I don’t like Crickeeeet, I love Crickeeeet!
Posted on the 23rd August 2012 in the category sport

There is something truly beautiful about Geoffrey Boycott snorting with disgust about an English batsman giving his wicket away cheaply.

Boik’s great when he’s had a chance to think about slating a cricketer but when he’s so shocked he can’t control what comes out of his mouth, and for all I know bowel functions as well, it is simply priceless.
One game with England rocking Christopher Martin Jenkins was commentating and describing the action.
He said: “Bopara is out for LBW!”

Within a mili-second a nasal Yorkshire voice came bellowing across the airwaves in so such pain it sounded like he had just came home and found his dear mother dying with multiple axe wounds.
“Naww, Deeeeeaar God, boy, dear God.”

Then silence. Everyone in the Test Match Special studio must have had to get their ears immediately syringed and the decibels must have destroyed the constitution of any cakes lying around.
Then the wonderful voice was back. Every sentence wasted no words and every single one was delivered with disgust.
“There is no way he should have been caught by such a soft ball, my mother could have faced that, that bloody red bus over there could have bowled at him and he still would have got out.
Jenkins cut in: “England are in trouble.”

“TROUBLE, it’s a bloody shambles man, absolute tripe, how can a top class batsman hoping to make a score play such a bloody awful shot, he was scared stiff, the Aussies must be laughing their heads off now.”
His no-nonsense approach cuts to quick and he could have made a great lawyer, in a strange way the way he speaks reminds me of my mom in full flow, and she has had electric shock treatment!
I reckon Boycott is the only person in the world who could give my mom a run for her money saying: “You make me sick, you are just like your dad, the bastard.”

If only the sham football commentators took a leaf out of Boycott’s book of telling it the way it is instead of trotting out clichés and ‘show us your medals’ banal banter.
The Test Match Special dream team for me is Henry Blofeld and Geoffrey Boycott.
Privately educated Blofeld who has a vocabulary and delivery which sounds like a cross between an Ealing comedy actor and Oxford debating king.

Nobody in the world can describe a seagull lazily flying across the ground like Blowers can and his wonderful knowledge of the game really gives TMS that Radio 4 feel which is should never lose.
Then there is Boycott who is as Yorkshire as Tetley tea and is the living embodiment of ‘I say what I like, and I like what I bloody well say’.

He is a national treasure, the way he faced the God awful prospect of a court case in France where a ‘lady friend’ claimed he beat her up after ‘meal with the international popular music star Billy Joel’ (what I’d give to hear that conversation) was priceless.

He flew every ex-girlfriend he had ever had to the court house and had a photo with all of them with him grinning in the middle claiming that in 50 years he’d never laid a hand on a woman and he got them all to say he was a great bloke.
Imagine phoning up all your exes and asking them to meet all your other exes and then have a cosy photo taken with them and when asked why the ‘lady friend’ made up the story of him beating her up.

He gave the best reply anyone could give. “Look lad, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
The way he handled it meant that he ended up keeping his job on Sky and the BBC. To some a figure of fun but I couldn’t imagine cricket without him.

Blofeld and Boycott are total contrasts brought together by their love for the beautiful game that is quintessentially English.
Call me mad, and perhaps it is because I’m not signed up to the Murdoch money making machine Sky, but I love listening to cricket on the radio.

Test Match Special is would be worth the license fee alone if I paid it.
There have been worries about the ‘radiofiveisation’ of TMS which started to eat away at it’s traditional format. When Tuffers and Radio Five’s Mark Poo-Gash got their TMS ties, the writing was on the wall but now it is back to its best. Blowers, Aggers, Jenkins, Boycott and have all been on great form. 

TMS was the first sports broadcast to include the listeners, whether it be Miss Dinglethorpe’s lemon curd flan from Horsham, but even now steers clear of Radio Five’s idiotic reliance on telling the audience what some div doing the decorating in Milton Keynes thinks about the sporting event he is listening to.

Twenty20 is all very well but nothing beats a five day test match with a nail biting end.
When Aggers said at the end of the South African Test: “And that is the last Test Match Special of the summer,” it signalled the end of Summer for me.




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