It was his last game playing for Horsham but going out to bat he realised he’d forgotten an important piece of equipment. He wasn’t wearing his box. Too late to do anything about it, he took block and faced up to the fastest bowler in the district. The very first ball was a lightning delivery. It reared up off a good length. As he attempted to turn it to leg, it came off the lower edge of his bat and hit him the cruellest blow.
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The team doctor was called out as he lay on the pitch writhing in agony. He soon found himself on the way to hospital. There, in Emergency, he explained he was getting married the following weekend. He hoped the damage to his willy wouldn’t be a problem. The doctor in charge said he could do a special job that would have it in perfect order in good time. Taking four tongue depressors, he taped them around the wounded appendage. “There,” he said, “that’ll keep it straight and strengthen it. Everything will be fine”.
The bloke mentioned none of this to his girl and the wedding went off as planned. In the honeymoon suite that night, she demurely unbuttoned her top. “These are for you alone,” she said. “No-one has ever seen them, let alone touched them”.
Dropping his trousers, he replied, “Look at this… still in the crate!”
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