A rainy night at the IPL

“Hi Sachin! Good day mate!”

“Good day Warney.”

“It’s a pity that the rain hasn’t stopped mate. Otherwise, I woulda gotcha again!”

“I’m in good nick Warney. I was hoping to thrash you around tonight as well.”

“You didn’t see me bowling the other night? You can’t read me that easily now. Poker has helped me in that regard. Tell you what, I woulda gotcha today just like I ‘ave all my life. I bet I ‘ave gotten ya out more than anybody else.”


“No? Who is it then? It can’t be Pidge. I’m sure!”

“No. It isn’t McGrath.”


“No. Not Murali either!”

“Don’t tell me it is one of the current day players? It’d be embarrassing!”

“No. He is retired of course.”



“I’m certain that it’s not the Poms. One of the South Africans perhaps? Donald? Pollock?”


“Don’t tell me that it was Cronje?”


“It’s tougher than I thought. Gimme a clue.”

“Alright! It’s a West Indian.”





“No? Pedro Collins perhaps? I remember you having trouble with him once?”


“I give up. Who’s it? I still can’t believe some bloke from the Caribbean outside of Walsh and Ambrose has gotten ya out more than I have! I can’t wait to know. I’m hoping that it isn’t Carl Hooper of all people!”

“No. It isn’t Carl Hooper!”

“It’s not a spinner right? I’d hang myself if that’s the case!”


“Go on! I want to know who it is!”

“Steve Bucknor!”

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