Rooters, Port Elizabeth
The turmoil and uncertainty created by Mitchell Johnson and Australia’s thumping first Test win appears to have lingered into South Africa’s arse-about preparation for the second Test in Port Elizabeth.
Amid remarkable scenes at yesterday’s coin toss, Australian captain Michael Clarke was left standing next to the pitch for five minutes awaiting the arrival of rival skipper Graeme ‘Chalky’ Smith for the toss while the home team fucked around with their team sheet.
Clarke stood patiently with his dick in his hand until His Worship, Smith, finally emerged from the South African dressing room.
“I must apologize,” said a rather sleepy looking Proteas skipper as he left the home team’s facilities. “I always like to have a little wank before I toss, if you know what I mean. Took a bit longer than usual. Some people need a coffee in the morning to get going. I like to ‘pump the dolphin’.”
Rumours had swept the ground that the home team would make three changes – Dean Elgar in for opener Alviro Petersen who has been ruled out with the squirts, allrounder Wayne Parnell in for Ryan McLaren who had his cranium fucked up by Mitchell Johnson at Centurion, and 21-year-old Quinton de Kock making his debut in place of spinner Robin Peterson who is shit.
But as Smith was making his way towards the middle, team manager Mohammed Alphabet was seen hurriedly scribbling doodles and balls and lady bits on the South African team sheets as frantic late changes were either made or overturned.
The team media manager then chased after Smith, handed him the revised sheet which seemingly had the world’s second-ranked Test bowler Vernon Philander a late scratching given reports he was struggling with the trots having shared a bowl of tasty nachos with Petersen the evening prior.
Instead of making his way to the Australia captain, Smith made a beeline for Philander who was changing his third pair of underpants for the morning along the boundary fence.
The distracted Saffa skipper was then seen drawing a pair of large boobs on the team sheet. He had a brief conversation with Vern and wrote his name back in, satisfied that the valuable bowling allrounder was indeed fit to play, albeit in a large adult nappy.
The sheet that the Australia captain finally received carried more crossings-out and scribbles and tockleys and chicken-skin wallets and norgs and half-eaten pasties than the back of a bored Year 9 kid’s maths book.
“What the fuck is this shit?” asked a bemused Clarke.
When the toss finally took place, the coin landed in Smith’s favour and he decided to bat first having fucked up at Centurion where he stuck the Australians in on a first day road.
It meant that Big Gra-Gra, already under pressure after his dual personal fuck-ups and his team’s thumping 281-run fisting in the three-Test series opener, had half an hour to head back to the dressing room couch, have another ‘Sherman tank’, clear his mind and introduce himself to his new batting partner, Elgar.
It was scarcely an ideal preparation for an important Test, and it was possible to discern a slight smile of satisfaction on Clarke’s face as the chaos reigned around him prior to the game’s commencement.
“Fuckwits,” he laughed.
Within a handful of overs, with that painful fucking brass band playing ‘Puff the Magic fucking Dragon’ in the background, the South Africans were 2 for 11 with Smith and his empty balls back in the sheds.
Fuckwits indeed, Michael. Fuckwits indeed.