Player A vs Player B

[Jungle Jumbo]

Is 'Player A' 'Richard' and 'Player B' 'the rest of the forums'?

 

[Richard]

Nah. It's you and those who realise Bangladesh aren't Test\ODI-class.

 

[Richard]

OK . right thats there choice, I am sure we are all adult enough to deal with it being kept open or being closed. I am more worried about the rising prise of petrol and food to be honest

Yeah, me too. I'm also more worried about the prospect of... well I'm not really worried about anything actually TBH, I have a good life. But to exaggerate on all scales: I'm more worried about the prospect of giant meteors striking Earth and wiping-out entire countries than I am about tsunami striking the US of A and destroying the entire North America.

Doesn't mean one is of 100% importance and the other zero though. And if you had the choice of trying to prevent one or both, I think you'd probably go for both, now, wouldn't you?

what? .....you arent going out with Jenny A?....you had me there you sly dog...here is me thinking you were seeing Brad Pitts ex-squeeze...I was having thoughts of trying for Carmen Electra, given your success with the stars, and now its all ruined.

Shame, you'd have had more success going for Carmen Electra than you would with these stupid gags about me and "Jenny A".

 

[Swervy]

Shame, you'd have had more success going for Carmen Electra than you would with these stupid gags about me and "Jenny A".

Damn, do you think Carmen reads this forum? I best get my act together

 

[Richard]

Damn, do you think Carmen reads this forum?

Nope.

I best get my act together

Indeed.

 

[Swervy]

Nope.

Indeed.

you still keep posting in this thread, I like your style, you are just contributing the wasting the bandwidth.

I dare you to just let me have thelast word on this...go on, see if you can do it

 

[Richard]

Nah. I'm contributing to dragging this thread off the original banal topic. It's essential.

 

[Swervy]

Nah. I'm contributing to dragging this thread off the original banal topic. It's essential.

Richard loves Player Q...thinks he is better than Dominic Cork

 

[Richard]

Nah.

 

[Neil Pickup]

Let's look into the future. The year is 2023, South Africa have just thrown away the World Cup final against China, by losing their last eight wickets for two runs in three overs. Alastair Cook has just retired from International Cricket with 53 Test centuries, 17,392 Test runs and two sixes. The Sydney Stars have won the World Ten10 Championships. Shane Warne has replaced Pelé as Viagra's TV salesamn.

Closer to home, Devon U11 are playing Oxfordshire. Despite 56* from Dominic Gerald Dickinson, Oxfordshire have rolled their hosts for less than 100 and completed a convincing win. Young Dominic, excited, runs off the pitch to tell his father the news.

'Dad, did you see me batting? Did you see me get fifty?'

'Humph,' Dickinson elder slaps the side of a grizzled, old whippet and hunches his shoulders. 'Fifty, lad? That weren't fifty. Tha' were dropped by that distinctly poor fielder James Pickup at slip on 7, tha' should've been given leg before on 22 and half your runs were scored agen' bowlers that were not County-standard.'

'Dad...'

'Eyup, I'm not finished. Tha's got a first chance average of 7, an all chance average against proper bowling of 14. That's nothing to be proud of, tha's shown tha'self poor to extremely poor at this level.'

What Dominic's father knew not, however, was that by naming his child Dominic Gerald, and seeing the lad born on August 7, 2012, he had managed to translate some of the old man's hero's fiery personality into the boy.

Little Dominic stood, stock still, beside his father's IKEA folding stool, his batting gloves still clutching his precious willow. 'Dad! I got fifty!' Lifting the blade and striding forwards, Dominic bent onto one knee and unfurled an angry sweep shot into the legs of his father's folding chair. 'Is that shot alright? Or is the chair poor to extremely poor at this level?'

It's my genuine belief that Dominic would have beaten his father to the end of his days that afternoon in Ottery St Mary, if I, and another parent, hadn't been on hand to pull his struggling body away from the stricken victim.

 

[Richard]

Let's look into the future. The year is 2023, South Africa have just thrown away the World Cup final against China, by losing their last eight wickets for two runs in three overs. Alastair Cook has just retired from International Cricket with 53 Test centuries, 17,392 Test runs and two sixes. The Sydney Stars have won the World Ten10 Championships. Shane Warne has replaced Pelé as Viagra's TV salesamn.

Closer to home, Devon U11 are playing Oxfordshire. Despite 56* from Dominic Gerald Dickinson, Oxfordshire have rolled their hosts for less than 100 and completed a convincing win. Young Dominic, excited, runs off the pitch to tell his father the news.

'Dad, did you see me batting? Did you see me get fifty?'

'Humph,' Dickinson elder slaps the side of a grizzled, old whippet and hunches his shoulders. 'Fifty, lad? That weren't fifty. Tha' were dropped by that distinctly poor fielder James Pickup at slip on 7, tha' should've been given leg before on 22 and half your runs were scored agen' bowlers that were not County-standard.'

'Dad...'

'Eyup, I'm not finished. Tha's got a first chance average of 7, an all chance average against proper bowling of 14. That's nothing to be proud of, tha's shown tha'self poor to extremely poor at this level.'

What Dominic's father knew not, however, was that by naming his child Dominic Gerald, and seeing the lad born on August 7, 2012, he had managed to translate some of the old man's hero's fiery personality into the boy.

Little Dominic stood, stock still, beside his father's IKEA folding stool, his batting gloves still clutching his precious willow. 'Dad! I got fifty!' Lifting the blade and striding forwards, Dominic bent onto one knee and unfurled an angry sweep shot into the legs of his father's folding chair. 'Is that shot alright? Or is the chair poor to extremely poor at this level?'

