It's all relative

One day as Mascaraman stood in front of the mirror applying makeup to his eyeballs to make it as pretty as his lashes, he had heard voices. A distant whisper, in a Goochie-like voice...

"Alastair...you can bowl".

So the next day he bowled. He presumed it was a bit like throwing water balloons at people. And he had plenty of experience in that department thanks to the lovely pajama parties hosted by Ms. Stuart. He conceded 111 runs in 5 overs. 111. Straight and symmetrical. Just like his mascara brush.

Offended that a worse bowler has emerged, Mitchell Johnson quickly moved to grab the spotlight. Except he kind of forgot to grab his own brain when running out the door and tried to borrow Scott Styris'. When Scott wouldn't give it to him, Mitchy went upto the brain and started calling it in a strange language, to get it to jump out. Mitchy huffed and he puffed, but it didn't budge. Then he tried banging it with his head. Bang, bang, bang...went Mitchy.

So great was the effect of Mitchy's banging that even Butt heard it over at Pakistan. Only the air particles and infinite sound waves floating around between New Zealand and Pakistan created a chinese whisper effect and the words reached Butt's ear as 'ban, ban, ban'. Next day, any Pakistani player who had dared to have luscious hair, facial or otherwise, were banned. They said it was about the cricket, but we doubt whether Pakistan actually plays cricket or shows up once in a while to make the world interesting. Regardless, you are now punishable by law for having hair.

Which is why Dan the man got rid of his beard and in the process brought back the frown lines on Ricky Ponting's monkey face when he decided to once again, defeat the opposition all by himself. Methinks Daniel is a bit of a loner, and that is kind of a problem because this ain't tennis. Or the French football team. But it is also true that his team frequently abandons him in their quest for zesty chicken now that KFC is their official sponsor. But not Dan. Dan can't be swayed by them birds.

Chicken talk inevitably leads to the dashing Bangladeshi captain. No, the real one. The one who has given up playing altogether for unknown reasons. Mashrafe Mortaza is missing. Nobody knows why. Please find him. His team got our hopes high for a brief period (you think we have learnt our lessons by now) and his deputy took atrocious captaining to a new level. Neither the good nor the bad had anything to do with him, but according to Shakib the old Mashrafe has disappeared and the new one is no good.

Maybe the old one has gone for a walk with Lara Bingle, who, after showing too much, has also disappeared. Before that however, she made her beloved fly back home...only to end things. These are times when I am in full support of phone break ups. Think of all the paper that we would have saved had Clarke not flown back and the media not gone crazy. And think of all the paper they will be using when Clarke gets into another relationship and the papparazzi tries to get a statement from Bingle. I don't give a shit about the matter of their hearts, I just want the trees saved.

In extension, while you are saving trees, it is a reasonably good idea to save the Zimbabwean cricket team. A team that can beat West Indies with Chris Gayle playing is a team that deserves to be showered in Gayle's sunglasses and have Gayle serve them. At least for a night. Please can people play Zimbabwe more often?

Maybe we should have a team called the Zimbabwean Chris Gayle Beaters in IPL 4. I will get Bouch to twit his Modiness.