Okay okay okay, just from you reading that headline we’re already off to a rocky start.
Please don’t judge me. In fact, let it be known that I, Michelle Elizabeth Andrews, HATE regular cricket.
“Cricket is the absolute worst,” I have announced with fury from the moment I popped out of my mother. “I would rather chew on a damp sock than watch a second more.”
Bleh. Glurg. Ergh. Djhghelegj. No thank you.
Decades later my partner, of course, has tirelessly tried to convince me otherwise.
“Just give it a chance!” he’d say, struggling to pull his eyes away from the zinc-clad men with their dumb baggy greens and red-stained crotches on the telly. “It’s actually really enjoyable when you know all the rules!”
What an idiot.
No I will not enjoy it, Mitchell, if that is your real name. I WILL NEVER ENJOY IT. Do you want to know why? Because it is cricket. And cricket is the worst thing about summer. Apart from bum sunburn. And maybe cicadas.
That’s why, when he flicked the telly to Channel 10 last night and proudly announced “The Big Bash League has started again!” my stomach churned.
Grreeeeeeeat! More cricket to join the never-ending test matches, and the one dayers, and the blah blah blah cricket is dumb and boring please just let me watch Netflix and eat Maltesers in peace.