Have you ever pondered deeply
On this game we know as "cricket"
And all the savage, brute-beast passions it evokes?
Have you noticed how the very
Sound of leather striking wicket
Stirs up a blood-lust frenzy among ordinary blokes?
Though once a gentlemanly game,
It’s never really been the same
Since the exit of such ‘greats’ as Grace and Bradman.
In their day, the sport was calmer,
With no need for helms and armour –
The ball was bowled with style, not flung by
madmen!
Then, the game was boldly played
And the batsman swung his blade
To firmly clout the ball away to score a ‘six’ or ‘four’.
But now he wears a visored ‘hat’
And he’s inclined to wield his bat
More in self-defence - and let the devil take the
score!
Then, the chaps up on "The Hill"
Did not swear, or fight, or swill.
They clapped a well-bowled ball or well-timed stroke.
And though a hard-slogged four
Might bring forth a loud encore,
They never ever tried to put a batsman off his
stroke!
Then, the game was pure delight –
All the players dressed in white,
The game was played to honour and to glorify the nation.
But they wear uniforms today -
In bright colours, loud and gay,
And they play it as professionals - for rich
remuneration!
Alas! This new "Arena-Game" -
Though its name may be the same,
Would have better pleased a despot like Caligula or Nero,
With all the violence that’s shown
When that "Killer" ball is thrown
At the poor, defenceless, yet defiant willow-wielding hero!
And so, wither hence the "Sport"?
Might they - in the last resort -
Revert to lobbing rocks and waving clubs out of the thicket?
Or might it sadly, to our shame,
Become a hi-tech, robot game?
Whatever it becomes - you can be sure it won’t
be Cricket !
Gerry Forster
