WAY back in high school, I fell hopelessly in love with a girl with long, blonde hair who, at first, seemed to like me.
Well, enough to let me hold her hand and pretend to take an interest in cricket.
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In my world it couldn’t get better – a pretty girl who liked the sport I was obsessed with.
While I was floating around on Cloud 9, she shot romance-killing bullets into that vulnerable cloud and it rained rather heavily and suddenly on my parade.
She said I was too serious and didn’t realise how I felt.
I wasn’t sure if she was talking about me or the cricket.
To clarify, she said she didn’t mean to disrespect me… and anyway, she’d found a rugby playing boyfriend.
However, I appreciated the honesty and, surprisingly, my shattered heart recovered about two or three days later. Such is the nature of teenage ‘love’.
Which brings me to this Cricket World Cup currently on the go in England.
My heart has been shattered now on too many occasions to remember.
The Proteas two opening matches have only reinforced the feeling that I’m about to be dumped again.
I have tried in vain to extricate myself from this torturous relationship with Proteas cricket, but I just can’t.
Despite the complete lack of respect shown by the Proteas it’s always a case of forgive, take back and hope for an immediately brighter future.
We should comfortably lose today’s game against India and it won’t make any difference. I’ll still find some way to keep the Proteas in with a chance.
But all this cricket madness could explain why I – in real life – married a girl who couldn’t be bothered with sport.
“Oh good, is he out, can we watch CSI now?” is her usual response to my devastation at losing again.
And she’s not blonde, couldn’t risk that again.
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