Tuesday: Threatening to retire.
Thursday: Hinting a comeback.
Friday: Negotiating comeback.
Saturday: Announcing comeback.
But then Rahul Dravid is no Afridi despite their obvious similarity in the sense both are like poles. Dravid north and Afridi south.
So when Dravid retired, you naturally thought he was gone for good.
Doosra, however, has reasons to believe Dravid will do an Afridi and come out of his retirement.
The following conversation between The Wall and his Wife (what do you call a wall's wife? Firewall?) explains why.
Wife: There you are. Why did it take so long to get the boys from school?
RD: Well...I mean...I sort of missed the school bus.
Wife: Home come you missed such a distinct-looking bus?
RD: Err...I mean from where I stood, the bus looked quite outside the off-stump. So...I...sort of...let it go.
Wife: What! Have you lost your mind? OK, from now on you’d pick the boys from school itself.
RD: Sorry, I’m not going to that school again. Those infernal kids! One of them wrote something on my back. "Uncle, do you see what I wrote on your back?" I said "no". He said "Too bad you can't see the writing on the wall."
RD: You heard it. That nickname has become my albatross. One of those little devils went further and said "Uncle, I lost my pet dog. Can I stick a bill on your back, please?"
RD: And they call my son half-wall!
Wife: Good lord! What do you do now? Can’t take you to shopping either after that fight with the shopkeeper.
RD: As if that was my fault! It rained for a while and I was perfectly within the laws to ask him to revise the price under Duckworth-Lewis method.
Wife: And who started the fight in the furniture shop? You drilled 19 divans with that car key!
RD: See, I was just testing the bounce.
Wife: Bounce my foot! Gawd, don’t know what to do with you. You are no good at julienning tomatoes or dicing a cucumber, so not much of a help in the kitchen either.
RD: See I spent my career building a sound technique, largely avoiding risky cuts and slices.
Wife: You drive me crazy. You can’t polish your own shoe – you apply saliva and rub it against your trousers; you crouch and spit on your hand before you catch a flight; you refuse to go to market after tea, insisting on sending a nightwatchman; you criticise me for not having a proper follow through while ironing. I’m tired of it.
RD: So am I.
Wife: Well, get it in your head. This can’t go on. You are going back to playing cricket. You got it?
RD: I guess you have a point there, a silly point.