Crickets

I was driving home this evening and happened to catch the sport report on the BBC. I'm always particularly amused by the cricket scores. "Australia is on for 25 for 7 with 19 and 5, crossing 3 with 11 for 143, and 8. Excuse me, the 7 should have been a 6. With 2."

I engage in hyperbole to make a point, of course, which is - what? I don't remember. I actually know how cricket is played and scored, or at least as well as any American can, but still, if the announcers do - not - speak - very - deliberately during the cricket scores they might as well be reading bingo cards. I was once instructed by a pretty good Indian "spinner" on how to bowl properly. Perhaps because of my American upbringing, I apparently lack the suitable tendons and ligaments in my shoulders, for the act of "bowling properly" caused me such pain I emitted a coarse epithet. Complaining bitterly of a sticky wicket and a possible torn rotator cuff, I retreated to the patio for a gin and tonic (and I am not making this up).

There was something I heard on the radio and/or TV today that really did irritate me royally, but somehow the process of getting through the day and managing to remember to get oranges at the grocery store drove the anonymous outrage out of my head. And maybe it's just as well; given my tender state I really don't need the radio to irritate me.

But I'll bet twenty dollars that it had something to do with Glenn Beck.