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The sublime irrelevance of cricket will, I'm sure, have struck many fans of the game from time to time. It might even constitute the latent essence of its appeal, and this in an age when Australians, those arch-exponents of the high-octane modern game in all its pumped-up relevance, dominate the scene. On the surface of it, it would seem no place for dreamers and absurdists, when even at village level the game likes to present a strangely mundane and physical aspect. But none of this has really concealed from more percipient commentators the true Lewis Carroll nature of the phenomenon, its timelessness and ludicrous Englishness. Listening to the dreamy ruminations of Henry Blofeld or Brian Johnson, I have wondered if instead of ordinary men out there under the pacific summer sky would it matter if lions, elephants and badgers peopled that distant, grassy arena. Actually I've never thought this. |
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