A topical sporting poem

Well, what with the sports news being full of England winning the ashes and speculation as to the gender of a successful female (?) athlete, what could be more topical than a poem about gender fraud in cricket?

This one was inspired by the incorrect use of a well known expression on the BBC news. I can't say any more without spoiling the poem but think of it as being like someone I once knew who used to use the word "Touche" when the phrase they really wanted was "pot calling the kettle black."

As the Test Match Special team declined to share it with the nation, the task falls to me ...

The tale of Andy/Pandy

Andy was a sporting lad – his passion being cricket
And he was never happier than when standing at the wicket.
At school he took no notice and failed all his exams –
His only interest being cricket, he had no other plans.

Dedicated, focused, he was completely single minded
And to any other path in life he was completely blinded.
Careers advice came and went, he didn’t want to know
‘Cos as soon as he was able Andy planned on turning pro.

He thought that in a year or two, winning trophies for his county
The national selectors would offer him a mighty bounty.
And in the test arena he would take the centre stage
Five wicket hauls and centuries whilst still of tender age.

Many films have taught us what should happen in this tale -
He makes it big then crashes down, his career doomed to fail.
Then one last chance, against the odds, he has his glory day
But alas for poor Andy it just didn’t work that way.

For his club he played quite well and some he did impress
But county trials came and went without any success.
As a semi-pro, in the leagues, at least he could get paid
But when it came to the first class game, he couldn’t make the grade.

Even when it dawned on him that he’d never be the best
Andy couldn’t lose that urge he had to one day play a test.
He’d never be a Botham, Kapil Dev or Bishan Bedi
But could he get to play a test - if they thought he was a lady?

He started to experiment with a bra and rugby socks.
He shaved his legs, bought perfumes and a supply of pretty frocks.
He changed his voice, bought a wig and grew his nails quite long.
And washed his feet six times a day to hide the manly pong.

Just one more step and he could surely gain that sporting fame
All he had to do now was select a female name.
He toyed with many options, Cathy, Debbie, June and Flora
And finally decided he would call himself Pandora.

This seemed a brilliant choice as he was always known as Andy
So he wouldn’t be confused at all when someone called out “Pandy!”
Things were back on track again, he was really on a roll
He went to a solicitor and got his name changed by deed poll.

And soon enough, in the ladies’ game, through the ranks he rose
Taking wickets, scoring runs whilst wearing ladies’ clothes.
He chatted to the other girls of hand cream, love and flowers
And made a point of never being seen whilst in the showers.

And sure enough the day came when he got the sought for call
“It’s England here, we’ve watched you play, good form with bat and ball.
So come on Pandy, raise your game, don’t even think of failure
Don’t be meek, for come next week, you’ll play against Australia.”

After so much disappointment, words alone could not express
His absolute elation, so he donned his favourite dress.
When his day of fame arrived, he’d want to look his best
So he bought some extra Immac for his arms and cheeks and chest.

The waiting seemed eternal but soon the big day came
And off he went to Edgbaston – the setting for the game.
The sky was blue, the toss was won and the pitch looked nice and flat.
Said the English captain to the Aussie “I think we’ll have a bat.”

But soon enough with saddened faces the openers returned
As, how to bowl on English pitches, the Aussie girls had learned.
And the moment Pandy dreamed of, finally came alive
As she strode out to the middle with England twenty nine for five.

The crowd of sixty seven made a noise like many more
And from Pandora confidence exuded every pore.
“I’ll knock your bloody head off” said the bowler, over the din.
“Okay, good luck” Pandora said “and may the best man win.”

The Aussie girls ran in hard with swing and seam and bounce
But Pandora wasn’t to be outdone and savoured every ounce.
She drove the ball and cut and swept like May, Lamb or Hutton
Although she may have dressed like Lamb, she really was just mutton.

She ground it out, her dream come true, the runs began to flow.
And soon she had her fifty and then decided to let go.
The scoreboard started flying around, they’d make three hundred yet
But as they quickened up the pace Pandora began to sweat.

She carried on regardless ‘til her score was eighty two
Then signalled to the balcony – her gloves were soaked right through.
When a century on debut is all that occupies your mind
It’s easy to forget what, in your kit bag, they may find.

The substitute dashed inside and soon found Pandy’s kit.
Gillette Mach 3 – unusual, but she gave no thought to it.
The thing that raised her interest, amongst sweaters, shirts and socks
Was the moment when her hand touched upon Pandora’s box.

And just as in the myths of old, all Hell was soon let loose.
The chairman of selectors was seen trying to tie a noose.
Management met behind the scenes with every member fuming
As Pandy moved to ninety eight, her maiden century looming.

In ran the Aussie bowler but she overstepped the mark.
The ball flew through mid-wicket and almost left the park.
The crowd rose to their feet with cheering and cat calls.
Not quite what Pandy’d meant when she prayed to have no balls.

And the folks down there at Edgbaston still speculate today
About the silent England balcony as she left the field of play.
A hundred and fifty three not out – an innings long and brave
She climbed the steps to great applause then went to have a shave.

And the next day’s papers praised her, and her great achievement
Sympathising with her family about their sad bereavement.
With greed perhaps she’d run downstairs to sign the sponsors’ deals
Which is not a great idea for a bloke in six inch heels.

They got the team’s own doctor to certify the death
And had a quick cremation, hardly pausing for a breath.
To help allay suspicion, they blamed it on “the pox”
But we all know the real truth of the tale of Pandora’s box.