Batting for the other side.
Australians generally play their sport hard, but fair. At least that's what we all thought until the third cricket test in South Africa. Steve Smith, second only to Donald Bradman as Australia's greatest cricketing legend, and perhaps of all time anywhere, has now been outed as a cheat. The response here in Australia has been a very nearly unanimous and unequivocal outburst of rage and disgust at his tactics, and rightly so.
Australians also have a bit of a reputation for having the 'tall poppy syndrome', i.e. savagely cutting down successful people when they err. In part, this is because of people such as Steve Smith. For the past several years he has imbued the nation with a sense of pride and awe, as his astonishing prowess with the cricket bat, as a captain and as a seemingly decent, likeable bloke, has all now been cut asunder as he reveals his true, treacherous nature.
The bloke is quite simply a bastard. Don Bradman was also known for being a bit of bastard, but he didn't hide it, and he certainly didn't cheat. Smith has been found out, and he seems far from repentant, claiming he's still worthy of retaining the captaincy. Well, bugger me with a garden fork, for that's a disgrace.
This nation is in shock, and cricket will never be the same again. He is another Lance Armstrong, and I hope he gets the same punishment: banishment from the sport and the abolition of all his sporting records. It's a harsh punishment, certainly, but bloody fair.
But back to the less contentious business of running. I was only good for a short, easy today, but being already well over my intended target of 100km for the month, it's quite OK. My legs are weary and I am weary at the end of a long week, so simply to have covered another 7km is something of a bonus, and I'm happy with it.
My quest to find new songs to run to has included a couple by Martin Solveig ... here is today's track du jour. It's kind of quirky, but certainly gets the legs and heart pumping, and it's a world away from the distress and disgust of the f*cking cricket.
Forward March
