Another one dredged up from the depths of the archive. This fic will be largely unintelligible to a lot of people. If you can't understand any of this, that's okay. It's about cricket, and hardly anyone understands cricket, even the people who play it... It was written in the late 1990s, when Richie Benaud and Tony Grieg were not only alive but still commenting on the cricket on Channel 9 and Shane Warne was promoting One-Tel. THAT'S JUST NOT CRICKET! "Wulcome uverybody, ut's a megneficent day he-ah ut the MCG where we bring your our live tulecawst uf the Gulector vahses the Kegaku Nunja Tai Getchamun. I'm Tony Grieg, sharing the commentuhry with Rutcheee Benaud," said the strange, pale, tall man in the hat. He was standing in the middle of the pitch at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, in full sunlight, squinting out from under a broad-brimmed hat, microphone in one hand, his car keys in the other. "Is that a mutant?" Jinpei whispered, watching the monitor. "No, Jinpei," Jun replied. "That's one of the commentators." "Apparently," Ken put in, "he used to be captain of the English team." "That's not an English accent," Ryu observed. "South African," Joe decided. "Makes about as much sense as anything else around here." "Yeah," Jinpei agreed emphatically. "Even the water in the bathroom goes down the wrong way, here." "Jinpei!" Jun glared at her little brother. The vision changed to the commentary box, where a small, ageing, leprechaun with a shock of white hair blinked at the camera. "Who's that, aniki?" Jinpei asked. "Ritchie Benaud," Ken explained, "he used to be captain of the Australian team." "When?" Joe smirked. "In the paleolithic era?" "The nineteen sixties, Joe," Ken said, glaring at his second. "Right," Joe chuckled, "the paleolithic." "Is he South African, too, aniki?" Jinpei wanted to know. "No, Jinpei, he's Australian," Ken said. "Makes about as much sense as anything else around here," Joe said again. "Thanks for that, Ton-eee," said the leprechaun. "I'm Ritchie Benaud, welcome again to Channel Nine's live and exclusive telecast of the Galactor KNT one-day match, here at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The weather forecast is for fine, mild conditions, with thunderstorms, hail, fog and the chance of a tropical cyclone.(1) The curators have been working all week on drying the pitch out after the recent floods, what are the conditions like down there, Ton-ee?" "Wull, Rutchee," said the other commentator, "there's a fair but of bounce un the putch. You can see that ut's quite firm --" at this he crouched and poked his car keys into the turf to demonstrate -- "but wuthout any crecks thet would allow a good spun bowler to create any real threat to the betsmun. The temperature us twenty five dugrees, relative humudity eighty five percent and the wund is south easterly at five knots. All in all, a great day for a great game of crucket, Rutchee." In the dressing room, Joe's chin connected softly with his chest and he uttered a small snore. "Look," Ken addressed his team, "the PR Department came up with this idea to help patch Utoland-Australian relations after we rescued the Australian Prime Minister from Galactor." "I don't know why they're so mad at us," Jun grumbled. "How were we to know they didn't want him back?" Berg Katse watched as the Galactors lined up, ready to play their first game of cricket. He tossed a small red ball in one hand, up and down, up and down, up and -- oh, well, you get the idea. "Men," Katse declared, "today we will defeat the KNT at cricket, for the glory of Galactor!" "Hai, Katse-Sama!" the men barked in unison. "Now... I'm bowling," Katse decided. "Bob, you're wicket keeper. Bill, you're on the outfield; Tad and Tod, you're in slips, Frank is the gully and Bill is square leg." "Hai, Katse-Sama!" the men agreed, and scrambled. Berg Katse unscrewed the two halves of the fake cricket ball and checked that the explosives were primed. When the Galactor team strode out on to the field, the spectators rolled about laughing and jeering. Katse turned to glare at the stands, and then realised that Tad and Tod had made their entrance wearing full-length petticoats. "WHAT are you two imbeciles DOING?" he shrieked. "Fielding in slips," Tad answered. "Like you said, Katse-sama," Tod added. From the pitch, the umpires watched, bemused. "What's this?" Ken asked, holding up the oddly shaped white plastic object. "It's a protector," the trainer explained. "You know..." "No," Ken said, staring blankly. "What does it protect?" "Um..." the trainer said, with a glance at Jun. "It's um... in case you get struck by the ball." "The birdstyle is invulnerable," Ken said. "Not there, it ain't," Joe put in, smirking. "Was this thing designed to fit a horse, or what?" "The ball," said the trainer, "travels very fast, and is very hard. You need all the protection you can get." "I'd never be able to live up to the expectations of any woman who saw it," Joe decided, tossing the protector aside. "What's next?" "Pads," said the trainer, and held up two long quilted sideboard runners with lots of straps hanging off them. "Kuso!" said Joe. "Where the hell do they go?" "On your shins," sighed the trainer. "We can use those," Joe decided. "Well, Toneee," said Ritchie Benaud, "opening for the Kagaku Ninja Tai are Konduru no Joe and Owashi no Ken on strike." "Aniki's on strike?" Jinpei echoed, watching the telecast. "I thought he was going to bat!" Eagle and Condor strode awkwardly out to the crease, gloriously attired in full birdstyle with shin pads, gloves and cricket bats. Ken waved to the crowd, who fell about laughing. Berg Katse wound up to throw the ball, and the umpire stepped in. "Mister Katse," said the umpire, "that's chucking." "Chucking?" Katse hissed. "That's pitching!" "Pitching, chucking..." The umpire pointed to a spot on the field some twenty or so yards away. "You start your run up back there, and bowl... overarm, please." In the stands, Greg Chappel cringed(2). Katse stalked away, started a run up, then stopped. "How do I do this, again?" he asked. The umpires had a brief consultation, and called out Shane Warne, the star Australian spin bowler. Warnie took Katse aside, signed him up for a twelve month One-Tel subscription and told him what to do. Nervously, Katse paced back, started his run up, then flung the ball in a wide arc towards Ken. "AAAAAAGH!" Katse shrieked. "My shoulder." "Oh, yeh," Warne said, scratching his short blonde hair thoughtfully. "I forgot to warn you about that. Want the name of my orthopaedic surgeon? "AAaaaaaaaaaagh..." moaned Katse. Meanwhile, the ball flew high over the pitch. Ken sprang skyward, wielding the bat, swung, and missed. The ball continued on its trajectory, hit the commentary box, and exploded. Screams erupted throughout the ground. Joe charged at Katse. Ken charged at Katse. Katse staggered away. "Grab him!" Ken yelled. "I got him!" Joe shouted. "Let me go!" yelled Shane Warne. "Would either of you two like to get discounted long distance telephone rates with One-Tel?" Jun, Jinpei and Ryu ran out onto the ground to engage the Galactor goons using cricket bats, stumps, pads and cricket balls. Jinpei was wearing the discarded protector on his head. Clutching at his wrenched shoulder, Katse staggered to the fast food caravan and flung the door open. As the KNT fought their way clear of the goons, the pie cart sprouted a pair of wings and took off, blasting into the gathering clouds over Melbourne. "Damn," Katse muttered, "and I was planning on doing the shopping tour of Richmond..." And I can't think of any more rubbish to write about KNT Cricket, so that's all, folks. (1) Melbourne's changeable weather is notorious among Australians. It is best described as "four seasons in one day. (Great shopping, though...) (2) The infamous underarm bowling incident back in the 1970's brought international relations between Australia and New Zealand to an all time low. New Zealand only needed one run to win, and Aussie bowler Greg Chappel, on instructions from big brother Ian Chappel, who was team captain, bowled an underarm "grubber" which made it impossible for the Kiwis to score off the last ball of the game. It was one of the darkest moments -- if not THE darkest moment -- in Australian sporting history.

