the point of having their personalities surgically removed.
But Ricky Ponting was on Australian Story just last night talking about how liked to be seen as miserable. Wonderful, a personality trait! Not a likeable one but hey, I’ll take it.
Lately, the biggest personality on the team is arguably Michael Clarke. Why? Because everyone thought he was gay and then Lara Bingle.
I’m not asking them to go Andrew Flintoff on us, or drink their weight in VB (those may be the same things) but jeez, Mitch Johnson, having a gaudy, bogan tattoo is not a substitute for personality.
Certainly the ask was ridiculous (ask Ross Taylor, a PowerPoint presentation won’t make you good at cricket) but this act of not doing their ‘homework’ then effectively blaming the dog, is a small mercy in the pit of despair that significant losses in India brings during an Ashes year.
You may be shit but you do have a third dimension!
Thank you, thank you. Thanks for chucking a hissy fit and leaving, Watto. Maybe you’re not just a man made out of jellybeans after all. Viva la revolución!
- ► 2009 (51)