Cricket’s dirty secret revealed.
I am utterly gobsmacked. Flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. Discombobulated. Shocked to my underparts. Shaken and stirred. My entire sense of reality upset.
This morning, early enough for me to suspect I had been dreaming, I heard the hideous truth about the cornerstone of everything British, the game of cricket.
I am not alone.
Scales dropped from my eyes.
It is six thirty am, during the last week of British summer time. I am avoiding getting out of bed, listing to a sports bulletin from Rawalpindi in Pakistan.
The commentator announced England has won the toss on what he described as a very unusual pitch.
If anything his description was an understatement.
Selection might have given a clue. More spinners were included by both sides. The preparation of the pitch was not some much unusual as surreal.
Every effort had been made to produce conditions favourable to the spinners. Serious technology was deployed including gigantic air blowers, backed up by patio heaters. Scratch marks scarred the pitch. A groundsman had been observed dragging a sack of nails its entire length.
In case you are wondering, this not an exaggeration, but as reported by the commentator.
