‘Do play the game, old chap,’
And, ‘Simply not cricket, dear boy.’
Are out of date, mayhap —
And don’t modern usage enjoy.
Strange things go on at Lords,
And within those once-hallowed halls,
Umpires reach accords,
And bowlers go rubbing their balls.
And ‘wicket’, batsmen are,
With glue, when they stick down the stumps,
And keepers, when they spar
To make batsmen down in the dumps.
To have supporters flash
A mirror towards fieldsman’s eyes,
And call out comments brash
To umpires whom they despise,
Is all part of the game
Of cricket as now it is played;
So things are not the same,
And have gone distinctly downgrade.
A singing insect that,
When up with a flying mouse mixed,
Would make a cricket bat …
That was, like the game, badly fixed!