Pop will eat itself. Here I go again.
As if Twenty20 cricket was not craven enough with its elevation of pub cricket (and don't get me wrong there's nothing wrong with that in its place) into something somehow godly, now we have the utterly detestable Hundred. A sub-seventeen over thrash for professional cricketers, a game devised by marketing men who hate cricket. It is served up to us by commentators who have swallowed the grim lie that this is the greatest thing ever invented and that it will 'save' the game. If this is the price then this precious sport is not worth saving. Nothing sums things up so much as the televised enthusiasm of that great talent, Kevin Pietersen - a man who sees no harm in selling the soul of the sport he graced for a mess of pottage.
Thus yesterday we had the pitiful and meaningless Hundred sharing attention with a Test match which really did what great sport can do - that is to say, expose the fallibilities and the potentials of participants. As it happens the fallibility was all English and the potential all Indian.
Pop will eat itself. God, I feel old!
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