Day 89
Several days ago I touched on the subject of sport after the Giants nailed the Superbowl. However, there was one particular game that I neglected to mention.
Cricket.
To anyone not born within the national borders of England this is a completely baffling and unfathomable sport. As I’ve spent the past five hours with a laptop on my knees watching England being comprehensively thrashed by New Zealand I thought it might be a good time to explain the attraction.
I’m sure you’re thinking that a twenty page entry about the rules of cricket will be not only unwarranted in this diary but also mind-numbingly boring, however, the precise appeal of the game can be summed up a lot more concisely:
Alcohol.
Other than one-day fixtures, a game can last up to five days and during this time spectators obviously need the occasional light refreshment or two.
In other words it’s one of the few legitimate excuses to sit on your arse all day and get astonishingly drunk. In any other circumstance I wouldn’t dream of telling Mrs. Snowman that I would be spending several hours in the company of like minded men getting so loaded that my eyeballs melt into my ears, but it’s perfectly acceptable to tell her I’m going to watch some cricket.
I know a number of grounds around the World where the bars open several hours before play starts and don’t close until the last person staggers off into the sunset. This is also commensurate as to why very few women watch cricket.
If I wish to “watch” a game I always offer Mrs. Snowman the option of joining me.
“Darling, would you like to sit and watch the game with me for the next eight hours or would you prefer to go shopping instead?”
Smart eh?
Well, it was until she reads this.
I mention this because I intend to try the home version of this pastime by buying a couple of cases of beer and seeing if I can get through them before England lose all their wickets.
What wasn’t smart was my play at the poker tables today.
I got some terrible beats.
The first one occurred just over an hour into a 5c/10c game when I was about even and received A-Q suited in the small blind. I raised three times the big blind, was re-raised so went all-in. My opponent immediately called me with K-3 off suit and won the lot with a pair of threes on the flop.
Bastard.
Figuring I couldn’t possibly be that unlucky again, I invested $10 and sat down at another table. In slightly under half an hour that was gone too. I found myself with A-A in mid position and called an all-in raise to pocket Queens. This time I lost to a full house. If it wasn’t for the fact that a generous benefactor is now sponsoring me I might try to end it all by eating one of Mrs. Snowman’s home made cheesecakes.
As it is, I shall continue to play poker and use her dessert for filling cavities in the garage wall.
One last point before signing off for the day reverts back to the subject of cricket. We honeymooned in the West Indies where cricket is considered a virtual religion. I met a few guys in a local bar near the hotel and organized that we meet up to watch a game the following day. On this one occasion the wife joined me.
She was unbelievably bored after six or seven seconds as the group of men sat politely with their hands on their knees and silently watched the game. Mrs. Snowman decided she couldn’t take any more and wandered back to the hotel with another wife who had also been persuaded to attend.
They wandered back to the hotel (via the shops) and just as their backs retreated out of view, all the men became miraculously animated and the party started.
Ten minutes later we were surrounded by about $500 worth of beer bottles.
Nine hours later they poured me into a car and carried me back to our hotel room.
I won’t go into the details of her reaction apart from telling you I had to order some extra bars of soap from room service the following day.
Trust me when I tell you that mouthfuls of personal detergents are not a hangover cure.
Hopefully she will have realized this when the game finishes today.
I live in hope.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $9.84
Cricket.
To anyone not born within the national borders of England this is a completely baffling and unfathomable sport. As I’ve spent the past five hours with a laptop on my knees watching England being comprehensively thrashed by New Zealand I thought it might be a good time to explain the attraction.
I’m sure you’re thinking that a twenty page entry about the rules of cricket will be not only unwarranted in this diary but also mind-numbingly boring, however, the precise appeal of the game can be summed up a lot more concisely:
Alcohol.
Other than one-day fixtures, a game can last up to five days and during this time spectators obviously need the occasional light refreshment or two.
In other words it’s one of the few legitimate excuses to sit on your arse all day and get astonishingly drunk. In any other circumstance I wouldn’t dream of telling Mrs. Snowman that I would be spending several hours in the company of like minded men getting so loaded that my eyeballs melt into my ears, but it’s perfectly acceptable to tell her I’m going to watch some cricket.
I know a number of grounds around the World where the bars open several hours before play starts and don’t close until the last person staggers off into the sunset. This is also commensurate as to why very few women watch cricket.
If I wish to “watch” a game I always offer Mrs. Snowman the option of joining me.
“Darling, would you like to sit and watch the game with me for the next eight hours or would you prefer to go shopping instead?”
Smart eh?
Well, it was until she reads this.
I mention this because I intend to try the home version of this pastime by buying a couple of cases of beer and seeing if I can get through them before England lose all their wickets.
What wasn’t smart was my play at the poker tables today.
I got some terrible beats.
The first one occurred just over an hour into a 5c/10c game when I was about even and received A-Q suited in the small blind. I raised three times the big blind, was re-raised so went all-in. My opponent immediately called me with K-3 off suit and won the lot with a pair of threes on the flop.
Bastard.
Figuring I couldn’t possibly be that unlucky again, I invested $10 and sat down at another table. In slightly under half an hour that was gone too. I found myself with A-A in mid position and called an all-in raise to pocket Queens. This time I lost to a full house. If it wasn’t for the fact that a generous benefactor is now sponsoring me I might try to end it all by eating one of Mrs. Snowman’s home made cheesecakes.
As it is, I shall continue to play poker and use her dessert for filling cavities in the garage wall.
One last point before signing off for the day reverts back to the subject of cricket. We honeymooned in the West Indies where cricket is considered a virtual religion. I met a few guys in a local bar near the hotel and organized that we meet up to watch a game the following day. On this one occasion the wife joined me.
She was unbelievably bored after six or seven seconds as the group of men sat politely with their hands on their knees and silently watched the game. Mrs. Snowman decided she couldn’t take any more and wandered back to the hotel with another wife who had also been persuaded to attend.
They wandered back to the hotel (via the shops) and just as their backs retreated out of view, all the men became miraculously animated and the party started.
Ten minutes later we were surrounded by about $500 worth of beer bottles.
Nine hours later they poured me into a car and carried me back to our hotel room.
I won’t go into the details of her reaction apart from telling you I had to order some extra bars of soap from room service the following day.
Trust me when I tell you that mouthfuls of personal detergents are not a hangover cure.
Hopefully she will have realized this when the game finishes today.
I live in hope.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $9.84