There will be productivity issues for the next six weeks or so.
This is true from a personal perspective the whole year round, as plenty of people will willingly attest to, but it is especially true for the next six weeks. The good news for me, dear reader, is that this affliction will be near universal.
For the World Cup is here.
There is something about the World Cup that awakens the rabid fan among all of us. Fans of sports or not, fans of cricket or not, the World Cup has the magical ability to turn otherwise perfectly reasonable, sane people into screaming, raving dervishes.
And for proof of the matter, m’lud, I present evidence from home. I love the missus dearly, and I think I stand on fairly firm ground when I say that the sentiment is reciprocated. But into each marriage some precipitation must occur, and in our case, the underlying cause is sports.
Simply put, I like watching them, and she doesn’t.
My annual calendar starts with the Australian Open, and ends with the Boxing Day test at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Football makes regular appearances through the year (as indeed it will this weekend when Spurs take on Liverpool in the Champions League finals) while squash, Formula 1 and an assortment of other sporting endeavors put in guest appearances. This, I am sorry to report, often leads to short, sharp discussions of a rather lively nature about television viewing habits. Invectives are hurled, strong bitter statements are made.
And, I’m sorrier to report, we usually end up watching Simon Baker solve some impossibly convoluted murder mystery with an unbearably smug look upon his insufferable visage.
But for about six glorious weeks every four years or so, this routine is decisively upended. There is peace on the western front, and all is well in the television viewing area in the old homestead. Because for these six weeks, the missus (bless her heart) knows more about cricket than even I do. She’ll inform me of the batting order of both teams for the day, what the match means in terms of historical context and also the context of the tournament.
She’ll go above and beyond normal expectations, in fact. Every now and then, she will also helpfully inform me about some of the spectators on the ground, and the relationships they have (or have had) with cricketers currently engaged in battle on the cricketing greens.
But I digress. What pleases me no end is the fact that I can look forward to a lot many hours of cricket viewing with peaceable, uncomplaining companionship as an additional bonus. And if Virat and the boys can provide the cherry on top and return with the cup, well, what else can one ask for, really?
Productivity, as I was saying, is likely to suffer – but who am I kidding? It never really was all that high to begin with.
Beer? Check. Remarkably unhealthy snacks? Check.
Onwards, lads! Get the damn thing home already.
He doesn't expect the paradox to be resolved in his lifetime
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