I don't like cricket.
Oh no.

I never wanted to play cricket at school; it was overwhelmingly tedious and really quite dangerous when you take into account just how hard and bouncy the balls are. So during the summer term I'd take myself off to play alongside my friends in The Mong Leagues (as detailed here).

What we played was barely recognisable as cricket and should really have been given a name all of its own: Mong Cricket. We would be given the very same equipment as found in standard cricket and the same rules were vaguely applied, but it always proved to be quite a different sport, due entirely to the participants' general mongitude. There was, however, one memorable game that ensured The Mong Leaguers would never get their useless, malcoordinated hands on a proper cricket ball ever again, and the world instantly became a safer place for it...

We were several days into a tight and seemingly endless bout of Mong Cricket when The Ball Chucker lined up at the appropriate end and prepared himself for an almighty underarm fling toward the expectant Ball Hitter, who stood nervously before the sticks at the other end of the Grassy Strip. The Redundant Ball Hitter loitered foolishly near his own sticks and, probably lost in thoughts of how he’ll never shed his seemingly inescapable addiction to virginity, failed to notice both the lumbering waddle and spinning arm of the Ball Chucker as he took an almighty "run up” in the hope of delivering a throw with more potency than that typically displayed by a 5 year old; something of a challenge for those among the ranks of The Mong Leagues.

Not paying sufficient attention to the mazy waddle of the ever quicker Ball Chucker proved to be a mistake of face-swelling proportions for our Redundant Ball Hitter, and it was only as a sizeable bulk began to blot out the otherwise sweltering sunshine that his soon-to-be-agonising error became all to apparent. Fleeter of wit than of foot he realised a need for action and sensed his only option was to duck down behind the sticks he'd foolishly been loitering around.

This wasn't a good idea.

The Ball Chucker had his sights set only on one thing: flinging a killer Throw towards the face of the still nervously waiting Ball Hitter in the vain hope that an injury might finally put an end to this eye-gougingly tedious game. He was right - his run and spinning arm combination proved to be a winner, and with a stroke of shockingly precise timing he released the Red Sphere of Death at the optimum moment to send it hurtling straight into the face of the Redundant Ball Hitter.

The gathered nerds winced simultaneously as ball met face and our hapless hero plummeted groundwards with a limpness usually reserved for the very recently dead. Almost as soon as the ball had trickled lumpily away from his head did a swelling appear of almost the exact size and colour of the missile that was its cause, and somewhere in the foreground a child fainted.

No more Mong Cricket that day. A draw was announced to unanimous ambivalence and the crowd swiftly dispersed with more speed than had been witnessed throughout the entire match.
( Moey, Mon 23 Nov 2009, 18:56, 1 reply)

The Red Sphere of Death
Hah, just for that have a clicky
(Sadarse works like Mist condensing mud flaps, Tue 24 Nov 2009, 16:43, closed)