Twenty bloody 20

So Kent (Kent?!) won the Twenty20 Cup.

Kent?! I’ve bloody been to Kent, and it’s bloody rubbish. You know, the chav was invented in Kent. That tells you all you need to know. (For international readers, "chavs" are teenagers that aimless roam the streets in a threatening manner. They also drink a lot of cider. Do not confuse them with farmers from Somerset.)

I’ve included of a picture of some chavs that I shot whilst driving through Dover. That’s the thing about Kent: you drive through it to get to France. And the thing about France is: you drive through it to get any where else. Just one big motorway to Italy, as far as I’m concerned.

As you can see, the chavs and "larking about" in a intimidating manner. They also wear the hats and helmets and things that they find on the street. They are mostly skinny because their parents can't afford much food, and they are addicted to heroine.

So anyway, the matches on Finals Day were brilliant and exciting and fun and all that rubbish that people usually trot about Twenty20. I once revealed the truth about the format, but the EC-bloody-B chose to ignore me. And not for the first time. It’s no coincidence that the county scene is a shambles and England are losing.

I boycotted the whole tournament. Twenty20 is just too exciting. It should be banned; it’s just not cricket.

I mean look at them. How could you possibly take any sporting team seriously when they waltz about in trackies. Honestly.

Any other cricket news? No. No I don’t think so. Oh wait, apparently, we’ll be “surprised” tomorrow when the selectors announce England’s Twenty20 squad. Expect Jade Goody to be picked.