I Committed Sporting Treason

I’ve a dirty little secret

We dare not speak its name

For if it was to come to light

Well, it’d be a national shame

Since I was a boy of five

I’ve been a cricket fan

That love has developed

As I became a man

The to and frow of cricket

Brings me loads of joy

The bat and ball contest

I’ve loved since I was a boy

But in cricket there’s a villain

Who’s name you shouldn’t say

Just a mere mention

Bring shiver to this day

I confessed to my wife today

That I’m a fan, she never knew

Cricket has outlasted one marriage

And her reaction nearly made it two

Back in the 1930s

The Gentleman’s game turned dark

The Poms came Australia

And blood fell on the park

The problem for the Poms

Was a bloke called The Don

A run machine from Bowral

Who could bat on and on and on

Bradman made grown Poms cry

With tons in 1930

The only way to slow him down

Were tactics that were dirty

With fast bowlers at his disposal

A man came with a plan

To quell the dominant Bradman

And take the Ashes to his homeland

Douglas Jardine is the man

Who’s captaincy I’ve admired

While many people think I’m mad

Do some elements, I’ve aspired

Oxford educated

And smart as a whip

A Lawyer and Journalist

Who let the first career slip

Debuting for Oxford

he toured Australia

In 1921

Without fear or favour

Jardine debuted in the blue cap

Of the Three Lions in 28

Two innings victories over the Windies

The Poms had shut the gate

The Kiwis were first to taste

Jardine with the captain’s armband

As the MCC looked for answers

For any way to stop Bradman

In 1932

The plan was set quite clearly

Bowl fast and at the batsman’s form

It was known as fast leg theory

The nuts and bolts of this plan

Was to unsettle the brilliant Don

With fielders all around the bat

From leg slip to short mid-on

Jardine has comrades at his side

The fasted bowlers about

Larwood, Allen Tate et al

To bowl the Aussies out

As the series drew on

And players grew sad

Political tensions were strained

And the public grew mad

“Leave our flies alone you bastard,”

Yabba yelled from the hill

At the Sydney Cricket Ground

As Bert Oldfield fell

It wasn’t just Yabba

Calling Jardine rude names

The Australia team was questioned

For doing the very same

The Poms were victorious

In the series that was played

Bradman had been stifled

But a big price was payed

The relationship that stands

Between Australia and England

Was forever sullied

By Jardine and his henchmen.

The man himself did not soar

To Test Cricket’s dizzying heights

One mere century

From 22 International fights

That’s not to say he was a mug

With more than 14,000 runs

Playing first class cricket

With 35 First Class tons

But the fight was not always extinct

Within this tactical thinker

The Western Front in World War II

Dunkirk no place for a shrinker

He died a millionaire

Cremated as per his wishes

One last wish was not granted

For Lord’s to house is ashes

Every law in cricket

Is written for a reason

“Bodyline” was outlawed

And to speak of it is treason

What gets forgotten though the years

Is Jardine broke no Laws

Admittedly they were greatly change

After a great furore

Jardine became the villain

Hated the country over

By my admiration for how he led

I can now say publicly sober