“What do you mean I’m not ‘allowed’ to quit!?”
Two weeks ago, we took an investigative reporter, whose name we had to redact for obvious reasons, and let him loose in a Vegan restaurant. Last week, we felt like we had to make it up to him, so we gave him a night full of whiskey and boots. Of course, we also tricked him into signing a contract making him our permanent fixture as an investigative journalist. Oh, and he can’t sue us, no matter what stresses we put him through. So we figured we’d do the American thing…and abuse our new found freedom. Enjoy writing a review of a game of Cricket, [REDACTED], you jackass.
What the what? Why are you guys making me write a review of some other dude’s description of an insect? The hell kind of job is this? Where’s my whiskey?
Okay, so, cricket. Let’s get started, I guess…
“Move over, Frank Reich. Kevin O’Brien has just one-upped you to engineer one of the greatest comebacks, and upsets, in sports history.”
Okay. I don’t know these people. But, so far I’m following. Great comebacks in sports? I love that shit. Upsets? Even better, that’s the only reason I watch March Madness after the first round’s over and my bracket’s been busted. So what if I don’t know who it’s talking about, that just makes me a Jacksonville Jaguars fan. So again, so far, so good. Though I guess we’ve established that when they say “cricket” they don’t mean “that guy in Pinocchio.” It’s between Ireland and Europe…is…is this what people do as sports in the United Kingdom?
I was sort of hoping that maybe the sport was…a bunch of drunk Brits and Irish folk stomping on bugs? But turns out, the truth is far more sinister. Oh wait, did I say sinister? I meant boring and takes like three fucking days.
So let’s keep going. What else do we have here…
“Upon his return to Dublin, O’Brien will be welcome to free Guinness on the house for as long as he wishes.”
Hey! Maybe this Jiminy Cricket bullshit has something going for it. So some dude that led to an upset is going to get some free booze? Sign me up! I’ll buy the knee-pads and google vest and everything.
“The burly batsman bashed his way to 50 runs in 30 balls, the fastest half-century for an Irishman in One Day Internationals. Not satisfied with that achievement, he took 20 more balls to record the fastest century in World Cup history, going 16 balls better than former Australian opener Matthew Hayden’s 66-ball century against South Africa in 2007.”
Oh shit. Oh. I get it now. I totally get it. I get why these AFFotD fuckers gave me this assignment. None of this makes sense. I feel like someone just gave me a math test, or at least how I’d imagine a math test would be if I ever had to take a math test. Which I didn’t, because, you know, America. There are so many random numbers here, and uses of the word “century” that I can’t even appreciate the copious use of the word “balls.”
Yeah, I know it’s these kind of balls. Don’t care. Still making the joke.
Seriously, they lost me with the term “16 balls better” which feels like a sentence I’d have to circle during my DOL assignments in grade school. I’m making a lot of Elementary School references today. I think I’ve sort of regressed to a childlike state because of that damn vegan food. Those fuckers. Okay, so not that much of a childlike state. Let’s just keep reading.
“Much like Reich’s improbable effort in the 1993 NFL playoffs, which led the Buffalo Bills back from a 35-3 deficit to defeat the Houston Oilers, O’Brien resurrected Ireland when all hope was fading away.”
Hey I’m back! Football! Love that shit! See, all of that is American, and relatable. See, the guy who got the free booze from the Irish did an upset that is like that one football game that is so famous it’s literally known as “The Comeback.” I just have to replace the words “England” and “Ireland” with “Buffalo” and “Houston” and change all those weird number things to field goals and touchdowns, and I’m back on board. I understand this game. I absolutely do.
See? Cricket, right?
So, okay, football. I’m back. What’s the next sentence?
“Ireland started the run chase by losing Porterfield on the very first ball but overcame that to progress to 103 for 2 in the 21st over. Ed Joyce and O’Brien’s brother, Niall, were batting nicely together until England spinner Graeme Swann wrecked their partnership to get both men out, and before long it was 111 for 5 in the 25th over.”
WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS? I’m totally lost now. First of all, who names their kid Niall? Is that how Limeys spell Neil? If so, no wonder we emancipated ourselves from those assholes. Could you imagine how much that could RUIN the best parts of America? If we spelled “Neil” as “Niall”?
This would be several times less awesome spelled with “iall”
But let’s look at that again, the “spinner” “wrecked their partnership” and “before long it was 111 for 5 in the 25th over.” What the shit is that? It sounds like they just said an aerobics instructor broke up a gay couple, and took one of them to wine country and spent over a hundred bucks for a set of five tastings and then went to a resort called the “25th over.” That’s a stretch, but literally anything other than that explanation makes no sense in my brain. NO sense. What the shit IS this sport?
“Mmm, yes, well, you see, cricket is a sport rich in history and, mmm, yes, very much…”
SHUT THE FUCK UP OLD BRITISH GUY!
Okay, this is really starting to piss me off. It’s even worse that they’re trying to compare this sport to football. Because they know Americans don’t understand whatever the fuck this sport is. It’s like Calvinball, but Calvinball was A- fun and B- actually made sense, and avoided terms like “Hogswash.” I don’t think they actually said that in the article, but it’s Cricket, so they probably did.
“At one point he launched James Anderson into the crowd for the longest hit of the tournament, a six that traveled 102 meters.”
That’s it, I’m out. I’m done. This is only awesome if he actually launched a dude named James Anderson into the crowd, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Maybe he did. Actually I’m so lost, I don’t even care if he did chuck the dude into the stands. All I know is once I see the word “meters” as a measurement, I get an overwhelming urge to go back to the 70’s and shoot at metric road signs.
I think that means half a mile in metric.
Hmm… how many whiskeys am I on? Three? No, much more than that. I’ve been reading about Cricket for fuck’s sake. Let’s see if I need a refill…
Uh…there was one glass before, right? And I wasn’t…in a bar… Oh, I think I blacked out again. That’s been…yeah, that’s been happening. Doctor says there’s still trace amounts of tofu in my system. I…I better just…just take a rest. Some time in the AFFotD office’s deer hunting room. Or something. Anything that describes itself with easy terms, like “outs” or “birdie” or, hell, even, “rebounds.” I’m never going to read about cricket again, as long as I live…[editor’s note: We’ll see, [REDACTED], we’ll see…]