Too crap

If you want something done properly, don’t let anyone useless do it. Every bowler has that teammate who seems to attract (and drop) every hard-earned catching chance. The combination of suspense and dread as the ball hangs hopelessly above their stupid head is a sensation unique to cricket, the helpless frustration that follows a blood-boiling challenge to even the mildest of tempers.

Or perhaps what enrages you is the top-order duck merchant, inexplicably still labelled a batsman despite an average you can count on half a hand. When the lower order are asked, yet again, for nine-an-over heroics from the last 20, there’s a touch of resentment at the 10-over Powerplay having gone for a steady 17, while Mr Plod happily hoovered up deliveries like a dot-hungry Dyson.

Of course it’s tricky when you’re umpiring your own players, Jeff. No one’s saying it isn’t, and thanks for volunteering for a 12-over stint. But if you’re not sure, just keep your finger in your pocket! A clue: if a full-bunger hits me halfway up the chest while I’m retreating towards square-leg, it’s probably not a nailed-on lbw.

How to react? Walk off as per the MCC guidelines on respect for umpires. After all, they’re always right. Oh, and what do you know, that wicket means Jeff’s coming off to pad up. Where’s that white coat? I’m feeling ready to do my duty, too, skip. How long for? As long as it takes…