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Summer time has arrived. Time once again to tolerate the behaviour of the Australian cricket team, that notorious assembly of some of the most unedifying individuals known to man.
Whether it’s their lingual blitzkriegs or grumpy body language, or maybe just their penchant for lotharios, cheats, greyhound trainers and trans-continental beer drinking records, you know the ‘Ugly Aussies’ tag is sure to be recycled before the season’s out.
Personally, I’m sick and tired of the poor wrap they cop. I’m here to passionately defend the team.
Sure, while the high majority are grubs, some aren’t. In fact, the sight of some wouldn’t even compel me to cross to the other side of the road.
In extremely rare cases, you can even find some who are classy and dignified, possessing statesman-like qualities like tact, table manners and qualifications. If you look hard enough and bend a few rules, there is nearly enough to fill an entire team.
So while our Ugly Aussies embarrass us this summer with their hyper foul-mouths, causing public outrage which pressures them to tone it down, thus resulting in us bemoaning how soft they’ve become, why not dream of this?
It’s the supernova of gentility this country yearns for; a bunch of moderately talented gentlemen of virtue and sound hygiene, and not a single blow-up penis among them.
Presenting to you, mortified Australians, your kind and cultured eleven.
Chris Rogers
Dour opener turned erudite commentator, Rogers was celebrated by the mannerly sect as a church mouse among Michael Clarke’s unfed reptiles.
When your worst crime as a cricketer was a dead heat between provocatively kissing your badge or oversleeping because of a heavy night dancing to floor-fillers, history will always rightly judge you as Sunday roast material. And Rogers was the sweetest pumpkin among turnips.
Ed Cowan
This coffee-loving commerce graduate articulates unlike most professional sportsmen, the difference being nobody wants to oxy-weld their ears closed by the time he ends his first sentence.
Not only engaging, also penned a book before holding a profile big enough to guarantee cheap Christmas sales, and furthermore, it included nothing about being strangled by Simon Katich.
Michael Hussey
Stylish, reliable and neat, Mr Cricket is arguably the perfect man. So desirable, television networks globally look to him as the template for The Bachelor. None have reached his insurmountable standards.
George Bailey
So grossly unselfish and team-fixated he called for his own axing. Not only this, he’s dead serious about sun safety too. The fact James Anderson threatened to punch him in the face undoubtedly proves the Pom quick is the kind of bloke who swerves for ducklings.
Luke Ronchi
Now representing the paragon of congeniality across the Tasman, but will forever be a former Australian. International rugby league eligibility laws engaged. Loophole enacted. Welcome to the team, Aussie Luke.
Mitch Marsh
The kind of guy who could easily be splashed across the covers of Dolly and TV Hits like a fresh-faced John Paul Young. You’d happily bring him home for supper, and you wouldn’t need to call ahead to Mum and Dad for permission beforehand. Because everything about him is so non-threatening.
Adam Gilchrist
I don’t want to exaggerate his divine likeability, but the New Testament was reworked to include a chapter referring to ‘the saintly big-eared custodian with the squash ball palm.’ Just desserts for a man who selflessly entertained, walked and suffered Shane Warne.
Geoff Lawson
Maybe seen as a left-field selection considering some of his acerbic chapters as coach of Pakistan. However, the NSW quick managed to emerge desiccated from the Tooheys-drenched 1980s to remain a teetotaller and an optometrist. Your blind granny would love him.
Pat Cummins
Scientists are currently constructing a complex molecular structure for a super-nutritious strain of oats that will reach the wholesome goodness required in a breakfast cereal that can be fairly associated with the peachy keen image of this man. Marry him before your mum does.
Stuart Clark
A commerce graduate who’s never been spotted drunk in a public place, Clark’s selection continues the team’s fine tradition of bowlers with serviceable kidneys and an education.
Spindly, silent and gloriously unsexy, you could safely leave him in the company of your wife, provided she isn’t loose outside off-stump.
Stuart MacGill
Despite being surly, detached and outrageously unathletic, thus ticking every box as history’s most unsuitable human for team sports, MacGill qualifies for the Refined XI because he knows wine. Nothing is classier than using a Beaujolais for scrutinising tannins rather than a last resort at 3am.