Cricket, boring or what?
It’s Friday morning, and I get a text message from a friend of mine. “Gentle reminder. We are World Fucking Champions. Still can’t quite believe it”. My heart races again. A tear forms in my ear. There’s a clenched fist somewhere and my heart races. We were there. We were there. We were there. --- The four of us - Dan, John, Suzy and myself- had paid over £1,000 to be the World Cup Final. We’d paid an ‘Official Travel Company’ for the four tickets, bought after we hammered South Africa at the over. We’d lamped a possible semi-finalist, and we were confident we could smash the rest of them until the final games. And then Pakistan happened. Then Sri Lanka happened. And then Australia happened. Panic Stations were hit, with the maths talked about ad nauseum on Whatsapp. Basically: If we went out before the semi-finals, we could put the tickets onto the secondary market, where they would be snapped up by confident India fans, who would sel...