The Australian Cricket Team, c'est moi

It came to me overnight as in a dream: I am under the weather, with a mountain of work in front of me that will see me labouring through pretty much every weekend until Christmas. I am the Australian Cricket Team. Or: the Australian Cricket Team, c’est moi.

I came down sick on the second day of the 1st Test and have been a lumbering allegory ever since: gloomed, clumsy, unfocused, poor appetite. Yesterday after the first half hour I had to go to the doctor. I toiled in the afternoon but then downed tools around five to “see Hussey get his century” – had I but known!

How to handle this awesome and unexpected metaphysical distinction? By continuing to follow the game am I engaged in a recursive loop of deterioriation – the worse it gets the worse I feel the worse they are the worse I am?

A nap this afternoon didn’t do anything, when I turned on again so little had happened for so long that Aggers leapt on a ball from Marcus North that seemed to show some turn: “something seemed to happen there...”

I really need to get out of the house. I am getting out of the house.