Carry on shouting

Greg here

What the hell are the head men at Headingley thinking about? Going shush to the Barmy Army! Telling the Western Terrace, behave or else. Hell, let 'em sing, let 'em chant, let 'em shout 'til their heads fall off; it will make for a better contest.

Mates and English pals, I worry about the future of the game.

Worst of all, it's my lot that start it. They send Andrew Symonds back to the jungles of Queensland because he has a beer. All right I know he promised to stay clean, but he's a red-blooded man and those of us who relish sport like a cold one when we watch Rugby.

Then, may I be forgiven for typing this sentence, they tell Ponting's little angels they must not sledge. What is the point of playing cricket if you cannot say to an incoming batsmen: "Hello, you look smart. Did your mum dress you?" And a lot worse.

So quiet on the field, silence on the terraces -I guess the next thing will be two vicars as umpires, or two policeman, or a posse of security guys waiting for one of the fielders to swear.

Back in the 19th century manliness was decided by whether you wanted to wear gloves against Spofforth on pitches like country paths. Then there was all the fuss about helmets 100 years later; how many lives have they saved?

Sticks and stones may break your bones but a few references to your mum and dad - Tasmanian cousins - not being formally introduced and your ancestors filling the convict ships to Oz are not going to kill anyone.

'Elf and Safety, political correctness; take it all away. It has no place in sport, well, not for Aussies anyway. Fair cheating all round, a couple of derogatory remarks and a few beers to take the heat out of the argument afterwards.

That's cricket - lets get on with it.

Oh, by the way, as you ask, I am fit and healthy and losing my fear that one of these days a lady with bad intentions will catch up with me. So stop worrying,

Greg Orry is fine, thanks