The Beautiful, Pitiful, Game

Now, how to describe that? The Cricket World Cup final. The premier showcase for cricket to the world. It ends in confusion, in poor, nay, very bad light literally and metaphorically – hey they rebuilt all the stadia for the event so why the frell didn’t they install floodlights? OK so the best team in the tournament beat the second best. It only took 50+ days to get there, the olympics is over in 3 weeks, and we only have six nations that play this game seriously! What the FUCK was going on? It was a shambles from start to finish. At the start, the event was denuded of the unique caribbean atmosphere by people determined to line their own pockets. One of the teams’ coaches was (probably) murdered, and the final reduced mild mannered Jonathon Agnew to apoplexy. NOW is the time to burn the stumps and encase the ashes of the spirit of cricket. Died 28th April, 2007, Barbados. RIP. No flowers, by order of the organising committee.

And why? Well TV and more specifically SKY. Needing a neat end to the tournament on the day decided in advance, the match had to end on the 28th. Would the soccer world cup end at the 80th minute with ten minutes left to play? Would it fucK? Laughing stock, shambles, couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery, all these phrases come to mind. God, I’m depressed (and I don’t even believe in God!)

~ by @mmonyte on April 29, 2007.

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