Thinking about side holstering the willow and strapping on the armour this year in a dishonourable return to park cricket. My golf handicap is 6 times my batting average, and the accumulation of grog and kebabs has me in similar shape to the Michelin man. But the positives are the facts that golf is a good walk spoiled, and I'm the only man who can turn an easy three into a cheeky single. What's to lose? People say chasing a ball around for 7 hours in summer is stupid, and they're correct. But is it any more stupid than watching Mekong Delta Goodrem swing around on a chair and declare her love for future RSL Karaoke stars? I think not. The Northcote Dragons are in my jurisdiction (home club of chiselled Greek titan Marcus Stoinis) and they seem like an organisation who love a few juicy nectars. Glamour clubs like Prahran have always made my guts churn worse than a Guinness and Vindaloo combo. I'll inevitably bring shame upon my family name all the way down to my forefathers, and my Saturdays will be all but gone. But fair dinkum, I'd give it all up to crack the opening quick through the covers for a boundary with the new rock. Probably have middle stump dislodged next ball, but that's the nature of 5th grade cricket.