"There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night"
Funny poem, thinks Kevin. Still, he likes the idea of having something to chant whilst batting. Ever since joining Ian Bell's poetry classes, it's been something to take his mind off left arm spin.
"Ten to make and the match to win"
I've got it ten times worse, though, he ponders. England have fought back well, and could ordinarily have been expected to get the 153 needed to win, but after last time...anyway, with only 22 on the board and 2 down, England were in trouble when he got to the crease. England needed Pietersen to play a good innings. He has seen off Ajmal and Hafeez, and whilst Bell has failed at the other end, Ravi Bopara is playing well. 53 for 3, 100 to win.
"A bumping pitch and a blinding light"
But here is trouble. Change of overs, and Rehman's got the ball. Smiling. Tossing the ball in his hand. The Pakistani fielders pointing at Pietersen, sniggering.
"An hour to play, and the last man in."
Monty wouldn't need an hour to finish this match, says Kevin to himself. Natural batsman. Anyway, here he is Rehman, trotting in. Up to crease. Eye on ball, Kevin, eye on ball.
"And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat"
Sounds nice. Ribboned coat. Shop in Kings Road. Splendid. Must keep eye on ball, he thinks.
"Or the selfish hope of a season's fame"
Sounds nice. Must keep eye on ball. Keep eye on ball. He thinks.
"But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote:"
Ball through air. Captain says we must rock against spin. Nonsense. Follow Lamb's advice and play natural game.
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"
Advances, meets pitch of ball, strikes, six. Rehman aghast. Kevin is splendid. Best Englishman in Arabia since TE Lawrence. He thinks. Pressure released. England to win.
