Here's a photo of what set him off...
And here is how Giles Coren finishes his article:
'I would infinitely rather watch a live open-air sex show in Hove with a little bit of silly knockabout cricket in the background than watch grown men in brightly coloured romper suits and enough armour to survive a nuclear blast pretending that what they are doing is playing cricket.
If cricket cannot pay its way any more, then instead of reducing it and reducing it until it is just one man with a ball hitting it in the air with a rubber stick and a load of morons cheering because the match only lasts 23 seconds, let’s just get loads of naked girls involved. It’s not cricket any more as it is, so let’s turn it into sex.
Let’s have the dancers taking everything off and old boys stuffing tenners in their pants. Let’s give them poles, out there on the square, and then, like the famous tree at Canterbury, it can be four if the ball hits it. And then maybe she can fire it back out of her wotsit, like I’ve heard they do in Thailand. That’ll get the crowds in and ramp the revenues up. And that’s what’s important. Let’s get the girls giving massages in the stands, naked, and offering happy endings for whoever guesses the next wicket-taker.
And I see in the papers this week that Wisden is to start publishing books on subjects other than cricket for the first time in 90 years. No doubt they are already in negotiations with Hugh Hefner to produce the Playboy/Wisden Almanack of Topless Girls Holding Cricket Bats. It’s the perfect combination of the only two things in life that matter: sex and cricket. What could be better than rifling through the county averages with the occasional pause to ogle a nice pair of jugs? And what a perfect starting-point for a little light S&M, as the sound of summer mutates from traditional stereotypes to the gentle thwack, on village greens across merry old England, of well-oiled willow on buttock.'
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