Yes, I confess, I'm one of those guys. You know the type, ladies, drinks a little too much, doesn't listen enough, laugh at my own jokes and worst of all - watches cricket.
Many of the opposite sex have spent decades trying to work out why men will sit in front of the TV for hours on end, watching 22 guys in white clothes throw and hit a red leather ball around the park for five days.
We men have simply continued to sup on a cold one, use our selective hearing to answer "yes" or "no" to your questions, while hoping the Black Caps will finally deliver the ultimate performance which we have been waiting on since the glory days of Sir Richard Hadlee, Martin Crowe and Lance Cairns in the'80s.
I guess, therein lies the answer to your question, "why?"
We men are a determined lot. Our national cricket team has made an art form of promising so much, yet often under-performing. We watch in vain, most times, hoping Brendon McCullum and his men will eventually turn that unending corner and become the dominating force in world cricket we men so desperately desire. Sure, we get the odd little teaser like Adam Milne bowling at 150km/h or Corey Anderson's world record fastest ODI century.
