anyway I’m sayin, dis for a fact, Botham shuda been in da outa it aleven, but he’s justa finish playin’ for da ashes in a Australia.”
“Yes. It’s interesting that you say that because I would have thought him a natural selection in the evolution of this team! What do you say John?
“Indeed, Dennis, but then if I may just cut in here, I suppose we could find so many candidates for the Out of It team. We’ve already discussed Titokowaru and I personally would like to have seen Sam Becket selected, but there you are. After all there can only be eleven chosen, and when you think how many Out of It people there are in this world, well it makes me glad I’m not one of the selectors.”
“Oh, yes John I agree entirely. It’s interesting to note that all members of this term are dead. Perhaps they’ve taken a more hard-line definition of the term Out of It. personally, I feel it’s a far too harsh an imposition. Good heavens, there must be all sorts of characters in this world who are completely out of it, in their own way, and could never be considered for selection. Why, even you and I John by the end of a day of gin and tonic in the commentary box could be eligible at least for the second eleven!”
“Ha, Ha, by Jove you’d be right there Dennis! Anyway my turn to give a few statistics and to tell you that in the twenty-fifth over we saw the Out of It 200come on the board and as we watch Marley walk through the gate in the picket fence, I can tell you that the Vice Captain made ten runs bringing the Out of It score to 210 for eight after twenty-four overs.”
“Perfect on all points except you forgot to mention that he was clean bowled, middle-stump by Martin Crowe.”
“Oh! You are an awful pendant, not to mention presumptuous – I was just coming to that, Ha! Ha!”
I wanna big score
An it’s alright
I wanna hit four
Every day an’ every night
Shots to the boundary
And a six right over your head
Is it four, is it four, is it four
That I’m scoring Is it four, is it four, is it four
That I’m scoring.
I wanna know, wanna know wanna know now!
“Well, after the whimsical reggae rastaman the vibrations change somewhat as the Reichmarshal, arguably the most Out of It all his team, takes to the crease. The first ball he faces from Crowe sees him on the defensive. Oh, while I remember, Big Bird said to give his farewell to the listeners, he said he wanted to catch up with Bob to get some sort of telephone or some such number. Anyway, the point is it was a pleasure to have him up here and I can just glimpse him going through the carpark as Crowe bowls the last ball of the twenty-fifth over which again has Goering on the defensive and the score is now the same as it was before, 210 for eight wickets.”
-Hold on ehoa, says Rewi. Stop.
Before he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. Mercy of God the sun had just burst through the Auckland sky and was in the P.S.M eyes or he’d have been left for dead. God, he was near sent into the country graveyard. Sure the Malone took fright as Rewi told him he nearly took a swipe at a Mongrel Mob about the ear like hell, and all populace shouting and laughing as the foreseen event was stopped from having him (the Malone) dragged along like an old tin box clattering along the street.
“Well, that’s the end of Herr Goering I’m afraid. He never got off the ground, like an old sea lion he just sat basking in the sun, which incidentally is now shining brightly here at Eden Park.”
“Yes, well he was there for just over three overs and he never played a scoring shot, so it is possible that he’s just a bit too Out of It, although in the match last