World Cup 2007

I had a girlfriend once who was a total slut. During the time we had our thing going on, I was convinced she had at least 2 other men banging her senseless and yet it took me a long time to kick her into touch. (I didn’t actually kick her you understand). The problem was that she was a cracking looking girl that I was thoroughly infatuated with and so I put up with her slappish ways in spite of myself.

Why I am I telling you this? I don’t know, some form of cheap therapy maybe! No the reason is, that my relationship with cricket is starting to resemble the relationship I had with that whorish cow. (I’m really not bitter)

I’m tolerating cricket’s inadequacies because of my affection for the game.

This World Cup has been a tepid affair, underwhelming me at every opportunity and yet despite the mediocrity of the event I still had my alarm set to watch the final, because cricket is a gorgeous game. But to see the final of a flagship event turn into a Mr Bean sketch is frankly a bridge too far and the administrative bumbles that cricket inflicts upon itself on an all too regular basis is finally catching up with me.

The game needs an overhaul. The role and power of the umpire needs to be examined and rethought. The ways in which a match can be concluded needs decisive clarity. The format and length of the World Cup needs massively reshaping and Bob Woolmer’s murderer needs catching.

Cricket, specifically but not exclusively the ICC, has long abused the loyalty and passion of the fan, trundling along in a three wheeled cart of antiquity despite the overwhelming need for energy and inspiration to drive the game forward.

Every moment spent watching cricket is starting to feel like a betrayal of my dignity and like my ex found out, even the besotted have their breaking points.