The cricket World Cup

got the final it deserved.

I hardly bothered watching any of it, just caught the farcical ending, where players, fans there, people watching on TV and most importantly the officials hadn’t a clue what was going on out there in the pitch black.

It pretty much summed up this whole month and a bit of a debacle and was a duly fitting end to perhaps the most useless World Cup ever staged. Which not only resulted in the sport being a laughing stock at the non-attendance of fans and the mostly boring nothing games but also cost one man his life.

But for all those that lost or left their jobs because of this tournament that grinning, smarmy buffoon Malcolm Speed probably won’t be one of them, unless the ICC kick him out later this year, but then that lot will just replace like for like.

But then you only have to read the obituaries of the late Les Jackson who died last week, to know that smarmy, grinning buffoons have been doing their best to ruin the game through the ages.

Any player of his era will tell you how great a bowler Jackson was, hell even Fred said so. 1,730 wickets at an average of 17.38 throughout a life time, with 100 wickets taken in a season 10 times, included some amazing figures such as 143 at 10.99 in 1958, 160 at 13.61 in 1960. And yet he only got two England caps, a disgrace mainly due to one of those buffoons – Gubby Allan – a typical stuffed shirt who wouldn’t pick Jackson.

Yes this prat who was born in Australia and was a traitor to his country and captain when refusing to bowl leg theory in the 1932-33 Ashes tour had the final say. And deprived England of one of them Northern miner type oiks.

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