Nice! It's just missing Bill Lawry's comments on pigeons in the outfield. And maybe Tony losing his car key in a crack in the pitch (which actually happened during one pitch report - possibly in the 90's).

Originally posted by Katblu42 Nice! It's just missing Bill Lawry's comments on pigeons in the outfield. And maybe Tony losing his car key in a crack in the pitch (which actually happened during one pitch report - possibly in the 90's).

The keys in the cracks gag was already done by the Full Frontal sketch comedy team - in their sketch, Tony lost his keys in the cracks on the pitch; then I think The Twelfth Man did one where the ball bounced off the embedded keys during play and injured the batsman.

One of the cricket museums - maybe at the SCG or Adelaide Oval - has a small cross section of cricket pitch on display in a glass case, complete with "Tony's lost key" a few centimeters below the surface. (My husband is in fits of giggles remembering the Twelfth Man sketch.)

Yeah, I was pretty lost, but it was cute.

I don't know if this will help put things in context, but it's worth a shot. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFa5NNYL9bs https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXvnj8byB8g

Princess entered the Ready Room just in time to witness Keyop shutting off the television with a disgusted grunt. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Total ripoff!" he replied, "Supposed to see crickets playing...not bad copy of baseball!" A moment passed before Princess realized what must have happened. "No, Keyop," she explained, "the game's name is cricket." "Still a ripoff!" With that, he stormed out of the room.

Someone needs to tell Keyop that Baseball has its roots in Rounders, which some people believe has its roots in Cricket!

I don't quite get how Keyop would see cricket as having any similarity to baseball - he would basically see a bunch of people in white standing around doing very little while another person takes a run up before basically exploding in a mad flurry of arms and legs out of which a little red ball flies at speed, then another person wielding a piece of willow (which looks nothing like a baseball bat) takes a swing at the ball (or not, if the ball is a no-ball, which does not preclude it being a ball, but it is considered a no-ball by the umpires, even though it is, quite clearly, a ball) and the ball then either goes through to the wicket keeper, is hit, or hits the stumps, in which case the batsman is out. If the batsman is not out, it doesn't necessarily mean he's not-out. That doesn't happen until stumps, presuming he isn't out by the time stumps is called, which is not the same as the ball hitting the stumps because that would mean that the batsman was stumped and therefore not not-out. And after all that, you may well be stumped about cricket. In case you were wondering, we do it on purpose. Why else would we have a game where you can field in slips or be silly mid-off or square leg? You can't be silly mid-off and bowl a googly, though. That would be absurd.

[FONT=comic sans ms][SIZE=1]Never mind.[/FONT][/SIZE]