I found the following inciteful comments on the internet:
Cricket is a crock.
I watched less than 30 minutes of this poor-excuse-for-a-sport and I want my time back. I could’ve used more brain cells watching The Jerry Springer Show.
My main gripes? Cricket players wear dorky ultra-white leisure suits, take tea breaks every few hours, and a batsman can drive in 100-plus runs per at bat, yielding final scores like 5 billion to 4.6 billion.
Worse yet, cricket fans sip champagne instead of cheap beer.
In one of the most appalling moments in sports history, I watched a cricketeer — like a Mouseketeer, just less athletic — limp off the field after a “gruesome” mid-game injury. The commentators scrambled through video clips between sipping tea, replaying the incident from every imaginable angle. Several terrifying minutes passed before they could pinpoint the cause of damage.
No, it wasn’t an ankle sprain. Maybe a pulled hamstring or an ACL strain?
Finally, the diagnosis arrived. The player had suffered a career-threatening bee sting on his butt.