my inner victor trumper
My little brother (traipsing quintessentially around Europe with his girlfriend these days) responded to my latest e-mail with:
What a way to enter the world, ensconsed in green feces, and into the arms of the least sure-bet backcatcher in history... nevertheless, A+, well done, you ought to be proud. Perhaps its just when things are more meaningful, when more is at stake that your inner... victor trumper? comes out. Thanks for not sparing the appetizing details, I would have wondered all night whether the accompanying fluids were yellow, green.. runny or congealed. It's true, I can't catch a ball to save my life (in fact, to many people's amusement, it will probably hit me in the face if thrown in my direction) but apparently I can catch one fast, slippery baby. I even have the stomach-churning pile of filthy laundry to prove it!
(and if you're wondering who victor is - one word - Cricket)