Blogging will be slow for a bit; must work on the book. Still, something fun to share:
Psyched up for Oz’ first test against South Africa, which I’ll have on while working in a few hours. Which reminds me:
I’ve been working my way through Pageant Of Cricket,
a 600-page tome on the game’s history filled with thousands of photos
of the games’ greatest players — all of whom seem to have died
tragically, usually after a long decline of addiction, mental problems,
and general dissolution.
Actual excerpts, chosen entirely at random from the last few pages (I’m up to the turn of the 20th century):
in a match for the first time in his career in Notts’ match against
Gloucestershire… but declining health and melancholia overshadowed
his soul, and in the following May he shot himself.
or
the dangerous reputation of Jack Marsh, the Aboriginal fast bowler… A
colourful dresser, he began to drink heavily, and in 1916 he was killed
in a street brawl in Orange, New South Wales.
or
Nobel, during the MCC match, right over the Lord’s pavilion, a gigantic
hit… A victim of dropsy and booze, Trott shot himself at his
Willesden lodgings in 1914.
or
Yeesh. Pretty damned dangerous sport, from the looks of it.
I’m not sure I’ve picked the right pastime after all. And here after I’ve spent the last month learning to squeeze out a flipper.
How depressing.