The Shit Talker
Like the wellness blogger of the sports world, his shit talking can be harmful to your health, as you will be evident when you try to rip your ears off whenever he starts banging on about who he’d put at No.3 or who should be dropped from the side.
In fact, he truly believes that the only reason he isn’t on the selection panel is that they haven’t seen the skidmarks of insight he proudly leaves on the toilet bowl of Fox Sports forums.
See that dripping, red creature complaining about the boiling temperatures he’s being forced into? Yeah, that’s an English cricket fan and to make matters worse, he’s extra salty his countrymen don’t hold the urn.
Whenever you see one you are always left wondering, does sunscreen not work on these pillocks or something? Anyway, when he’s not bemoaning the “rwubbish beer” he is likely to join the unemployed chavs in the Barmy Army, chanting like a pack of drunk Hare Krishnas.
The rules of cricket are like performing a prostate exam: the basics are simple but to really know whats up you have to delve a little deeper. Something that they haven’t done, and will wear down any cricket fan with Spanish Incuntisition of questions, such as “who’s winning” on the first day or “what’s nice about Gary?”
Luckily, TV stations have loaded cricket up with technological gimmicks to keep you occupied and hopefully distract them long enough to avoid having to hear another of their cretinous questions.
Some people would rather get waterboarded by R Kelly after he consumed a 3L L.A Ice Cola than watch a cracking 5 days of test cricket. Will they keep their simmering resentment quiet?
Oh heavens no, just like a basic bish who went on a silent yoga retreat, they are not going to ever shut up about it. Best way to dull the incessant drone is to drink like Boonie on an international flight. Remind them that there is a big, wide world out there and they are under no obligation to sit next to your shitting all over your parade.
The Loose Bogan
There is a special place in lock-up hell for dickheads who get into fights at the cricket. It’s the god damn cricket, a slow-paced day of enjoying some sun, beers and an overpriced severy of stadium grade summer slop.
Nevertheless, some shirtless shithead covered in fluoro paint and a sombrero will find a way to disturb the peace and get dragged out of the oval chanting Aussie Aussie Aussie. Under no circumstances give him an oi, oi, oi. He hasn’t earned that.
Members Area Elite Wanker
A fossil that refuses to involve himself in a Mexican wave has never quite gotten over the time he saw the Don at the MCC and got to shake Allan Border’s hand on the same day.
Back when an Aussie captain was a real man. The string of current fancyboy captains gets his no-votey senses tingling. If they let “those lot” captain the team, then what’s stopping them *pauses prehistorically* choosing a woman to fulfil to the role. If you really want to see his eye twitch, mention 20/20 cricket.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?