Green gold.

by
All mine.

All mine.

Somewhere in South Africa is a mine. A mine chock-full of jaws and forearms and guts. From here, a crew of immortal dwarves constantly hew body parts until they have enough to make a human being. At this stage they augment the body with superhuman attribites such as onboard Hawk-Eye and laser-guided missile launchers. Ordinary human traits, such as weakness, are simply left out. English ones, such as the spontaneous tendency to completely break down under even the smallest feather of pressure,  are not even known to the ‘demi’-gods. Finally, when the jaw has been dusted with tough little bristles and stuck on with chewing gum, and the eyes have been drop-forged from steel, a South African cricketer is born.

They come out from the mine, not blinking in the sunlight – they automatically adjust to any atmospheric conditions – and then they amble to the nearest cricket team and join it.

Because supply exceeds demand (the SafferBot has a 37-year guarantee) they are stockpiled in domestic leagues, where they generate faintly ridiculous figures and amass cast-iron credentials in preparation for their true purpose. To play and win at cricket for South Africa.

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