Mr Spork trembled with barely contained rage as he stroked his custom made Davey Warner blow up, its' anatomically perfect dimensions (in all areas) gathered from months of surreptitious "research" and its' face set in that signature Warner snarl. The one that says he's just about to try and throw hands with a twelve year old South African wicket keeper who dared to respond to his personal abuse with a crack of his own.
"It's ok, Davey," Mr Spoke whispered, his voice cracking with the threat of tears. "I'll stand up for you, even if no one else will! You're the true victim in all this..."
He gave doll-Davey a passionate kiss and sighed, returning his attention to the subject of his impending tantrum.
On the internet, cricket fans were discussing a completely unrelated case, from a completely unrelated era, with allegations of a completely different offence. How dare they!? How dare anyone discuss anything while his poor darling suffered at the hands of an uncaring public!?
Mr Sprock was utterly appalled that anyone could be discussing anything without referencing the one true hero of world cricket, little Davey Warner. Worse, some of the people discussing this unrelated issue were New Zealanders!
How dare they come from another country and not subscribe to his Australian-centric views on cricket, cultivated in the months since he had decided to follow the game the day little Davey Warner was heinously banned for nothing more than being a competitive bloke. To add insult to injury, some fake fans who had been following the game longer than he had actually thought that the culture of the side was more important than a guy who averages mid-thirties overseas. This was the best opener in the world (well, on flat tracks, anyway), for the love of Davey! How could anyone not want him in the side? No-one straight up abuses the opposition like little Davey Warner! His champion, win-at-all-costs attitude and his 6 magnificent overseas centuries will be the saviour of Australian cricket!
I'll show them, thought Mr Speck, as he bashed out three separate posts worth of angst. Take that!
I've called them all New Zealanders, because that's an insult to me and my IQ of 7, and I've told them that the bloke they were talking about potentially being a cheat is a cheat! Hah! That'll show them!
And with that confusing and irrelevant rant, Mr Sprog retired to Four Corners with the other Cro-Magnons, secure in the knowledge that he had once again defended the honour of the fair maiden Davey. He stared into that scowling, brutish face in adoration, a tantalising thought flitting into the few working cells that constituted his brain.
"I wonder if I could make the doll sandpaper my balls..."
