So, we're staggering through to the end of the cricket season. Me, you, this blog, and probably the players (were it not for their cold, hard, folding inspiration). It could be because of the lame competition this season, but my enthusiasm would be waning even if the cricket had been hot. I don't know about you, but my sporting biorhythms were designed in the seventies when cricket was played in summer and footy in winter. I know that's a bit of a cliché, but cricket around the calendar doesn't work for me. I need a break.
Anyway, Ponting won the toss again, which means he will be losing tosses again by the Ashes.