Island Cricket

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Ambul Thiyal-Anga lets his hair down...

As you are no doubt well aware by now I have been banished to play in this A team..

Upon close inspection it was revealed that this was a clerical error. My name had been switched with another of my colleagues by mistake.

However, Ambul Thiyal-Anga is not one to complain and it gave me a great opportunity to show off my wares to these youngsters who are no doubt attempting to emulate me.

Having done just the same, I decided to let my hair down in the last match of the tour - secure in the knowledge that I had been picked to once again grace the world of international cricket with my presence!

It seemed the world had missed me.

And so they should... So they should....

When the time came for me to bat, my opening partner found me in the TV room, playing cricket 2007 with a fellow South African. Xbox rules!

I grabbed my bat, chucked on some pads, borrowed someone else’s gloves and walked out. Not for me the restraints of a thigh pad or helmet. Not today...

Today I will treat this crowd to an Ambul Special. One that they will not forget in a hurry and will live on in South African folklore for centuries.

Nay, eons.

I could sense the uneasiness of the bowler as a strode out with a serenity offered only to a legend like me. I smiled inward. ‘You wont know what hit you boys’ I think to my self.

The umpire asks me what guard I want.

‘Wont be needing one today sir’
.

He caught the glint in my eye briefly. He knew. Today was to be a special day. The umpire nods back at me.

He understood.

Briefly I inspect the fielders around me. A mental note is made. It is exact. There will be no hits to fielders today.

I nod to the bowler, I am ready.

It seems he is not. He knows also.

I smile inward.

The bowler runs in, instinctively my foot finds the line, the back lift immaculate, I ride the bounce. And leave the ball.

A bouncer to start. The cheek. He will be sorry.

The bowler runs in, it is wide off peg. I am in line in a split second. The sound of willow on leather echoes through out the ground. The ball is sent skyward. The crowd gasps.

“He will be sorry”
I think to my self.

I close my eyes to revel in the applause that are to come.

In that instant I see a fielder dive to his right, arms out stretched, he is air borne, his right arms grasps at the ball. It sticks in his finger tips.

The appeal follows

The dreaded finger comes up slowly, even the umpire is not sure. I stare at the fielder and umpire in turn in disbelief, it is no use.

I am out.

I stand there, bat in hand. Resolute. I hear the slow murmur of the crowd start to spread.

I move back into my stance. Practice the perfect sensual shot that was meant to have been played.

But that I could not.

Bowled by Damith S


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