Today I saw a headline reading to the effect: 'Guy Sebastian's Message to Australians Affected by the Cricket Scandal'. Like Guy, I also have a message to Australians affected by the ball-tampering scandal in cricket. My message goes like this:
FUCKING GET OVER IT!!!!!!!!
Okay, that's concise and clear, I should hope.
I am sick with every fibre of my being of seeing these three gronks in my newsfeed, and sick of seeing them every time I turn on the television. They've fucked up royally, and are paying the price. From what I've heard, the price is actually on the heavy side penalty-wise where Cricket Australia's rules are concerned, but possibly they have an avenue of appeal. Don't get me wrong; I find cheating offensive and abhorrent. I'm also finding it difficult to feel much sympathy over these guys' actions, given the money they're paid for the grand privilege of whacking a cricket ball around. Can't bear cricket either. It's the most stultifying and dulling activity known to mankind. Or humankind if you're a Social Justice Warrior who wants to gender-neutralise every pronoun possible.
But seeing Smith give his tearful apology makes me worry for his mental health now. Yes, he did the wrong thing. But let him get on with his life, rather than bully him into a psych unit. Or worse.
As for the people criticising Warner for not having made a statement-slash-grovelling apology the very minute he stepped off the plane: wake up to yourselves! Some talking head on television this morning was going into meltdown about Warner's failure to speak when he stepped from the plane. This might ruffle the feathers a bit, but he doesn't HAVE to speak. Of course, it is good spin for him to give a press conference, but there is something else to consider. He had just stepped off a plane at midnight with his two small children in tow, so perhaps getting his young family home just might have taken precedence in his eyes.
Yes, their on-field actions are pretty disgraceful. Yes, they must be punished. But let them be punished and not hound everybody to the rats and back, okay? Nobody's died, and the amount of sanctimony and pious chest-pounding is starting to get just a tad disproportionate to the actual offence.
Forgive me if I'm not in a great mood, reader. Yes, I'm fed up with this cricketing bullshit, but I'm also in a bit of physical discomfort at the moment. Yesterday, I was doing some housework and moved the wrong way, and the next thing my back was keening at me. This has never happened to me before, and it was not fun. My husband - a veteran of back pain - assisted me to our bed and brought pain killers. I actually managed to nap a little, but was no better upon waking. I hobbled to the lounge room, and with regret cancelled a tutoring session I had organised with a student. To attempt to staunch the insidious spread of misplaced apostrophes, and to help pay my bills, I have taken up tutoring English. And yesterday, although I could still think and talk, I had serious doubts about driving to the student's house because my vehicle is manual. I'm really enjoying the tutoring and hated having to cancel.
So I sat on the lounge yesterday afternoon, whereupon another gronk shattered my tranquillity, insomuch as sitting on the lounge afraid to move can be tranquil. There was a knock at the door. I instructed my sixteen-year-old to see who was there. One cannot see the front door when one is seated on our lounge, so I had to rely upon my sense of hearing. My son found himself dealing with some door-to-door spruiker for Oxfam. My son is not shy of displaying his smartarse tendencies to his parents, but he is not sufficiently schooled in dealing with these pests. I ended up shouting from the lounge room that I was the lady of the house, but at that point in time unable to move and we had great disinterest in whatever it was he was trying to foist on us, so to just vacate our domicile. The following scene played out something like this:
Spruiker: So we can't interest you ma'am?
Me (yelling from lounge): NO! I CANNOT MOVE AT THE MOMENT, NOW JUST GO!
Spruiker: Sure, but promise me one thing, ma'am.
Me (wondering was the spruiker stupider that first thought): WHAT?
Spruiker: That you will stay beautiful.
Me: I HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER; IT'S MY NATURAL STATE OF BEING! NOW FUCK OFF!!!!
Honestly, people can't take a hint. I do not like shouting swear words in front of my kids, but I was in pain and to be honest, a tad truculent.
As well as tutoring yesterday, I had planned to further go through the edited manuscript of my upcoming novel Howling on A Concrete Moon. That didn't happen because I was lying on my bed. Another thing to contribute to my malaise.
I had been rostered to work this morning, and as a matter of prudence cancelled my shift. This means one of my team mates had to 'pick up the slack', and I felt awful about that, too. On the bright side, I am a bit better today, and the improvement is continuing. I will not turn a cartwheel to celebrate.
Right now, I'm feeling as though the only one who's had a worse Good Friday than the one I'm currently suffering might be Jesus Christ himself.
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