I Don’t Like Cricket, I Hate It is a semi-regular feature where we ask a fella called Prince Prefab about cricket – even though he hates cricket. We are in bold. Prince Prefab is not.
We have got an absolute bombshell to drop on our readers here, haven’t we, Prince Prefab? A big thing happened. A very big thing indeed. After Ben Stokes and Jack Leach had that partnership at Headingley, you texted us to say that you were voluntarily going to watch the highlights. This whole feature is about how cricket has never won you over and yet just for one moment it won you over. The readers are going to be dropping their bacon sarnies and spitting out their tea and all sorts at this earth-shattering news.
Yeah it won me over. Done me like a kipper etc. And it was so good I don’t care. Also I rewound some shots and watched again and I still haven’t deleted it despite our storage being at critical.
So what did it take? What finally got you to pay attention?
It got good. Twice.
How did you know it got good? And what does getting good even mean to you, in terms of cricket?
These are hard questions. And I’m tired. I suppose cos of you writing about cricket for years I’ve gradually paid more attention. I’ve found myself checking the score now and again. And even I could tell with Stokes that something special was happening.
The ‘good’ question is hard to answer. Like when you have a mouthful full of good food you can’t always describe why it’s good, you can just tell. Something is good when it’s good. It makes itself clear as good to you.
What we take from this is that boring the tits off you about cricket for what, ten or twenty years, has REAPED ENORMOUS DIVIDENDS.
Partly. But if the recent cricket had been as nondescript/dull as how I suspect most cricket is, it would have made no difference at all. But I’ve been checking the score, so I have to concede a little. Do you know what annoys me though?
We do not and we cannot wait to find out.
It’s an old gripe. It’s been there like a stone in my shoe for twenty years. When are you going to show the slightest bit of interest in any of my interests?
Specifically: jangly indie pop; Prefab Sprout; ridiculously expensive handmade boots; small, quiet novels about lonely men not doing much then shooting their own dog or something else suitably depressing and tragic.
When, KC? When?
95 per cent of our conversations are about the Trashcan Sinatras. We swear to God.
Well someone has to talk about them.