When you win the toss – bat. If you are in doubt, think about it, then bat. If you have very big doubts, consult a colleague – then bat.

It's springtime in Tasmania and that means football season is over (with Henry triumphant in our tipping competition, beating me out by a solitary point) and the air is filled with the sound of leather on willow, and the gentle sounds of one team attempting to mentally disintegrate the babyfaced opening batsman debuting for the opposition.

Ahhh, the glorious contrasts of cricket! At once full of a confident history of gentleman and sportsmanship, yet a very same history full of hatred, violence, greed and corruption!

Ahhh cricket, this is why we love you so.

Getting into the spirit of the game, Henry spent a bit of time after playgroup chipping in his thoughts. He chastised the fat bloke at silly mid on because he was fat and his creams were whites and congratulated the deep backward square for his innovative incorporation of Alicia Keys lyrics into his sledging routine.

It's the beauty of cricket you see, often it's what happens when nothing is happening that really entertains. Think of lunch times in the schoolyard, the politics of the workplace or the anarchical society that can be found in international relations; each has nothing of the depth and mettle that cricket demands (at least in its pure form, the long stuff).