It's my genuine belief that Dominic would have beaten his father to the end of his days that afternoon in Ottery St Mary, if I, and another parent, hadn't been on hand to pull his struggling body away from the stricken victim.

That's pretty good. A small tweak or two and I might allow it to be this week's Skull.

For starters, we've no plans of being in Devon in 15 years' time. For seconds, I'm unlikely to have a Yorkshire accent again in my lifetime. For thirds, I won't be sitting in any folding chairs. For fourths, I certainly won't be needing a Humbersider's help in disciplining my own children. They'll be learning to only value their runs if they were scored chancelessly before they even think about representing their county.

Oh, and for fifths - you know my stance on "whippets".

 

[Swervy]

Let's look into the future. The year is 2023, South Africa have just thrown away the World Cup final against China, by losing their last eight wickets for two runs in three overs. Alastair Cook has just retired from International Cricket with 53 Test centuries, 17,392 Test runs and two sixes. The Sydney Stars have won the World Ten10 Championships. Shane Warne has replaced Pelé as Viagra's TV salesamn.

Closer to home, Devon U11 are playing Oxfordshire. Despite 56* from Dominic Gerald Dickinson, Oxfordshire have rolled their hosts for less than 100 and completed a convincing win. Young Dominic, excited, runs off the pitch to tell his father the news.

'Dad, did you see me batting? Did you see me get fifty?'

'Humph,' Dickinson elder slaps the side of a grizzled, old whippet and hunches his shoulders. 'Fifty, lad? That weren't fifty. Tha' were dropped by that distinctly poor fielder James Pickup at slip on 7, tha' should've been given leg before on 22 and half your runs were scored agen' bowlers that were not County-standard.'

'Dad...'

'Eyup, I'm not finished. Tha's got a first chance average of 7, an all chance average against proper bowling of 14. That's nothing to be proud of, tha's shown tha'self poor to extremely poor at this level.'

What Dominic's father knew not, however, was that by naming his child Dominic Gerald, and seeing the lad born on August 7, 2012, he had managed to translate some of the old man's hero's fiery personality into the boy.

Little Dominic stood, stock still, beside his father's IKEA folding stool, his batting gloves still clutching his precious willow. 'Dad! I got fifty!' Lifting the blade and striding forwards, Dominic bent onto one knee and unfurled an angry sweep shot into the legs of his father's folding chair. 'Is that shot alright? Or is the chair poor to extremely poor at this level?'

It's my genuine belief that Dominic would have beaten his father to the end of his days that afternoon in Ottery St Mary, if I, and another parent, hadn't been on hand to pull his struggling body away from the stricken victim.

hehehe....it warmed the ****les of my heart did that story

 

[Neil Pickup]

That's pretty good. A small tweak or two and I might allow it to be this week's Skull.

For starters, we've no plans of being in Devon in 15 years' time. For seconds, I'm unlikely to have a Yorkshire accent again in my lifetime. For thirds, I won't be sitting in any folding chairs. For fourths, I certainly won't be needing a Humbersider's help in disciplining my own children. They'll be learning to only value their runs if they were scored chancelessly before they even think about representing their county.

Oh, and for fifths - you know my stance on "whippets".

Shall I allow Dominic to finish beating you to death and exclaim "that's the end of all your chances?"

 

[Richard]

Nah. Change it to him breaking some worthless thing of his father's like his father did to his own father when he angered him, and then repenting it when he realised that his father was right to tell him that only chanceless runs were worthy of being proud.

 

[Neil Pickup]

Murder is easier to write. Requires less extra scenes.

The tragedy is I can genuinely see you delighting in pissing on an ecstatic ten-year-old's maiden fifty.

 

[Swervy]

Nah.

why, do you not agree that he is better than Corky?

 

[Richard]

Murder is easier to write. Requires less extra scenes.

Pah, taking the easy route. You've gone down in my estimation.

The tragedy is I can genuinely see you delighting in pissing on an ecstatic ten-year-old's maiden fifty.

Nah, as I say - I'd just instill the importance of being ecstatic only at what you should be ecstatic at into the lad. Then there's no need to worry about them being pleased about unworthy stuff.

In all seriousness - obviously I'd enjoy such a moment with him, but I'd certainly not be telling him "you were brilliant son, keep batting like that and you'll have a career ahead of you".

 

[Richard]

why, do you not agree that he is better than Corky?

We'll only find that out in time.

 

[Swervy]

Murder is easier to write. Requires less extra scenes.

The tragedy is I can genuinely see you delighting in pissing on an ecstatic ten-year-old's maiden fifty.

But do you not think that the son of Richard would be pretty downbeat if he had offered a chance during his maiden 50. I would suspect he would run himself out the ball after the given chance, just to keep his first chance average the same as his real average, just so no-one could ever say he was a lucky player

 

[Richard]

That'd be the spirit. I'd truly be proud of th'ald lad then.

"Dad, did you see that? I'm keeping the record straight."

"Well done son - I'll forever treasure this memory." Rich then turns to the angry thronging crowd. "And just who the hell do you think you are there? So what if my son cost the victory by deliberately running himself out and refusing to allow the non-striking number-ten to sacrifice his wicket to save his? He knew he didn't deserve that not-out and he refused to accept it. Full credit to the lad. Who's bothered about the result? It's a meaningless under-11 match - no-one's going to be talking about this in 3 years' time."