gullycricketblog

Check, mate was a bugle call from that Grand Master. The batters turned pawns, and he the captor. My Tribe. And when someone from your tribe shatters the illusion of off-spinners being not intelligent and sharp, you owe him, or certainly I owe him an ode to an off-spinner, our tribe. My tribe has done the cricket world proud, time and again. Ash, Ash Wednesday, it was. Remarkably, a reflection perhaps of how off spinners have defied the notion of them being orchestrators of damp squibs. Or of repentance of my tribe as not to have set the score straight with their brains deceiving the brawn with flight. Your clarion call may have come out of the blue, denied you the solemn farewell, and may have invited thunderous denunciations. So, what? You will find succor to know that your tribe celebrates you – one of the hallowed sons of the tribe. Your display of cognitive superiority, mind-game thrillers, and the stamp of off-spinning authority on the field puts you there among the pantheons. Th...