With so many having already weighed in on the issue of minnow nations playing in the Cricket World Cup, I wanted to come at it from a different angle. So I walked to the bookshelf and randomly made a selection.
It was an old poetry book and a chance turning of the page brought me to the poem ‘Kubla Khan’ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Maybe I could use this?
Sam T was partial to his own type of performance-enhancing substances but, the best I could come up with was a glass of red wine (maybe two).
So here is my alternate take on the minnows at the World Cup.
Leave the minnows be (with a nod to Samuel T)
In Manuka did Mortaza
A tricky 275 decree
Where Molongolo, the narrow river ran
Through drainage pipes measureless to man
Down to an artificial lake
Two minnows played on that Canberra ground
Where colourful supporters were girdled ’round
Bangladesh and Afghani flags and frills
Words passed between many a new friend
‘Neath the ancient Brindabilla hills
That the future of minnows might come to an end
But gee! a deep skill chasm ‘tween Aussie and Afghan
Down the green pitch Warner sees them like a boulder!
A savage hit by the Maroubra man
As e’er beneath the flood lights flaunted
By child wailing for his injured shoulder!
Yes there’s a chasm but we are seething again
There’s more teams in the world than three or ten
A mighty reverse sweep hit with great force
Against the Afghans yes of course
Huge sixes crashing like hail on my hat
Or innocuous bowlers beneath Maxwell’s bat
And though Starc’s yorkers smashed their wickets
They never gave up aiming for pickets
Six wickets lost in a chase set in heaven
Against the Windies the Irish hit then ran
Stirling, Joyce and O’Brien matched them man for man
And sank in tumult as they scored three-O-seven
Amid the joy Porterfield heard from afar
ICC voices don’t want minnows no more!
A shadow on their day of pleasure
Floated down the air waves
That teams of minnows won’t meet the measure
From the mountains to the caves
A miracle win won’t happen again
The next World Cup will have only ten!
A captain with a trophy
In a vision once I saw
It was the Afghan skipper
He held the trophy, you ripper
Singing of old Kabul
Could this make them see
His triumphant song
That won’t do say the ICC
This singing loud and long
Ten teams leave it at that
Of those ten we only care for three!
While all who watched would stop and chat
Hassan should cry, Howzat! Howzat!
His flashing eyes, this crazy cat!
Weave a cartwheel two or three
Then take a bite of Scottish shortbread
For the minnows on passion hath fed
And drunk the milk of the ICC
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