So it is second match of world cup after England lose, as anticipate by everyone, first match to world conquering Australian team. Next game they play Old Beckhamians XI from near Croydon who enter on ICC ‘wild card’ and have kit fund by mysterious Indian donour, who coincidentally win billion dollar in bet that Old Beckhamians will make surprise appearance at world cup. The world still reel from the surprise. In England camp is terrible funk because all players at near death, still not recover from pre-tournament practice, including team bonding trip to Basildon where they are pelt with faeces by near-ape. In commentary box is still gather old pros with young magician and former cricket player Kevin.
‘Look boys,’ say Kevin. ‘I can make spell.’
‘What you talk about Kev?’ ask Mr Flintoff.
‘I can make spell which will enable each of us to once again play cricket for England as if we are in youth, or not sacked by petty idiot.’
At this everybody guffaw, and Kevin get angry. ‘I not joke.’
Appear in doorway next to Hayhoe-Flint is Mr Brearley, revere former England captain. ‘Kevin,’ say Mr Brearley, who is now psychoanalyst, ‘what is this spell of which you speak.’ And suddenly all of room stop guffaw and take seriously, such is power of Mr Brearley.
‘It is magic spell,’ say Kevin, ‘which for duration of tournament will transform us all into fit young men, matchwinners.’
‘Go for it,’ say Mr Vaughan, running hand through hair too hard so wig unstick and fall off.
Kevin do spell and there is whizz-bang, and much smoke.
As smoke clear all look at each other. They then start to speak and shout, in total confusion.
Mr Brearley call for hush … only he is not Mr Brearley, but Mr Flintoff, because, as he realise … ‘Kevin it was a bold spell but rather erratic in its execution. We are indeed young men again, but not in the right bodies.’ And Mr Brearley was right, because rather like one of Kevin’s top edged reverse sweep shots that not entirely pay off, motley crew of former greats were now locked in wrong human form! And not only this but Bob Willis was in form of Liz Hurley who had sneak in to commentary box to sit on lap of Mr Warne (who was now Mr Gower). ‘Struth,’ say Warne-Gower … ‘I am not me.’