Outside The Line

The Sublime

I have surfed the clear waters of the Caribbean.

I have watched the sun rise above Angkor Wat.

I have taken magic mushrooms and laughed for six straight hours as I snowshoed atop frozen inland rivers, like some sort of hallucinogenic false prophet, by the Rocky Mountains in winter.

I have been deep-throated, all the way down, and had every last drop swallowed.

I have performed onstage at stand-up comedy clubs and made a roomful of paying strangers laugh at things I said.

I have looked deep into a beautiful girl's eyes and known, in my bottom of my heart, that there is no place on earth -- in history -- where I'd rather be.

And yet, I can't think of anything that makes me happier than seeing Ricky Ponting get out for 99 in a losing match.

I really can't.

I Wish The World Was Flat Like The Old Days

Normally, I'd probably try to turn this "comeback post" into a wordy, flighty meditation on some bullshit no one really cares about, and then try to tie it to cricket in some flimsy, ad hoc fashion that is bound to involve a Sri Lankan or Shivnarine Chanderpaul in some way.

But I'll just keep it brief and to-the-point this time. I haven't written anything recently because I've just moved to Taiwan to teach English, and cricket has honestly been the least of things in my mind. As soon as I get myself sorted and can find a good way to steal international cricket coverage through the interwebs, you can expect the customary Australia-hatin' and obituaries to non-cricketers to continue coming out in force from Outside the Line.

(And because it's the only holiday, apart from your own birthday, with any metaphysical significance... Happy New Year to all. Have fun, and do something you'd be ashamed to tell your mother about.)