Laurence Elderbrook refines his method

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Previous instalment from Laurence Elderbook

Chastened by my uncharacteristically ineffectual performance the previous week, I resolve to prepare properly. Before I depart to find a team in need, I carry out my exercise regime to get the blood pumping. I essay twenty to thirty mad gambols followed by a series of naked frisks.

Once this is complete, I summon my squire, Darron-with-an-O. I do this by repeatedly striking the wall that separates our two abodes while calling out his name. Within moments, he is at my door. I hand him my bat and we immediately depart in my motorcar.

After a long morning, we eventually track down a team that is a player short. I inform the captain that I will open the batting. Primed by my mad gambols and naked frisks, I am ready for action and do not want to let my body cool.

The opening bowler is a lanky sort. I assess his gait and examine how he holds the ball. Clearly he will bowl full and swing the ball away. I take guard and pick the gap I will penetrate.

As the bowler runs in, I am awash with confidence, but his delivery stride rather takes me aback. He is left-handed and I had prepared as if he were right-handed. As his arm comes over, I try and work out how the way he holds the ball with one hand will impact on how he bowls with the other. Just as I correctly conclude that he will bowl straight medium-pace, the ball strikes the stumps.

I take the only option available to me. I let fly a huge bestial roar and march off the field, whereupon I gather Darron and immediately drive home, snatching some victuals which have been prepared for the tea break as I walk out.

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  1. In other news, 25-year-old quits cricket to do something nowhere near as good as being paid to play cricket.

      1. His T20 stats aren’t bad at all, and he’s had very positive press reaction in India, which means he has (had) a greater-than-nowt chance of making fairly serious money out of cricket.

        With a brain like his and the connections he’ll have, he’d obviously make far more in Law than as a regular county pro, and perhaps even as an occasional Test player.

        But the rise of T20 does open things up a bit.

      2. Of all the articles you’ve written, I agree the fuck out of this one the most, I think. It’s just sad. What I’d give to not have a perma-fucked knee in my early-30s and be able to essay a score and ten of mad gambols, paid or otherwise.

        I hate Zafar Ansari. He is dead to me.

    1. At least he’s not quitting to help out with his brother’s ‘music career’, as a certain Kent player recently did.

  2. Dodgy Russian bride ads on the sidebar O King.

    A bit of a problem when browsing from work (at home Adblock takes care of it all).

    1. Again, ads are targeted. We don’t control what appears. It’s based on site content and individual search history.

      There does seem to be a tendency to show dating-related ones, which we can only presume is a fallback when there’s nothing more appropriate to display. You probably need to spend more time idly researching future purchases.

      All we ever get is worktops, splashbacks and Eurosport subscriptions.

  3. …”repeatedly striking the wall that separates our two abodes”…

    …this infers that Laurence Elderbook lives in a semi-detached or terrace residence.

    I suppose if we are talking about a grand terrace on the Cadogan Estate or similar, this news just about makes sense. But if we’re taking about a semi-detached shack in Penge, I don’t get it.

    I’m also struggling to visualise the type of accommodation where the squire’s residence might adjoin the master’s.

    Please help.

  4. Playing my 1st match of the season next Thursday.

    Distressingly, I’m currently number 8 on the team sheet. I average a sub-Chris Martin 0.25 with the bat and the person currently coming in at 9 scored our team’s 1st and 2nd ever centuries.

    Really hoping this gets sorted out before we take the field or else this could end very badly indeed.

  5. Every time I hope Laurence will do well. I know he won’t, the format requires it and such things are set in stone. But still I start each new post with hope, knowing full well that disappointment inevitably awaits.

    1. There’s always hope.

      If an infinite number of monkeys faced an infinite number of deliveries from an infinite number of decent medium paced weekend trundlers, eventually one would score a ton.

      1. An infinite number would score a ton.

        But an infinite number would also be out first ball for obstructing the field, and an infinite number would be out first ball because they picked the stumps up.

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