Nickname: Mitchell Thomas

A poem by Saul Wordsworth

I faced a ball from Mitch

One balmy eve in May

It spun from outside leg

It’s spinning to this day

The issue about Matt is

He’s really rather good

And though he doesn’t know it

He rather really should

It’s all those bookish bores

They tend to clog his brain

Instead of thinking ‘fours’

He’s thinking ‘Michael Frayn’

He’s not around at weekends

Rejoining cricket’s heartland

He’s sneaking out of London

And bedding Barbara Cartland

But I know why you dare not play

You’re being such a spanner

Cos whilst you bat I think you may

Be scared of leaving Foz with Hannah

I think that cricket needs you

I think that you need it

Whatever Fraser Tant says

I don’t think that you’re half-bad