Stung by persistent critiques of the alleged artlessness of his game – the man Afridi decides to show ‘em.

He proceeds to execute an impromptu choreographic performance, the spikes upon his feet simultaneously etching a breathtaking pattern upon the ground. Yes, with a brand new medium – a cricket pitch as canvas - he brings together in one glorious performance two disparate forms of art - conjuring an exquisite piece of modern art upon the ground beneath his feet even as he waltzed away in a flowing, flowering, aah smooth dance - extemporaneously, forget not, creating art that in its dynamism expressed absolutely his personality.

His belief of his genius is cemented by the fact that his genius wasn’t being recognized in his lifetime – the peasants who catch him on camera decide not only to exile him for three games (see also - this, this) but decide also to obliterate his art by rolling the pitch - woe, never will generations to come believe that such art existed.

Oh, he pleaded, he explained, why, he wept that it was ground-breaking work, and they replied that that was why he was being ejected. Tis, ah, a cruel world. They verily are blown to dust who attempt to leave their footprints upon the sands of time.