On the off-chance you might be mourning the existence of a real British summer (unless the combination of cold snap and piss-wet drizzle canful be counted as a http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/"real British summerhttp://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.defender.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.shielder.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.shielder.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.shielder.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.defender.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/") this week we're revelling in an idyllic slice of patriotism.
For what could possibly be more British than a finely tended village viridity, a cheery day and a game of cricket?
Apart from crumpets, of trend. And hereditary privilege. And binge imbibing. But apart from those, there's selfsame little that screams BRITISH like a game that lasts all day, involves wearing jumpers in the height of summer, and is so slow you could catch a iciness just standing around doing nothing. I suppose, to be exact, it shouts ENGLISH, as the majority of the countries that make up our autonomous union would probably claim they have better things to do.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/"What an exciting end to the rival we have,http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/" comes the articulation of a commentator that sounds for all the world like Alan Partridge, but isn't.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/"The Manuvas still need deuce runs to win, one to drawhttp://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.defender.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.shielder.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.protector.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.defender.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/" he explains, helpfully. Unless you don't understand cricket, in which case unhelpfully and possibly even incomprehensibly. Before we have a chance to explain to the cricketly-challenged among our readers - which is a shame, because being English, I clearly know all thither is to know around cricket, so I all could - something dramatic happens.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/"OUT!http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/", shouts the observer in a whisper as some fella throws a ball and it knocks some littler bits of wood turned some larger bits of wood when another valet de chambre swings a third part of differently-sized wood at it just misses. For those unfortunate enough non to be fans of the game, let me tell you, this is one of the nigh exciting things that tush happen in cricket (I think) and we're only 15 seconds into the video!
Next on the batten order - last man in, in fact (that's a technical term, please keep up) - is Roots Manuva, and as the song actually starts, we see our man heading in to the changing room, strapping on his specialiser shin-doofers and picking up his hitty-stick, and walk out once more to brass the bowelless attack of the small red ball of doom.
But not ahead heading over to the commentator, world Health Organization sits in the centre of the scoreboard like a lonesome puppet in a actually big seaboard puppet shew (a actually big seaboard puppet evidence covered in indecipherable numbers). He evidently tries to bribe the commentator with some diamonds. I adopt he was trying to bribe him to change the scoreboard rather than to say nice things about how well his trousers had been pressed.
His graft is refused. Most likely on the grounds that this practice http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/"would not be crickethttp://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/". He instead is sent out to the little rectangle in the middle of the playing field, where he will have to play cricket instead (which IS cricket, and thence not as objectionable as things that aren't).
On reaching the fundamental rectangle - please excuse me if I'm acquiring too complex and technical for anyone, being English and naturally knowing this much about cricket, I may get ahead of you - he is told by a humanity in a hat that he has to go http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/"over therehttp://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/aug/13/" and he does, crossing some other man wearing an identical outfit and also carrying a hitty-stick on the way thither.
He reaches the former end and stands in front of his cohere collection (he must protect the sticks with his life or the Queen will come and chop off his head. It sounds harsh, but those are just now the rules of cricket, I'm afraid).
As the ball-thrower takes his long chalk up, winding his arm to get maximum power from the slight red ball of sentence, it all suddenly becomes too much for our man Manuva and he collapses on the floor, out cold.
The screen goes all wibbly, and - presumably in unconscious never-never land - we find our hero in a bar...
Where he is serenaded by a plump barman and downs a large glass of brandy...
... Which miraculously revives him in real life. As the umpire and his helper - obviously a modest child in a big hat - look worriedly down upon him...
... He comes flickering plunk for to life history. Without whatever of the medical attention he might have had foisted upon him subsequently a blackout in wussier, less hard-core sports (wish American football and rugby and such), he is forced to stand straight back up in front of his stick aggregation and look the little red ball of doom with his hitty sting.
With great bravery, and British deplumate, he does so - the ball comes flying toward him, and in order to save his life (and the game) he swings hard and true, and the ball goes quick off. He shoots! He scores! As they suppose in cricketing circles. The game is won. The video is over. But not before we add up to the entire point of this week's column.
That's right, it's SPOT THE BALL!
The first person to transport a copy of this screengrab to the usual address particularization where the ball is, why, how they finger about that, and their favourite formula, could win our heroic prize (of 20 pence and a really ugly clutch bag)!
Good circumstances, one and all!
Watch it here
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