Imagine you are driving someplace. You are a little late. You know you probably shouldn't speed, but it's too tempting. As you press down on the accelerator, though, you pass a car that has just hit a tree. The bonnet is dented in. Brake fluid squirts in a comical parabola into some bushes. You speed on.
You soon come across another car wreck. This one has also hit a tree. The damage is even worse. There is detritus all over the tarmac. There is a seat near the middle divider. A blinking indicator light is somehow lodged in the tree's canopy. Heedlessly, you speed on.
Then another crash site, at yet another tree. This is the worst of the lot. A door has flown clean across the road. A tyre that was thrown upwards on impact is still high in the air, blotting out the sun. And the driver is doing laps around his ruined vehicle, screaming, because his pants are on fire. And you - you absolute idiot - you speed on.
The next tree, of course, has your car's name all over it. You drive into it. It is spectacular. The comical parabola of your brake fluid stretches all the way across the road, forming a sort of rainbow arch. Your tyre has basically gone into orbit. And you find yourself doing laps around the remains of your car, arms waving high in the air, pants, obviously, way on fire.
That is what Sri Lanka's innings was like today.
