Oh Shiv. Watching you bat is like taking the N89 home after a night out – slow, uncomfortable, and marginally more tolerable when drunk. Can’t argue though – it does the job.
Oh Shiv. Your batting is like bad sex – taking one for the team, doggedly, you stay at the crease for as long as possible, too often falling short of that crucial milestone.
Oh Shiv. Your innings are like a sports writer groping for convoluted similes – tedious but ultimately effective (a bit meta there).
You scored a total of 178 runs in the Lord’s Test. I’d bought your series runs for 50p at 235 on Sporting Index. The spread is now up to 333-343. The question is what to do.
The cautious man might close out. Best part of fifty quid in the back pocket – thanks very much. The sane man might let the bet ride – watch you grind away at England once again and move serenely into profit.
Why, then, have I gone and sold your runs? Sure, I lock in the £50, but, it feels like I’ve watched you bat for days already this summer, I dream of you laconically pulling your bat inside the line, why am I setting myself up for a world of pain?
There’s the gut feeling that you are due a failure. Of course, gut feelings are rarely the punter’s friend.
However, even if you do get ‘in’ your slow scoring means you risk running out of partners before you can make a really damaging score. Unlike a Lara or a Gayle, your propensity to really hurt the spread bettor is limited. A couple of mediocre knocks at Trent Bridge and I can close out (or flip again) for a healthy profit ahead of the final test.
Nevertheless, the thought of opposing you makes me feel quite sick.