So long, Steve

England's touring squads for South Africa named, and there is one glaring omission in the (admittedly rose-tinted) eyes of this writer, at least. I guess at least it marks the end of me worrying every time he lopes in to bowl, or feeling blue every time I see him trudge back to fine leg, puzzled look on his face, then turn, hands on hips, away from the crowd. Long live the enigmatic fast bowler. We need them. Fast bowling should be for crazy, lost, broken-hearted, angry, drunk, poetic, troubled, stupid, forlorn loners. It's not the place for hair gel, alice bands, sculpted beards or pin-up players. I'm sad. Really sad, but I can take it. Steve, thanks for being a proper fast bowler.