However after I snared (I use the word advisedly) three wickets in my first two overs of wobbly seam-up medium pace my skipper generously changed his mind and allowed the carnage to continue. Sheer Aussie ruthlessness you might say, and you would only be somewhat wrong.
I was able to reward him with just about the spawniest five-fer in the history of cricket. My fifth wicket came when I bowled a lollipop slower ball badly down leg side and the batsman, in his understandable eagerness to wallop this pie for four, hooked his shot and hit the ball with the back of his bat in a loop up to first slip.
It is better to be lucky than good.
As you can clearly see the self-satisfaction-O-meter is just about completely off the scale by this point.
It's a cliche to say these days but nothing else comes close to making me as happy as exercise. I drank the bottle of Aussie fizz I had been keeping in the fridge in case of emergencies with supper to celebrate and the alcohol only depressed me before intoxcation began to kick. You don't think I could write this shit sober, do you?
I won't give up drinking at weddings or other special occasions but I really don't want to drink regularly anymore. Drink gives me almost no pleasure to make up for the great deal of unplesantness that it causes in me.
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