04-01-2024, 11:48 PM
Rules against Leg Theory
O, cricket is a grand old game
with grand old names, from Grace and Sutcliffe to Hobbs,
each known to cricket snobs
as a primum movens of bowlers' sobs,
then the boy from Bowral’s highland
who terrorised the sceptred island
in 1930, at Headingley and Leeds,
and made the English pacemen look like knobs.
But ah! in that triumph, the seeds
were sown of Leg Theory.
Leg Theory, better known as Bodyline,
that infamous design
of the dour Jardine and his fast bowling crew -
Larwood, Voce, and Bowes, fearsome combine,
hurling corkwood projectiles
stitched in leather, fastened with glue
to do unto you
what you’d never do to a neighbour.
‘Twas battling brain injury, not bowlers’ wiles.
And so the cry went out - ban bodyline!
‘Tis un-British, and we’re British too!'
Said the Australians. ‘How convenient of you!’
Jardine snorted. ‘Out of the blue
you’re British in 1933 or 32
when you’re losing the Ashes,
the clash that trumps all clashes,
at least for the MCC.
Yet three years before this 1933
when Bradman at Headingley,
obdurate, unbendingly bashes
our attack, not giving up his wicket
for the poor punters who’d bought a ticket
to see England win, and stick it
to you -
then your flag bears the emu and kangaroo,
not the Union Jack,
nor the naturalised Barbary lion from the London zoo!
You don't have my back,
you’re no more English
than a boundary is single ish.'
And the debate raged back and forth across the seas,
but eventually the whining Aussies won,
and they’d have no more of Bodyline, please.
then Hitler made cricket season a little less fun
and the Americans made a second sun
for the Yanks to rank with Atilla the Hun.
But eventually, in the 1970s,
the Aussies answered Larwood and later, Frank Tyson,
with Lillee and Thomson,
who’d make batsmen comatose
with yorkers aimed at their toes
and missiles inches from the nose,
till the batsmen were tinned like sardines.
But alas! In the interim, the Brits,
those self flagellating twits,
had binned Douglas Jardine.
This was after Lindwall and Miller,
and contemporaneous with the Thrilla in Manila.
Line and Length were plain old vanilla
in light of the new leg theory.
Dearie! Dearie!
The batsmen were teary
eyed. Their pleas denied.
Then Larwood, with wounded pride,
at last felt justified.
O, cricket is a grand old game
with grand old names, from Grace and Sutcliffe to Hobbs,
each known to cricket snobs
as a primum movens of bowlers' sobs,
then the boy from Bowral’s highland
who terrorised the sceptred island
in 1930, at Headingley and Leeds,
and made the English pacemen look like knobs.
But ah! in that triumph, the seeds
were sown of Leg Theory.
Leg Theory, better known as Bodyline,
that infamous design
of the dour Jardine and his fast bowling crew -
Larwood, Voce, and Bowes, fearsome combine,
hurling corkwood projectiles
stitched in leather, fastened with glue
to do unto you
what you’d never do to a neighbour.
‘Twas battling brain injury, not bowlers’ wiles.
And so the cry went out - ban bodyline!
‘Tis un-British, and we’re British too!'
Said the Australians. ‘How convenient of you!’
Jardine snorted. ‘Out of the blue
you’re British in 1933 or 32
when you’re losing the Ashes,
the clash that trumps all clashes,
at least for the MCC.
Yet three years before this 1933
when Bradman at Headingley,
obdurate, unbendingly bashes
our attack, not giving up his wicket
for the poor punters who’d bought a ticket
to see England win, and stick it
to you -
then your flag bears the emu and kangaroo,
not the Union Jack,
nor the naturalised Barbary lion from the London zoo!
You don't have my back,
you’re no more English
than a boundary is single ish.'
And the debate raged back and forth across the seas,
but eventually the whining Aussies won,
and they’d have no more of Bodyline, please.
then Hitler made cricket season a little less fun
and the Americans made a second sun
for the Yanks to rank with Atilla the Hun.
But eventually, in the 1970s,
the Aussies answered Larwood and later, Frank Tyson,
with Lillee and Thomson,
who’d make batsmen comatose
with yorkers aimed at their toes
and missiles inches from the nose,
till the batsmen were tinned like sardines.
But alas! In the interim, the Brits,
those self flagellating twits,
had binned Douglas Jardine.
This was after Lindwall and Miller,
and contemporaneous with the Thrilla in Manila.
Line and Length were plain old vanilla
in light of the new leg theory.
Dearie! Dearie!
The batsmen were teary
eyed. Their pleas denied.
Then Larwood, with wounded pride,
at last felt justified.