Thursday, January 17, 2019
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Nov 26 – Third Test – Day 3

Something I ate last night at the Mexican/Nouveaux New York fusion Tapas bar in Rundle Mall didn’t agree with me – and it wasn’t just the incongruous support the owners were showing for the President Elect. Something was a bit “off” and as a result I was bowling “from both ends” by about 2 am. I wasn’t pretty.

Things settled down enough for me to get to sleep by about 6 am, just after I’d left a message on the Tour Manager’s phone that I wouldn’t be on the Team Meeting at 9am.

I finally woke at midday, feeling like . . . well, felling like I’d had a bad night in Adelaide. [Ed. Is there any other kind?] Ordered some vegemite toast from room service. While I waited for it to arrive, I checked the voice messages on my phone, which I will reproduce here.

“S’up? I’m right as rain – must have been that extra clam burrito cheese burger chaser you had. You didn’t miss much at the Team Meeting this morning. It was all about ‘playing your natural game’ and ‘letting it flow.’ Your name was mentioned. Bus to the ground is at 11 if you’re up in time. See ya.” The Prof, naturally.

“Um, hello. Please accept our apologies for your unfortunate sickness. We hope you recover quickly. We’d like to offer you a free return meal with our compliments and no admission of wrong doing. Please ring ahead and book for a date after Wednesday – we’re having some minor renovations.” Somewhere I won’t be dining at again, tonight or ever.

“Dad here. Bloody hell, you’ve messed this up. Now these young ‘uns are in the team ahead of you and doing OK you’ll never get another Test. Sort yourself out, will you? You mum says ‘Hi’.  Anyway, good luck in the nets. Bye.”

“Sorry to hear you’re ill, 17th. Team bus leaves in 5, so assuming you’ll join us later. Ring me if not and I’ll organise a doctor to visit with an enema or something. All the best.” The Team Doctor.

I felt better after that message and the toast, and made it to the ground just in time for play.

“You look dreadful,” said The Prof as I entered the dressing room.

“Thanks,” I said with half a smile. “Pass me one of those electrolyte iceblocks would you?”

Mr Darcy launched a big six over mid-wicket to whoops from the dressing room.

“We’re going to win this,” said The Prof.

I shrugged my fragile shoulders and licked my iceblock.

When it comes down to it, nothing that happened during the afternoon and evening contradicted his assertion. I think.


South Africa 9/254 dec and 6/194, Australia 383

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