English stole cricket from the Belgians

Ah. Belgium. Any society that produces such fine beer, such fine chocolates and a multitude of incomprehensible red tape is ok by my standards. It’s definitely one of my favourite countries, although comes a poor second to Finland when going abroad.

The Belgians have spent most of their history being forgotten by their neighbours. However, they have spent their time wisely, by creating a number of world-changing inventions: chips, Tintin, and now, it has been recently revealed, cricket.

The claim originates from an obviously fake poem from the 16th century which refers to "kings of crekettes" and “wickettes”.

Apparently, being bored out of their skulls by living in Belgian, the inventors of this fine game left for England where upon, a dubious BBC website article claims, they went to university to launch Stanford-style marketing weeze that took the country by storm.

The obvious weakness in this argument that Belgians don’t have the mental capacity for university, so we can quickly uncover the story as a fake.

Cricket was, in fact, invented by Muhammad Ibn Arabi in 1195, somewhere in Northern Africa. It was believed to have started when, after dispatching a camel in a particularly savage style, the Arabic poet had nothing left to better with his enormous “Grāy-ničoułs”, and therefore used the stocks from a nearby orphanage.

Eventually, it became more practicable to use smaller objects that are easier to throw and squirm less.

The game became popular with the higher class rats, who would winter in England. Proving that no pleasure goes unpunished, the rodents also brought with them the Black Death, which wiped out a third of the British population and leaving the survivors badly disfigured.

This is where the phrase “short square leg” comes from.

The problem with Belgians is their low profile. Remember any famous Belgians? Well, you might, but they certainly aren’t famous. And if they are famous, they probably originate from England.

So none of that smart Alecery thank you very much.

Bring back Jardine

The question I want to answer today is: just how mad was Douglas Jardine?

Among the assortment of dubious ties and suspicious socks, I was given a book for Christmas that can finally answer that question. The Game of Cricket by “Many Authorities” include some interesting and bonkers essays by a D. R. Jardine, former England captain.

Jardine, of course, is famous for trying to maim and kill as many Australians as possible in the ultimately successful Bodyline campaign.

Donald Bradman, for instance, had a promising career ahead of him, before Jardine personally took the new ball and beat “that little bastard” to death with it.

This is a laudable aim. The Antipodes is an area apt for a little culling here and there. Fine. Worthy of an MBE, etc. etc.

However, where I lose track of Jardine’s murderous thought-process is the introduction of organised slaughter into a game to which my Swedish friend refers to, “that game Englishmen play on the lawn, like croquet or bowls”. Although, ending your neighbour’s days is a novel way of livening up afternoon tea.

To quote the former England captain directly, he suggests some reforms to improve the sport:

“There is nothing wrong with cricket if by cricket we mean the body generally; certain limbs need pruning … both in the quantity and duration in and at which it is played to-day may need reform.”

The “limbs” to which he referred were soon amputated in Brisbane Distract Hospital, after he ordered his silly mid-on to gnaw off appendages of strong front-foot players.

For some reason, maybe he was too clever or something, the Australian public didn’t take to this giant man. He received much unfair criticism from the crowds. He waves off such foolishness with the typical aplomb inherent in every non-Ian Botham Englishman:

“Cricket when all is said and done is a game for twenty-two people, and no game that I know of, unless community singing be a game, is improved by thirty or forty thousand people endeavoring to take part in it.”

Quite so, old bean. Well said. Kill them all, I say. Damned natives.

Of course, no Bodyline blog would be complete without my second favourite exchange in cricketing history:

"They don't seem to like you very much over here, Mr Jardine." Jardine replied, "It's fucking mutual."

And on that spirit of anti-Australianness, let me leave you a little riddle:

Q: What’s the difference between Australia and a pot of yoghurt?

A: If you leave the yoghurt long enough, it’ll eventually grow its own culture.