Mine!
Picture the scene: a batter smashes the ball high up into the sky and the fielders gather underneath it, circling like sharks, cream clad rather than great white, all eyes on the descending red dot. “Mine!” the first fielder calls out. “Mine!” another bellows, louder still. “Put a name on it!” the keeper cries, predicting exactly what is about to happen. “Mine!” –a third fielder comes into view, haring in from the boundary. It’s a bit like that scene from Spartacus, with fewer loin cloths and more confusion. Inevitably the trio of nameless but enthusiastic fielders crash into each other and the ball plops onto the turf. “Mine!” is one of the top fielding sins, up there with not walking in and daydreaming when the captain is beckoning. High catches, like babies and boats, need a name on ’em.