A Day In The Life Of A Cricket Writer
Being a cricket writer can be a pain at times. Especially when you work in the same office and have to endure the same old faces day in and day out. It gets painful, because your fellow writers are fighting over the same old news that just came in. It is
like a fish market. You have to fight for your turn, you have to fight for your fish and you have to fight for your news. Then you have to maintain a cordial relation with your editors because if they are having a bad day, the odd fight with their wife, their
kid running away from home, or finding out about their daughter's boyfriend, they will lash all their anger out on you.
The poor writer gets to bear the brunt of the harsh lives others are living. A cricketer might be able to bag all the beautiful women there are out there, a cricket writer on the contrary does not manage the same level of success with the opposite gender.
On the contrary, the poor cricket writer manages to attract a lot of attention from the same gender.
Especially, if you, being a cricket writer, manage to smell nice. Apparently, there is a dearth of nice smelling cricket writers and if you do smell good, you are bound to catch some attention. It may not be the sort of attention that you would normally
want to attract but it is attention nonetheless. During my relatively small stint as a cricket writer who writes in obscurity, I came across something peculiar which did not catch my attention at first, however when the dots were connected it all made sense
and was not particularly pleasing to find out.
It all happened the day I decided to wear a suit to office and put on an expensive cologne, dress shoes, cufflinks, a tie and a scarf. They call it the killer look in the world of cricket writers. As it so happened, I did not dress up for the sake of it.
We are lazy creatures. I suited up, because I had to go to a wedding. A certain fellow writer, was very impressed with my attire. More than the attire, he was somehow able to smell me even though he sits 5 feet away. So he had a conversation with another fellow
writer. (For clarity purposes, we will call him X). I had to bribe the other fellow writer with a cup of tea, to tell me the details of that exchange. The other fellow writer happily obliged.
“X: He smells nice!”
“The other: okay!!”
When I later asked the other to give me the details, she said, “It made me a little awkward when he mentioned how you smelled nice thrice.”
I did not make much out of that remark. Besides, we are taught to take the news on face value and are not taught to read between the lines. Before leaving though, the same fellow writer asked something very strange. He said, “Can I ask you a personal question?”
he winked as he said that.
“Shoot right away my friend,” I replied.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” He asked.
“No. I don’t,” I replied in a matter of fact way.
He smiled and then added, “You deserve a girlfriend.”
That was the end of that, or so I thought until I got a random message from someone late at night. “How’s it hanging?” it read. “Sorry, I don’t have your number saved. Who’s this?”
“Your fantasy,” the stranger replied.
“Right. I don’t think so..”
“You don’t think, or you don’t want to?”
“If that was your attempt of a joke very nice, if not then I think you have aspergers in which case I am now wiser.”
“Hmm.. so cruel of you, but I like your style.”
“So who is this again?”
“Your twelve o’clock”
That was the end of that, until I found out this morning it was the same fellow writer who finds me nice smelling. So apparently he has a crush on me. It is unnerving. Cricket writers, are poor creatures. While cricketers get all the women, we are left to
chew on all the left over.
(The writer is exploring his manhood through sports writing. This is a work of fiction inspired by the story of Mitchell Johnson and the day he got his cat tattoo. You can follow more of his articles on bettor.com)
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