Australian cricket these days has taken on a decidedly Peyton Place aura. For our younger adherents, substitute Days of Our Lives.
Far more serious that the demolition of their world cup team by way of injuries inflicted by those South African bastards masquerading as Poms, we have the extraordinary revelation that potential captain Michael Clarke has his mind firmly focused on finding decent sheila to accompany one of his players to the Allan Border medal presentation.
No I'm not kidding
And now it seems, Warnie can't tear himself away from the hurley burley of Hollywood.
His affair with the sultry one has all the characteristics of a test innings. Fielding, that is. He seems to come on for short spells and upon failing to penetrate, off to the boundary to sulk with his cellphone. After an appropriate period of self contemplation, back he comes, all hardened up and looking to get a bit of turn out of a flat bitch. (Bloody spell checker.)
The poor bugger still doesn't seem to understand the difference between getting his leg over and getting his leg before wicket.
Maybe he should send an email to Michael Clarke?
Hey Michael! Where the bloody hell are ya?
366 days of gratitude
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