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It's now a matter of record that the British once tried to torture a young Robert Mugabe by piping cricket commentaries into his prison cell.
How they happened on this novel type of abuse has yet to be explained, but if the past month is any guide, it probably had its roots in something as boring and mind-numbing as the 2007 World Cup.
This is not to say the eighth world tournament wasn't entertaining. As comedy and high farce goes, the show was a scream from the off, and ended appropriately enough yesterday when winners Australia were forced to make two curtain calls.
Having started their celebration after the Sri Lankan batsmen accepted the light late in the weather-affected final, Australia then discovered they had to return to the field and bowl a couple more overs before resuming the merriment.
And just to add a bit of slap-stick to the affair, the match was completed in near-darkness, at a time when cats were prowling the neighbourhood garbage bins and motorists were turning on their headlights.
If only the tournament had been promoted in the "variety entertainment" section instead of sport, it could be going down today as one of the great examples of self-satire, of unintentional theatre.
Among the most hilarious parts was the story from a BBC crew who, having left Georgetown, Guyana bound for Barbados, found themselves landing in Tobago - an entirely different country - because the pilot hadn't updated his flight-plan.
Then there were the hundreds of fans who booked tickets on a Barbados-bound cruise ship at Grenada, as well as accommodation in Bridgetown and tickets to the Australia-South Africa semi, only to find the ship didn't sail.
Never mind the eight days between games, the prohibitive ticket costs, the rorts and piracy, and the crowning glory for three of the semifinalists: the nine-hour, island-hopping exercise two days out from the game.
You should have seen the players' faces when they learned their luggage had been sent on before them on a direct 40-minute flight.
The final series of punch-lines were delivered at the Kensington Oval yesterday, when it rained in paradise, the venue organisation was exposed as a shambles, and Australia continued their sublime but faintly boring world domination.
And that was probably the most damaging aspect of the tournament. Not the disorganisation, rip-offs or logistical overload, but the fact that there were so few exciting games and none involving the Cup winners.
Australia stormed through the draw with the predictability of a grandfather clock, playing such an irresistible style of cricket that all their opponents were swept aside with ease, including yesterday's runners-up Sri Lanka.
When it comes to memorable endings, the only games that immediately spring to mind are South Africa's last-gasp win over Sri Lanka, and England's nail-biting result over the West Indies.
This was partly the fault of the combatants, doubtless, but the new pitch surfaces also played a major role in the results, and led to teams either riding an advantage from the toss, or having to fight back from a handicap.
New Zealand's win against South Africa at Grenada was a good example; the Proteas finding themselves on the back-foot from the moment their skipper Graeme Smith lost the toss, and found himself batting on a damp, seaming wicket.
The cricket was often turgid. Grim battles for survival were mixed with quick and sudden annihilations. Teams usually banked on 250 being defendable, and bowlers who took pace off the ball proved valuable.
It all added up to a sweet mercy yesterday, when one of the most lacklustre, uninspiring and coma-inducing sports tournaments known to man, was put out of its misery.
At least we know that, if the coalition forces ever get their hands on Osama bin Laden, they should have no trouble getting him to talk.
