Had the radio on for the test match down-under
When the speaker stole the commentating thunder,
Likened a batsman driving the bowler straight back
And through the non-striker’s lower limbs (quite a knack)
To a combination of croquet and cricket
And right away I thought that’s the sporting ticket:
Let’s take the Aussies on with mallet and bat –
Either we’ll triumph or they’ll call me a prat.
No point in asking how it was arranged so quick
And that three months later the sides met at cro-crick.
They’d agreed statim where the contest should be played,
Spurned Sydney and Melbourne to favour Adelaide,
Didn’t mind that the game’s rules were a puzzle to all —
Eleven a side with lawn, stumps and yellow ball.
If still with us Mr Benaud watching from the side
Would have been fascinated, no doubt mystified,
Seen Stokes score after a late-cut over a peg
And Warner faulted for double-tap before leg.
The others did their utmost to make breaks and runs
While reporters were pleased at this new source of puns.
Now that we poms might succeed hadn’t been foretold
So the crowd were stunned to be out-hooped and out-bowled
And they used the timeless excuse of it’s not fair
When we won by a point and a wicket. Didn’t care,
Celebrated that victorious England team
Till I woke up and realised it was a dream.