What the Hell It Doesn'T Matter

What the Hell it doesn't matter it's not like your being battered. Your heart beats faster, your nerves on edge, what the Hell is it doing to your head? Your eyes deceive, you cannot believe, if you should jump for joy, or if your chest should sink, your stomach churn. The Beeb do not toy with the likes of us! We've won! the ever present Beeb 'Breaking News' reads, only for the news to be nastily nullified, we do not believe! Blame it on the heat wave if you must, fans will demand that heads will roll in dust, no its not the prose of soccer so that isn't much use, but the poetry of leather upon willow, making summer women weekend willow widows, unless the women with flinty perseverance make a hay with a host of runs - Hooray, we,ve won! beating the Southern Cross if only by fourteen so beneficent runs! Can we halt the advance of the Lucky Country, Australia Fair! (hopefully fair to women as well as men?) and win the Ashes of England that were burnt by this Antipodean giant at the English Oval in the olden day of twenty-ninth of the of Caesar Augustus, at the time of a greater empire in 1882, that now is interred as all empires should be for the better, better to have sporting glory than the gore of empire.