What ho, Englishmen!
I note the recent cricket match has stirred up some debate. Thank you for the blog link, Dizzy.
I'll be honest, chaps: I don't believe the match was kosher. 111/5 to 329? A 50-ball century achieved by a fat ginger leprechaun knocking our crack bowling attack around the ground like the reincarnation of Sir Donald Bradman? The same bowling attack which won the Ashes at a canter? I just don't buy it, chaps. It's an awful thought, I know, but I honestly believe that Strauss and the lads chucked the game.
As you read this, I suspect there is a bookie wallah somewhere in the Delhi bazaar, foolish enough to have offered those infamous 400/1 odds on Ireland at one point of the match, who is now in hock for a very large splodge of wonga indeed. I daresay the poor blighter can barely digest his chicken korma such is the horrendous knot of fear in his stomach.
Of course, no Englishman would ever chuck a match for money. That sort of vile behaviour is best left to greedy little Boers like Hansie Cronje who will happily sell their honour down the river for a second-hand leather jacket. But a pukka chap like Strauss chucking a match for mere moolah? Preposterous.
So why then? Possibly because the dangerous men who run the illegal gambling industry in India threatened brave Straussy and the lads with physical bodily harm if they didn't comply with this nefarious plan. After all, if the underground fixers are prepared to bump off Bob Woolmer, then they will hardly balk at knobbling Straussy and the chaps.
It's a rum business, no doubt, but it affirms two central truths of life:
- Pyjama cricket is best ignored; and
- Never, ever trust an Indian
Yours, etc
Viscount Crouchback
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