Kevin Pietersen’s First Cricket Diary
April 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
I am the spotlight.
I woke up this morning and God I felt good. But then I felt bad. Something wasn’t right. I slipped on my David Beckham underpants (the one’s he gave me himself) and stood infront of the mirror. Toned, toned, ripped, toned, ripped, good, flaccid, toned, ripped, flaw….flaw! I’d found a flaw. Protruding from my chest there was a small mole. Bad! God! What was this. I was just about to collapse when I realised it was my nipple. Phew. The rest of me alternated between toned and ripped. I had a shower.
At 9.30am the phone rang. It was Bell.
“KP how are ya yah old tadger.”
“Belly. Er.. how are ya you old…badger.”
“Just wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow mate.”
“Yah thanks. Don’t need it.”
I hung up the phone and ran over to my abb. Oxford dictionary which was lying on my pillow.
Tib, Tab, Tickle, Tackle, Todger…..ah there it was
Tadger: noun, colloq. 1. penis
WTF? I couldn’t believe it. I ran over and picked up the phone to dial 1471. Unfortunately I realised I was in India so that wouldn’t work. Next I rifled through my telephone address book. “Bill, Ben, Bush, Babs, Bell!” There he was, the little runt. But when I dialled the number it went straight to the talking clock. Why had I programmed it to the Accurist clock?
Jeez I was angry. What else. What else? Think Kevin, think! Bingo! The internet. I typed Bell into Google but all that came up was a page for clocks. So, I couldn’t call the little f**ker. Ok that was it.
Steaming angry I stoked out of the room and ran to the door next to mine and gave it a massive pounding. Belly answered dressed only in a pink fluffy dressing gown.
“Now listen you f*****g k*die fiddling little f*****g p***o piece of s**t. Don’t you dare ever, EVER call me a penis again.”
With that I slammed the door shut in his face and walked off.
I am the spotlight
Insomnia. Cricket dreams. I am being chased by a giant ball. It mows its way through the field and rolls over me. I am squashed.
I am the spotlight
I was having breakfast with the Sky TV crew. Suddenly Nas starts going off on one.
“Hey KP,” he says. “Have you been dyeing your hair again?”
“Er no. What are you going on about Nas. At least I have some hair.”
The table went silent. Nas slammed down his spoon spraying shreddies everywhere. Freddie Flintoff was covered in it. He got up and walked over to my side of the table. Getting really close into my face he said:
“This, this is hair. Look at this. Don’t you ever talk to me about hair again you insignificant piece of shit.”
With that he walked off. We all silently ate our breakfasts. From the corner of my eye I could see Bell sniggering. On my way back to my room I called in on him. He was there wearing a pink negligee. He got it all right.
Team lost. I got 52. Good day.
Insomnia followed by bouts of paranoia.
Post-match drinks. We’re all at the hotel bar. Swann turns to the barman and shouts “Oi barman, I’ll have some nuts. Make them KP.”
The place falls about into laughter. Not happy. Continue drinking. Five minutes later Strauss says:
I turn to him. He’s looking at the barman. “Nuts please.”
More laughter. Sniggering. I see Bell shaking in the corner. Few minutes later I hear his voice shout “Oi KP.”
Am livid. Later that night I knock on his door. He answers wearing a leopardskin leotard. I punch him in the face.
Team won. Got 0. Fucking abysmal day.
Persecution complex. Remember the spotlight.
8am Shower. I apply a light herb face mask then put on Weapon of Mass destruction by Fatboy Slim and dance around my room in the manner of Christopher Walken. I even pretend to talk like him.
“Oi am Christopher Woyken,” I say.
I’m about to do the falling chair move when there’s a knock at the door. Shall I answer it?
“Nah fuggedabout it.”
“Look Christopher, it could be Straussy. It might be something important.”
“Ey ya listen to me. Are you a man or a mouze?”
“I’m a man.”
10am Second shower. Am clean now
Day off. Going wakeboarding. F** Yeah! I get there at 12am precisely the time my lesson is due to start. But the instructor—a French dude named Jean—is late. By the time he arrives at 12.05am the water is too rough to go in. I get my money back from him.
12.30am I’m down on the beach wearing my rayban sunnies and my black Bjorn Borg briefs. Set Stereophonics to loop on my iPhone and lay back to catch some rays. I fall asleep and dream that I am the lead character in Drive. I’m wearingTHAT jacket. It says KP on it in bright red letters. The dream turns nasty and I’m being chased by a ball. Wake up to find that I’ve been buried in the sand by a gang of urchins.
I’m mad but can’t do anything about it cos I can’t move.
7pm It’s getting dark now but I still can’t move cos I’m still buried in sand. The stereophonics has been playing for a continuous loop for the last eleven hours burning a hole in my ears. Feel like I’m losing it. C’mon Kevin. Pull yourself together.
12pm It’s midnight. I’ve been here for hours looking as cool as possible. Finally a local fisherman comes by and digs me out. I say thanks and offer him my scorpion KP jacket. He declines. Am delirious. Drive back to the hotel wearing my leather gloves. I’ve got Beefy Both in the back seat. He’s eating a leg of Lamb.
1am Get back to my room. Put on my herb mask. Burn my iPhone. Sleep.
Game was heading for a draw. Asked if I could be excused as was feeling massively paranoid out there.
You are the spotlight.