armchairumpire
U19 Cricketer
Ha ha!I thought you had two?
I don't know what happenned to the second copy. I won't be wracking my brains too much trying to work out where it went.
If other CW readers are looking to enlarge their cricket book collection and want some names of quality cricket books to buy - Calypso Cricket by Roland Fishman (publsihed in 1991) is not for you. Unless of course you are on a budget and then I think you might pick one up for less than a dollar!
I can give you a bit of a precis in case you are nterested - A fly on the wall (more like a fly in the ointment) account from the perspective of hugely unattractive and untalented 1980's/90's Aussie cricketer Greg Matthews and his journalist friend Roland Fishman who lifts the lid on the bedroom and otherwise antics of the 1991 Australian cricket team on tour in the West Indies.
Here are a couple of paragraphs to give you the feel (no pun intended) of the quality and subject matter of this book. I managed to find some of this choice work from a net search.
"And then there are the women, who throw themselves at the players. The Australians were more overtly susceptiable to this than the West Indians. As the Queensland insurance salesman said: “If you want to get on to the women, you don’t go where the cricketers go.”
Few grown boys get to live out their fantasies like a cricketer on tour can, if he so chooses. One night in Barbados, a week before the end of the tour, a player estimated that a team-mate had had *** with 30 women during the tour. I was amazed by this statistic, and even more amazed that the player was amazed that I was amazed. He said having ‘thempties’, the players’ word for making love, using the term loosely, was just part of touring. He told me that during one tour he’d had four thempties in one night. “What do you expect them to do?” said the insurance salesman. “The bloody women just throw themselves at them.”
Says Greg Matthews after the book was published...
“Fishman lied to me. He bludged my money, my clothes, my bed and he told me he was writing a story about cricket in the Caribbean and the way of life. It was anything but that. He deceived me to the max. I haven’t seen him since and next time I see him I’ll be spitting in his face.
I suppose that means that there won't be a sequal! Can't say I'm heartbroken.