Matt Renshaw might think that ‘while batting during day one of a Test match’ is the worst time to realise that you’ve been struck down by a case of the wild shits. All we’d say is at least it wasn’t the start of an overnight train journey with no hotel booked at his destination.
“I hope he’s lying on the table in there half dead,” said Allan Border on commentary. “Otherwise, as a captain I would not be happy.”
Border would clearly have preferred his opening batsman to crap himself in front of millions of people watching on TV. Because if there’s one think that improves a batsman’s concentration, it’s smearing his undercrackers before an enormous audience – really sharpens you up.
Allan Border is now our least favourite commentator. Idiot.
We’re not an enormous fan of the umpires either, who kept Renshaw standing there for a minute while they conferred about whether he could nip off or had to retire hurt. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG A MINUTE IS?
For Renshaw, hovering in purgatory while consumed by an urgent necessity, it would have seemed an eternity. The relevant muscles may never recover from what they were subjected to during those long seconds.
Renshaw can return to his innings at the fall of a wicket. If he does so, we will of course have to downgrade our diagnosis from the wild shits to the mild shits or similar.
Back just 60 runs later?
Unless he goes off again, this barely even registers on the scale.
60 runs must burn a lot!
Not as much as you’d think. You’re down to froth after about five.
To repeat my quip from the Thailand piece:
Matt Renshaw’s back…
…as in returned, to the crease, at the fall of the third wicket…
…he’s not got ankylosing spondylitis or anything like that…
…although he might well have had campylobacteriosis…
…briefly.
A cricket book in an unusual place and the wild shits in the space of 24 hours.
Your Majesty, you are spoiling us.
Not only that Sam, but with wild shits and 205/9 on Day One, the comedy element of this Aussie tour to India is starting to reveal itself early.
KC silent so far on the issue of whether ‘sexist’ terms such as third man, twelfth man, nightwatchman, batsman etc should be gender-neutralised.
Personally, ‘the bowler’s holding the batter’s ladyparts’ does not have the same ring to it.
Mmmm. Battered ladyparts.
Matthew Renshaw is an anagram of NEW WARMTH HASTE, which may go some way to explaining his predicament. But in any case, this subject raises so many questions:
How quickly did Renshaw get his runs?
Was he solid and stubborn or free flowing at the crease?
Did he eventually succumb to some late movement?
That is one hell of an anagram. Respectamundo.
Is Respectamundo the new Australian T20 captain?
Can I just move one letter in the anagram please?
EW WARMTH! HASTEN!
Sorry, but we’ve already etched NEW WARMTH HASTE in stone.
Matt Renshaw – for an instant I thought I had wandered onto the Tour de France on TV blog there.
I appreciate that this comment has nothing to do with diarrhoea, and for that I apologise deeply.
Good spelling though. We always cover our back by resorting to ‘the shits’.
You may even have noticed this stratagem.
You cover your back with the shits?
Splashback.
When you’re sliding into first
And your pants begin to burst
That’s diarrhea, diarrhea
When you’re sliding into two
And your pants are filled with goo
That’s diarrhea, diarrhea
When you’re sliding into third
And you feel a greasy turd
That’s diarrhea, diarrhea
When you’re sliding into home
And your pants are filled with foam
That’s diarrhea, diarrhea
You’re getting in a state
cos’ you’ve left it very late
diarrhea diarrhea
It comes out of your bum
like a bullet from a gun
diarrhea diarrhea
runs down your leg
like a scrambled egg
diarrhea diarrhea
It’s not very funny
but it’s very hot and runny
diarrhea diarrhea
This is the kind of highbrow verse of which we approve.
Spare a thought for the rest of the Aussie squad who had to share that restroom. At least THAT should have made them want to stay out in the middle for a bit longer.
Clearly Mitchell Starc is the only one with any sense of hygiene.
Looking forward to checking the scorecard this morning. Settling down with a cup of tea and a slice of toast, ready to laugh my head off at those hapless Aussies.
Boy oh boy, they are useless. Can’t play spin. Going to get slaughtered. Here we go.
What?
The comedy element of this one is leaving me cold. That sense of humour problem of mine has re-emerged, I don’t get the joke.
“Not funny, cast is terrible, always a complete hit job. Really bad television!”