Recently I invented a time machine. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details, but it involves wormholes and gaffer tape. While I was in the future I had a look at how cricket had changed.

On the field:

72.2 Is this out? Dawson pushed at a straight one and there was a noise as it passed the bat. Wade took the catch and Paul Reiffel has given it out. Dawson asks for the review. After playing and missing Dawson has twisted his bat intentionally to show the Pepsi hot-spot camera that there was no edge, overturning Reiffel’s decision. Reiffel smiles. Dawson retakes his guard. 346/7

In the online press:

Batting guru Tillakaratne Dilshan is now urging young batsmen to practise the technique of Phil Hughes as a way to take away LBW decisions. Hughes’ technique came under fire when he first played international cricket – he now averages 62 in Division One Test Cricket. Dilshan says: “It has been three years since Hughes has been out LBW – the man is the Jackson Pollock of batting. Kids can learn from him.”

From the commentary box:

Kevin: Looks like he wants a change of bats.

Michael: Hill was saying on iboo that he has nine different kind of bats, all weighted and shaped for different batting conditions, and that he uses them in much the way a golfer would.

Andrew: Nine different kinds of blades, but how many bats altogether?

Michael: He has three of each, 27 in total, but Cricket Australia also have two professional bat-makers as part of the team, in case one breaks.

Andrew: In case 26 break.

Kevin: Seems like a waste of kit space, but I suppose players don’t carry their own bags these days.

Andrew: I’m sorry, Kevin, but when did you ever carry your bag?

On twitter:

BumbleCricket
Been to Lord’s. They’re practising with glowing balls. Bioluminescent technology or something. Dear me. What happened to red?

An email to the blogger:

To the minds behind this webspace:

I have had enough of reading the excruciating feed that passes for your posts. It is all about prostrating yourself at the decaying feet of Test cricket or what spoilt star pretending to be a cricketer has signed to some decadent Indian franchise. You pretend to be a coterie of cricket admirers but where were you when one-day cricket was culled? At a Twenty20 “tournament”, I bet. Twenty20 is a cruel, humourless joke; it is made for sloggers and knuckle-draggers. In one-day cricket you have the art of moving the ball into gaps, forced attacking fields and properly executed batting powerplays. Twenty20 is just a disorganised orgy of poor cricket shots mixed with mindless yorkers. It is your fault that one-day cricket has died.