Shun by international cricket establishment best batsman in world Kevin is forced to find alternative career. After various slur, lie and ill-advise semi-autograph novel (‘THEM’), he is forced to become children entertainer, with magic, clown show and final bed-time story. Irrepressible as ever though Kevin bounces back to be best children entertainer in Australia (where he end up after shun by English association of clown and magician). So, we find ourself on eve of International World Cup and news break of calamity in England camp: all cricketer have collapse with exhaustion after final training session.
            ‘It is mystery,’ say England coach Mr Moore. I ask them to do 100 lap of Sydney cricket ground to round off session and they collapse, vomit, almost die. None of them is fit to play so we must forfeit game. Heh-heh.’
Picking up on strange final word of Mr Moore (Heh-heh) roving journalist Mr Morgan ask: ‘Why you laugh Mr Moore?’
His colleague, who have somehow miss hideous chortle sound, look at Mr Morgan in amazement. ‘What you talk about,’ say ordinarily astute and reasonable fellow Mr Agnew.
‘He laugh like bitter demon,’ say Mr Morgan.
In split second blinding light appear from eye of Mr Moore and Mr Morgan vapourize. And Mr Moore utter again: ‘Heh-heh.’
‘Where he go?’ ask Mr Agnew.
All shrug and go to have beer, soon forgetting incident. All apart from one, for at back of marquee tent where this happen is discreet figure wrap in cloak, with hood, who shuffle from exit quickly and make way through surreptitious route of secret tunnel and passageway only know to him to Sky commentary room where commentator lament terrible fate of England team.
Mr Botham is about to raise toast to last frail effort of fast bowler Anderson, who curse and puff, try to haul self over to net after hundredth lap for final net session order in secret by Mr Moore (after he learn Mr Anderson survive run hundred lap of cricket ground), and to ‘absent friend’ Mr Stoke, young cricketer sent to penal colony in Russia instead of be named for World Cup team after he give ‘funny look’ at practice session … when he hear voice, loud and like HAMMER OF THE GOD (with South African):
‘What is this?’ say Mr Botham, about to clout figure in cloak for disturb civility and somber moment.
‘Steady on,’ say Mr Gower, let us see what the fellow have to say.
Mr Bumble laugh incorrigibly and for no reason and friend of all, Shane Warne, dress as big shark to avoid recognition and accusation of consort with enemy, cock eye watchfully. In corner, Mr Flintoff who have already maybe have one too many ale sit up straight, and lean in doorway, motherly but tough presence of Heyhoe-Flint clap hand: ‘what all this about then?’
Figure in cloak cast aside cloak and all gasp as they see who stand before them: ‘It is I,’ he say. ‘Kevin.’
‘Kev, mate,’ say Mr Botham. ‘What you doing? Where you been?’
‘I have been entertain children and learn in process better humility, tolerance of idiot, more self-aware and some magic trick.’
All sigh, somehow move by figure who look remarkable but also vulnerable and who wear cricket white. ‘He pull at white shirt and say: ‘This is in my soul. Even beneath cloth of wizard I am cricket player to core. And I am here to save England world cup.’
Mr Flintoff weep. ‘Is too late, Kev. They all wash up.’
‘No,’ say Kevin, ‘is never too late.’