I’m trying to get angry about Angelo Mathews being sent on his way in Delhi, timed out, open mouthed, outraged, tearing up in the dugout. How cross he must have felt when he discovered that broken chinstrap in the middle, how temporarily betrayed by his Bangladesh counterpart, Shakib Al Hasan.
How infuriating to walk back scoreless, without having even put bat to crease, the popped balloon of an end to a barren run of games that have rung up only 161 runs at the miserly average of 17. How irritating, the impish face of Shakib, cheerfully twice insisting to the umpire that, yes, he was quite sure, he really did want to appeal. That Mathews flung only his helmet to the ground when he stepped over the boundary, rather than the full BLT that Ben Stokes deposited after sweeping straight to the short fine leg fielder against Australia, is a testament to his powers of restraint.
