Children, it's been decided. For months now I have struggled with the decision to adopt this strange looking yet absolutely endearing alien. Most of the time my struggle was directly correlated to his performance on the pitch.
Wickets= leaning towards adoption.
Wicket less = Hell no!
Then he got dropped from the ODI team, came back, performed miserably got dropped again...I didn't have time to support his difficult days. He has a wife for that, which incidentally is news to me. The mother is always the last to know, how very typical.
I only wanted to revel in his good days. I mean, if I wanted a troubled child I would have one of my own. Why adopt an alien?
But now, I have no choice. Even though he is not back in the squad and kind of proving himself to be a little shit and predictable, I am left with no other option but to adopt him. A great force has compelled me. This force, unfortunately, did not rise from hidden maternal instincts. Instead, it was born out of a pair of pants.
ROFL went to CSA's annual golf day in these pants.
ROFL let other people see him in these pants.
ROFL posed for a picture in these pants.
He might not be my son yet, but he is a Protea and no member of my team shall ever look like...well, like this! A half man, half zebra with an alien residing in the middle. This is a crime against humanity, nearly punishable by death although, I am pretty sure PETA will kill us before we can kill that zebra.
I think we can safely say that ROFL will have to work really hard to become a regular in the squad again but there is no reason why he can't look like a normal person while he is at it. That is where I come in. From now on, ROFL is my son.
You can address all gifts to me. I will pass them onto him when he comes of age.