However, after this last weekend's events, a special committee was brought together to decide what should be done. When they couldn't decide, it was escalated to the local mayor who promptly escalated it to Mr Turnbull, who promptly escalated it to his best friend, Donald Trump.
Mr Trump's first reaction was to say that he enjoys squashing crickets with his left thumb. When his chief of staff explained the international significance of the Lobats and cricket, he called an emergency meeting at the United Nations to get the clearance for this story to be published.
He retracted his previous comments and said that the weekend's efforts definitely deserved a report by an international journalist of a reputable publication. When they all laughed at him, he called upon the one publication that takes him seriously. This publication has built its reputation on only reporting nothing but blatant lies and pointless stories. So the editors got together and decided to put together a special publication.
Here it is.
First things first. For those of you expecting a story about how the Lobats (the Lack of brains and trust and skill) came together and pulled a rabbit out of a hat and somehow accidentally won another game that they should have lost - you will want to stop reading. This is not one of those stories. Chances are that you have already stopped reading, so we shall continue.
This is a story of a rather incredible series of events never before seen even by all the members of the elite Lobats that has a combined 3700 years of cricketing experience between just three of them. These years of experience was brought to the side after Mike, Janaka and Johnson were banished from all other sides and ended up as life time members of the Lobats.
On to the events of the day.
The usual happened, as it usually does. We went into field after a few gentle stretches and a back rub or two. Given the combined age of the side, we had to be cautious. A couple of the guys left their wheel chairs behind in pavilion. We also managed to leave the new ball in the hut, which lead to a minor panic when no one could remember what a new ball looked like.
The opposition didn't look like they were going to damage too many blades of grass, and it was all very civilised and gentle. Our fast bowlers, who learnt their art of pace bowling at the James May school of slow drivers in fast cars, did their thing of running and letting lose some gentle pace balls.
Prasanna, however was on fire and fired through a few thunderbolts. Ricky, behind the stumps, tried to stop one of those thunderbolts and lost a finger. He had to quickly hand over the glove work to Charuka who in his last match also did the same thing - kept for an over and then handed over the gloves to Ricky. Ricky spent the rest of the day walking around with his middle finger pointed at everyone. Even Peter had tolerate being flipped the birdie by Ricky.
The opposition batsmen did their thing of giving us catching practice. Our fielders did their thing of running, hopping, skipping, jumping and somersaulting - doing everything possible to make their dropped catches look spectacular. The opposition did their thing of rolling around on the floor laughing hysterically. Ricky walked around and flipped them the finger.
Nothing out of the ordinary here. Nothing to report in fact. That's why you're reading about it here.
We had them on the ropes at no wicket for some 60 odd runs after 20 overs and we were confident we had the game in the bag. Although our par score chasing is now 44 runs, one thing the Lobats can not be faulted for is their eternal optimism.
That's when the winds changed on us. The second 20 overs was ballistic. They scored a total of close to 180 runs in the end. We ran off the field and into the hut before some of those balls came down from outer space.
Ten minutes later when the umpire said it was safe to emerge again, our batsmen charged out into the middle. This, mind you, was not out of a desire to go face the music, but mainly because they were being chased out of the pavilion by the skipper who was holding a bat firmly over his head.
Both openers had been promoted to the opening spot because they had failed in all other spots. After taking an eternity to take guard, the first opener charged back to the pavilion claiming his job of facing one ball had been accomplished. From that point on, everyone pretty much followed his lead and we were about 30 for 6.
This is when the unprecedented series of events began. At this point the opposition, who were an under 12 side from a school we hadn't heard of, had managed to get under the skin of pretty much everyone within a five mile radius. At the centre of this 5 mile radius was our very own Chaminda. We're not quite sure what triggered Chama's fuse, but he decided everything had to go. There was six after six interspersed with the occasional run out chance.
One of the sixes ended up near the pavilion where all the boys had gathered to enjoy the fireworks. The opposition fielder who was chasing the ball came up to us and decided to chastise us for not fetching the ball for him. Ricky, who was still walking around sticking his middle finger up at everyone, appeared momentarily baffled, which of course everyone knows is nothing out of the ordinary.
But when Ricky realised this poor fellow was seriously disappointed that after his bowler had been pummelled for six, we failed to fetch the ball for him, Ricky started his engines. Ricky told the little man where to fetch the ball and what he should do with it after. This resulted in a spectacular course of events. The poor little boy decided to not fetch the ball and instead ran straight back on to the field to first complain to the umpire. When the umpire was as baffled as Ricky, he complained to his skipper, who may have actually been his father, because he looked like he was about 24 years old. The skipper took matters into his own hands and was waving his hands frantically left and right at us. Ricky waved back with his middle finger. We took their frantic waving as an SOS distress signal and asked the fellas whether we needed to call an ambulance, the police, the life savers, the coast guard or someone's Mum.
Their response was somewhat unclear, but all sorts of fingers were being pointed in all sorts of directions and a few of their lack of brains and trust decided to convene around the umpire. So far every time they congregated in a huddle of this manner, it ended them jumping up and down repeatedly and them making sounds only heard in remote parts of the Amazon where a rather rare species of ancestors of the homo sapien species still roam. In Australia this sound could very easily be mistaken for a Kookaburra, but these were no Kookas. This was definitely sound recorded from the pre-Neanderthale era, when predecessors of mankind roamed freely.
That's when we realised the circus was in town. Ricky was over the moon. He was cheering left and right. Chaminda thought the cheer was meant for him and kept going hammer and tong until unfortunately the umpire felt his life was in danger and decided to send Chama back for looking rather dangerous.
The opposition once again huddled and those pre-historic jungle sounds emerged once again. Then they started jumping up and down and we were glad there weren't any trees nearby. Little kids in the neighborhood started running back to their homes, out of fear that Taronga Zoo had opened all its gates and the wild life was on the loose.
The opposition kept looking our way and hailing complements. We acknowledged in kind. They thought they had the game wrapped up, until Prashanna and Janaka decided to show the clowns who their daddy was. Janaka clocked six after six and got us to within striking distance, albeit a little bit too little too late and we lost the game by only about 20 something runs.
At this point, your roving reporter, like Ricky and most other sober observers, decided to make a run for safety and we all picked up our sarongs and fled the scene. Most of us didn't want to risk looking the untamed in the eye. Scenes like this have never been recorded on a cricket field. We are happy to be the first publication to bring this story to you first hand. We have Mr Trump to thank for that. He is now an avid fan of cricket.
We have also decided to start selling tickets to the next circus act these clowns will be hosting. Please buy your tickets, although rumour has it that they are all sold out - all one of them. Howzat.
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