cricket with balls

This is my 6th attempt at writing about Gilly’s retirement.

There were some good ones and some sh1t ones in there, but none of them felt right.

But in the spirit of Gilly, I though fu©k it, just swing away.

Gilly batted like all of us wished we could. With power and without fear.

On the ground he was like a Spartan, dispatching mere mortals and inspiring fables the world over.

The balls it takes to bat like Gilly even once in a test match is pretty big, but to do it for a whole career and be successful is obscene.

The man had a set of balls that could sink a battleship and he batted in a way that would have given Lucifer an erection.

Do you know how hard it is to be thought of as cool, when you have a 10 year olds hair cut, ears 4 sizes too big and a nice guy demeanour, but not much about Gilly made sense.

While others were tentative, he threw his bat at the ball like it was a cheating wife in the suburbs, ok bad example, but you get my point.

It was almost as if the ball was the enemy, and the bowler was just another faceless drone delivering it to him.

When the best were good, they could trouble him, Akram and Freddy especially, but when he stood up to them, they looked meek in comparison.

He made cricket a game where batsmen were the aggressors and bowlers were abused.

With gloves on he became mortal again, but with the bat in hand he was Muhammad Ali, he was Lee Marvin and he was as brutal as many man before him, and probably any man to follow.

Calling him a great of the game is almost understating it, he not only played the game, he changed the game, and not too many people end up with that on their headstone.

Thanks Gilly, for the cricket and everything else.

Cricket is a better looking lass for having danced with you.