Critics of Cricket

When critics of cricket incautiously criticise
   Ere the conditions they carefully learn,
The conner of cables, all callous to pity, sighs,
   "Done it again!  Talking out of their turn!"
For the critic of cricket,
His eye on the wicket,
Endeavours to stick it
   And justify tips;
But a cricketer, hitting
A loose one, omitting
A caution that's fitting,
   Gets caught in the slips.

So critics of cricketing critics grow critical:
   "Call themselves critics!"   They cry with a whoop.
"In spite of their surveys and schemes analytical,
   Something bobs up, and they're all in the soup!"
According to Whitak --
Er, no cricket critic,
Tho' wisely politic,
   Was ever yet born
Who hedged not a little
On prophesies brittle
When wickets they skittle
   And laugh him to scorn.

So criticise cautiously, critics of cricketing,
   Deal in the deft, diplomatic effect;
For the goodness of Chance ev'ry outpost is picketing,
   Keep to confute you where least you expect.
When batting collapses
An "if" or "perhaps" is,
In covering lapses,
   A wonderful word.
For wickets grow sticky,
And bowling gets tricky
And, suddenly -- Crickey!
   You do look absurd!