For what it’s worth, it’s indeed my personal opinion that the month of February should be completely eliminated from the calendar for the good of humankind. It’s seriously the worst month of the year. The heat fairly fries the top layers of your skin right off you, and there’s just no respite from it, no matter what Messrs Fujitsu, LG, Daikin and Carrier might try and argue otherwise. And guys play cricket in this!
Many people I know decide to fast, diet, detox and perform other strange and unnatural acts during February, which said acts can turn their personalities from Prince Charming to Charles Manson within a few short hours. I swear I can hear them howling at the moon at night. Even the pot and Prozac addicts get jumpy in February. It’s no wonder at all that Valentine’s Day falls here. Riddle me this Batman – why is it that a guy could send me roses on the 14th day of any other month of the year in Brisbane and it would roughly cost him $50, yet on 14 February the same dozen roses will cost him $12,763 plus GST and delivery, and be already half dead by the time I get them? I’m telling you, it’s the heat. It’s surely got to be the reason why otherwise normally sane people suddenly think it’s acceptable to walk around with the kind of glazed look on their face that would do a Krispy Kreme proud; pay hostage prices for a dozen flowers of any description (and with a florist’s dozen you’re one short anyway – they’re clearly not as generous as bakers); be unable to walk into any restaurant in the South East corner without a 6-month prior booking; and send each other insanely mushy sentiments that would violate every stalking law on the statutes and shame the face off you on any other day of the year.
Like any self-respecting girl, I’m a true romantic at heart, but I confess I loathe Valentine’s Day as much as New Year’s Eve. Both of them are high on cliché and unrealistic expectation and low on spontaneity and fun. Valentine’s Day is not about love at all, it’s about finally submitting to heat-induced insanity by the middle of the month.
Not only that, but February’s a twilight zone kind of month where cricket season has not yet finished – for sure it’s actually just starting to get interesting as the top teams face off for a spot in the finals of the various competitions - the One Day series (currently called the Ford Ranger Cup), Twenty20 and the Shield (I know it's supposed to be called the Pura Cup these days, but for me it's always been the Sheffield Shield, and it always will be) - but the footy pre-season is also just kicking off. This unfortunate overlap of sports not only confuses a girl’s loyalties, but also her wardrobe colours, and that’s not…..well, it’s just not cricket is it?!
So how is it in my eternal foolhardiness that I’ve agreed to get on a plane and head to the Middle Eastern desert in February to watch what is essentially a winter sport, while the boys in maroon/white are still praying for the rain to stop and pounding the pitch in sweaty earnest?
In order to go and watch the Pies take on Adelaide in Dubai, I’m having to dig out the black & white stripes a little earlier than expected, miss out on most of a vital Shield match for the Bulls, and be plonking myself squarely in the middle of Shopping Mecca, where a body on a ‘mortgage stress’ budget and a shoe addiction that could kill a centipede has absolutely no place being at any point in time. What’s that about? I swear I’ve a concrete block disguised as a head, and it wouldn’t be the first time that small fact’s been noticed by anyone. Having said that, I'm as excited as can be and do realise how very lucky I am to have this fabulous opportunity.
But back to the Bulls.
The Bulls have had flashes of brilliance in an otherwise ordinary season and it’s fair to killing me to see them struggle so. It’s grim enough that Divine Intervention is begging to be called. Perhaps a word or 50 to St Sebastian might do the trick. It’s a sad state of affairs indeed that there’s no specifically dedicated Patron Saint of Cricketers, but there you have it (and for sure there’ll be a few words to be had with Archbishop Bathersby about that appalling oversight). Saint Sebastian is the Patron Saint of Athletes, and that’ll have to be close enough for the task at hand. It's not quite desperate enough yet to be begging St Jude (Patron Saint of Hopeless Causes) for help - I have more faith in Queensland than that. There’s an enormous well of talent within the Bulls, and whatever wicked thing’s decided to get in the middle of their winning ways in 2007, well, I wish it’d just be up and off and be quick smart about it. Perhaps an order of 12 St Sebastian pendant medals for immediate presentation to the team will change the course of the 2007-2008 season? Let’s face it – there’s nothing to lose here and everything to gain.
There are members of the team who have far more in them than to be getting out for 2, 3, 6 and 9; and giving away 13 off an over in recent innings, especially when I’ve seen them smack 50s, 60s and 100s and taking 3 or 4 wickets an innings in other games. I guess though that’s what cricket’s all about and why we love it. However, the rosary beads are surely getting a workout and my knees have calluses on them from kneeling in Mass and begging for a miracle.
The boys are about to be up for another Shield match and a One Day game in Tasmania this week, and let’s hope that they can take advantage of the great win they had over Tassie in the Twenty20 match at the Gabba recently. What a fabulous night that was! Everyone there was so proud of them. As well as playing more like the Bulls we know, you could seriously feel it in the air that the win had restored some of their self-confidence and belief that they can do better than what the ladders are reflecting this season.
While the Bulls’ season is drawing to a close, I hope that Collingwood’s season will rev up with a great start in Dubai. Bring it on boys and let the games begin!
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