Terry, you old fool. This is like being taken in by the preternatural resilience and sphericality of a pair of fake boobs. Look, good on Clarke for being such an enthusiastic study of Media Grooming 101 and thus relieving the rest of the team from what must be a very tedious chore for them, but his press performances are so bland and cliché-spacked he simply shifts the burden of tedium onto the rest of us.
I’m a Romantic: I have a soft spot for a flaw, even the odd wreck, and Ricky cemented his place in my heart when he disgraced himself at the Bourbon & Beefsteak in January ‘99 during my very first Summer of Cricket. That black eye was perfect, cartoon-like, and Ricky in general was — is — such a Ginger Meggs/Dennis the Menace-style figure, all scraped knees and pugnaciousness, that frowny look on his face at the crease like he might be busted any moment for stealing apples or breaking windows. Batting and bowling, his movements were all free, loose and boyish, I loved watching him. His fielding is still all boy but I think his batting body has matured and tightened up: the last time I saw him live he put me in mind of a little flamenco dancer the way he held his torso still and erect in a pose after a stroke.
Which brings us to Ricky's "smouldering" line in Cricket Love that I mentioned a couple of posts back. It’s already visible in the picture of Cricket Sad above, but this is more particularly what I had in mind:
I'm guessing this was taken during some after-match presentations, and there's nothing that's not wonderful here. A balm for the soul in these troubled times.
PS. So I guess I'm saying why I'll always love Ricky, sentimental old fool that I am, though not the same kind of old fool as TJ, and that I won't go out for Pup when I have Pig-Dog at home.
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