CRICKET, Swinging the Willow

‘Cricket – Sweep Shot’ … Pen & Wash – WHB.  2017



CRICKET is a game which lends itself to hyperbole, and attempts to describe the game on sound radio have enlivened and intrigued for many years.   To this end commentators have developed a highly descriptive language to convey the excitement and finesse which cricketers from all over the world apply to the game. For example, there are numerous ways in which the shots played by batsmen can be described.  These are, of course, governed by the prevailing conditions of weather and the playing surface as well as by the whiles of the bowler they are facing.

I can make an anthology
Of cricket terminology,

Particularly the strokes,
And I’m not kidding folks,

Because in this descriptive way
Commentators describe the play:

Will it be a slick flick
Or a fickle tickle?

Do remember that a chance leg glance
Is always better than a dull pull;

Although why not a deep sweep,
Try a hook and tempt a duck?

A slash in a flash
Is better than a trash bash;

But a loop of a scoop
May get you caught out for nought;

While a cut in a hurry
Will have you out in a flurry.

Try a snide glide,
Or a fine slide.

Even a rich switch
Must be better than a mere steer,

While a high five for a cover drive
Easily beats a mock block.

Did you know, a bit of a trick
Is a quickly executed slick snick?

But beware the rash slash,
Or that devastating poke stroke;

And how about  a big slog
… To end my blog?

A Jigsaw – What Is It For?




I don’t wish to lay down the law,
But a jigsaw –
What is it for?

Yes, I know it’s a test,
You can call it a quest,
A puzzle at best.

No doubt it’s extremely tactile,
And it can your senses beguile,
But really, is it worthwhile?

Well, I thought by-and-by
I’d give it a try,
Show I’m the wise-guy.

So I planned one long Sunday
I’d sit down and play,
Show my family the way.
Well, I found out the hard way
It by no means is child’s play,
For to my dismay,
After one hour’s play …

I’d hardly got started.
All wisdom departed,
Leaving me broken-hearted.

‘Cos the task was too hard,
It had caught me off guard.
I felt like a retard.

My worry increases
What, one thousand pieces?
I couldn’t get going,
My tears they were flowing,
My nose wanted blowing,
My hubris was showing.
 It was terribly tough.
 I had thought I could bluff,
Thinking – only kid’s stuff;
But that wasn’t enough,

And my theory was certainly challenged;
My ego was massively damaged;
I ended up mentally ravaged.

I found it defied explanation
It sure gives a losing sensation
I say that without hesitation,
After that, my  first visitation.

So I called on my grandson aged nine,
With a visage so calm and benign,
But the offspring of old Frankenstein,
Soundly he did me outshine.

Those little irregular pieces,
His ability to fit them increases,
His eyes move like lightning to find
Pieces that he then combined.
To me he said, “I’m not being unkind,
But I leave you so far behind.
It’s a pity you say you’re so good,
You’ll never reach grandparenthood
If you can’t fit together some wood.”

In his confidence he slotted them in,
I could see I never would win.
So I buried my pride,
Let him take me for a ride.

I finally  got him to agree
That for just a very small fee
He’d let everyone see
How slick I could be –
A devilish Jigsaw devotee.