Thank God there was no social media when I was 18. Those working for the industry who are paid to mine nuggets, deemed vile, disgusting or repulsive, have struck another motherload with regard to the then 18-year-old current test cricketer, Ollie Robinson.
Back in 2012, little realising that his talent to bat and bowl necessitated that he should tweet only lovely things, our Ollie (who incidentally, played a blinder on Saturday) was wont to crack jokes on Twitter.
Had the Victorian pub table in the Greyhound been bugged, I am certain that by now my door would have been kicked in and I would have found a brigade of armed police officers at my bedside.
The main item on the agenda on a Sunday morning was always the ‘birds’ (nil point! Yes we used to say that) we had met the previous evening at the dance. I guess giving rankings out of ten and reasons for the score might in this day and age result in a modern version of the Torquemada being applied before a lengthy stay in the pokey.
Oh dear, oh dear, it’s what you do as a rite of passage when you’re a teenager. For goodness sake leave the lad alone and let him play cricket.
Alan Etheridge, Dudley
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