Cricket

Cricket

When I was about 13 I was walking across the street in front of hot some girls I knew. (I say ‘knew,’ actually meaning I knew nothing but their names and obsessed over them like a sweating tween amalgam of Fred West and that guy who lives I the walls in Sliver, but you get the idea). When I reached the far side I was focussing so hard on walking like Clint Eastwood I sort of tripped and stumbled up the kerb and tried to disguise this fact by limping up the road like I was suffering the effects of some old war wound, ears glowing like brake lights.
I’ve fallen into a ditch several times (one time because I had this cool see-through green visor on and was so blown-away by looking up at the green sky and the green sun that I fell into a ditch and bit a hole in my own face) but sadly none presented itself at that point or I would have gladly dived into its welcoming muddy depths. It wasn’t till I gratefully rounded a corner into an alleyway a hundred metres up the road that I felt I could return to normal stride, although my leg sort of hurt now from walking unevenly and I had to limp a bit.
The thinking behind this apparently bizarre behaviour was I figured not being able to walk properly would look less odd than not being able to walk properly. Or put another way the panic at looking foolish had rendered me unable to think rationally.
I guess at this point I could reveal how this story was more than just another example of how dumb I have often acted in my life but was actually a clever build-up wherein I link my behaviour to that of the international community in the face of climate change or something, but frankly the analogy isn’t very accurate and we all know we’re going to get washed into the sea in 30 years so fuck that. Instead I would like to talk about Turkey Ball.
Did you hear about that? About those guys who worked in some god-forsaken Bernard Mathews turkey farm and got secretly filmed using live birds as the bat and ball in a sick version of baseball?
I had a lot of problems with that article. For one thing, I hate cruelty to all animals except cats and think the judge should’ve thrown the book at them and given them some really horrible punishment, like maybe working in a turkey farm for years.
Id rather sit in a cushy cell watching Sky and fashioning a shank from a toothbrush handle ready for my next trip to the shower block than contract lung disease from working in the filthy, stinking, shreiking confines of an industrial farm shed. They look like the place the souls of evil birds go when they die.

Probably the strangest aspect of the whole thing was Bernard Mathews taking out these big adverts in the papers in an attempt to salvage their reputation. The advert said “Our employees... do not abuse turkeys... and we will not and do not tolerate cruelty to our turkeys” as if turkeys had naturally evolved to live in cramped fetid cages and were generally pretty fucking grateful to be in their natural habitat.
Frankly I doubt whether ethical concerns are going to stop Kerry Katona is fattening her horrible children with reconstituted turkey vagina-based MiniKievs, because afterall they are pretty tasty but stranger still was the paragraph that said "Many recognise that there is a small minority of individuals who are determined by whatever means possible to discredit the production of livestock for human consumption."
I’m sorry but I find it difficult to believe a pair of bored low-IQ farm hands are in fact agents of a cell of conspirators working on a Byzantine plot to bring down the whole turkey farming industry, and this inept corporate arse-covering simply added to the bad impression of the company created by covrage of the original act.
And, and this really got me angry, what the FUCK were they playing at calling the game Turkey Ball? This is England you dumb shits, we play Turkey CRICKET here ok? It’s the Bootiful Game.