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  • Matt Owen

BOYCOTT'S BALLS-OUT BREXIT



I’ve been called many things in my life – Sir Geoffrey, Geoff, Boycs, No, No, No - Get Back You Silly Bastard There’s No Run There, but no-one’s ever accused me of being a traitor to my country. As far as I’m concerned, Brexit means Brexit – and if you don’t want it, you can bloody well move abroad to Lancashire.


Now, I was never one for bringing politics into cricket. In fact, I was dead against bringing anything into cricket, especially excitement or fun. People make the classic mistake of thinking that professional cricket is there for people to enjoy. Poppycock and balderdash! Is what I say. When I was in my prime, people came from miles around to see me play. For three decades, they flooded through the gates, and headed straight to the bar to celebrate the fact I was batting. When I got out, they’d re-appear from the bar and toast me as I walked back to the pavilion after a carefully compiled 39 over five hours of hard graft. Something these youngsters of today wouldn’t understand.


If you ask me, cricket is going to the dogs – and not even decent dogs like Yorkshire Terriers, but those horrible ratty things which celebrities carry around in their handbags.


Just the other week, I was chatting to Dickie Bird and Michael Parkinson over a meal about what could be done about the state of the game. I told them both that in my mind, all this slogging from ball one, go-go dancers and flashing bails isn’t proper cricket. Michael wasn’t too bothered, in fact he spent most of the evening asking Dickie whether he was sure he could cover his funeral costs and at the end of the evening popped a Parker Pen into his pocket before buggering off without paying his part of the bill (£15.27 – and he had a Tiramisu from the sweet trolley – foreign muck).


I don’t like to talk about politics. I’m first and foremost a sporting ambassador, broadcaster and that bloke who so selfishly ran Derek Randall out at Trent Bridge in 1977. I like to keep my nose out of politics. Well, apart from that time I toured South Africa with a rebel England team in the early eighties, helping give the Apartheid government of the time a much-needed boost. In hindsight, I realise that touring South Africa impacted me massively. I was left deeply scarred by what I still believe was one of recent history’s great injustices. That’s right, I still haven’t got over the fact the ICC refuse to recognise the runs I scored on that tour and failed to add them to my already brilliant Test record. The tight bastards.


I like to think of myself as a patriot. Whenever I accompany Dickie Bird in his shop-mobility cart to the local cinema to watch a mucky film, we always stand up at the end when they play the national anthem. That’s proper. The national anthem is as important to this proud Yorkshireman as refusing to leave tips for waiters.


But I digress. Where was I? Not talking about politics. Yes, I’m the sort of lad who never talks about politics. I was saying this the other day when I was being interviewed for Brexit Party New Order Sunrise Breakfast TV. My old mucker Nigel Farage (lovely fella) had invited me on to talk about what I thought was great about Yorkshire. I mean England, I mean Britain. I told him I thought the following things were right up there…



The Forward Defensive Stroke


The Backward Defensive Stroke


Yorkshire Pudding


My OBE


My Batting Average


Me


British Law (Not French Law – It’s In French And Rubbish)


The Royal Family (Me And The Queen Are Very Close)


Tetley Smooth Flow Bitter


Village Cricket (Even Though It’s Rubbish And My Grandmother Could Do Better)



I told Nigel that we didn’t need anyone’s help to defeat the Nazis in the Second World War (apart from the Poles, the Americans, Canadians, Soviet Union and some other foreigners) and that once again we were ready to stand alone and take on the world. I likened it to that time England won the Ashes in 2005, against all the odds. I then had to backtrack by admitting that Kevin Pietersen

was born in South African, as was Andrew Strauss…oh and Geraint Jones was born in Papua New Guinea, and Simon Jones was Welsh. But you get my point.


Anyhow, who needs those French moaning minnies? Who needs the arrogant Germans and all that other lot what live on the continent in the EU? As for this border thing in Ireland, I don’t see what the problem is. If it goes off over there, then that’s their problem – besides, we’ve got enough problems of our own back home, what with having to stomach cricket commentary by Jonathan Agnew and Lancashire supporters making beer snakes at Headingley.


Now we’ve taken back control and got our blue passports back, let’s hope we can go back to the Britain I loved growing up in – capital punishment, pea soup fog and eight Yorkshiremen in the England cricket team.


#GeoffreyBoycott #cricket #ashes #BREXIT #satire #spoof #politics #comedy #NigelFarage #Yorkshire

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