I think I have finally found my entourage of secretly evil men to help me in my quest for world domination. You can call them SA or SFA. Either way, they sound like a Saffa group which reflects my undying love for the Proteas. The name also sneakily serves the purpose of throwing off Interpol, Europol and any other pols that are going to come looking for us. They are going to scour the inches of Africa while I am happily hiding in some remote corner of Bangladesh with my harem of wicked men.
Introducing the first of many SFA men:
Name: Jean-Paul Duminy
Location: In BRC's nightmares
Code Name: Blankie
Sweet-face specialty: That nearly million dollar smile
Favourite Method of Assassination: Complete annihilation
Name: Kieron Pollard
Location: Moises' bowling nets
Code Name: The Real KP
Sweet-face specialty: Innocent looks that don't need to be hidden behind shades
Favourite Method of Assassination: Hitting little boys out of this world
Name: Roelof Van der Merwe
Location: Somewhere in the galaxy, far, far away
Code Name: ET
Sweet-face specialty: The alien living inside him
Favourite Method of Assassination: Anything that gives him the chance to raise his hands like a maniac and yell 'C'mon baby!'. This is followed by precisely two claps. He is very meticulous, our ROFL.
Name: Shakib-Al Hasan
Location: A secret garden where Modi can't find him
Code Name: Blackberry Storm
Sweet-face specialty: His broken English. If you read between the lines this is what is speeches really mean:
"Yes, we had good game today"
(I killed out there today and now I am going to kill you)
"Boys were very supportive"
(Boys are also going to kill you)
Favourite Method of Assassination: Plunging knives through them number ones to claim their spot.
We will move from country to country, getting rid of those that give cricket a bad name. We will not rest till the KPees, the Buffaloes, the Mingles, the Whayles, the Bhajjis and the genital warts carriers have been wiped off the face of the Earth. We will fight till cricket is on every person's lips, being repeated like a war-cry, till it's the only word to be heard from space.
"Cricket, cricket, cricket, cricket, cricket"
To hell with anyone who stands in our way.