By today's sports logic, cricket should be dead. In its purest form, the game takes five days to play. Its upper lip remains so stiff that a batsman who declares himself out when the umpire blows the call gets cheers instead of boos. Its heroes aren't giants, either of height or girth; the low penetration of performance-enhancing drugs is painfully obvious. Some players, like Australian spin bowler Shane Warne, look like they've just set down a plastic cup of beer and climbed out of the bleachers.
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