I have to admit that Boxing Day is MY DAY.
I mean that in the nicest possible way.
It’s not that I don’t like people.
I do like people.
Well, most people.
Not batsmen when they refused to get out.
Not fast bowlers when they made me dive down the leg side.
Not umpires when they make dud decisions. Arthur Watson came to mind with a certain leg side stumping about 4000 years ago.
But by and large I do like people.
But on Boxing Day my liking for people changes.
Because on Boxing Day I am watching the cricket.
Period.
It’s MY DAY.
Now, it doesn’t mean other people can’t join me.
They can.
They are not so much welcome as tolerated. They become welcome when they bring me a drink. In front of the TV.
Because I’m, watching the cricket.
There are 2 times during the day I become sociable for those not watching the cricket with me.
One lasts for 40 minutes. The other for 20 minutes.
And after the cricket is over, I become my old social self again.
But during playing hours, on MY DAY, I watch the cricket.
Even when my eyelids become heavy, I’m watching the cricket.
Boxing Day is MY DAY.