Imagine Brendan McCullum if he were a general in the British army back in World War two. It wouldn’t be bazball, more bazwar. The hell with the consequences of his approach and decisions. All out attack in war. If it’s good enough on the Cricket fields of the world, it’s good enough on the shell holed fields of western France. Three hundred thousand men standing on the beaches awaiting evacuation, and, yep, you guessed it, general drivel decides to order the men off the beach and fight the German’s well stocked heavy artillery with the British soldiers few remaining poorly loaded pop guns. Hey, you’ve got to lose some wars to win other wars, never mind World War two spiraling down the drain for the allies, attack is where it is at. And never mind the chance to evacuate and draw this battle of the war and live to fight another day. Oh no, that is not his way. No need to be flexible and adjust to the circumstances offered up in this moment. Simply plough on and blame anyone and everyone for the carnage his egotistical mind has conjured up. Alack, alack, alack, it’s attack, attack, attack. Curse the flack, the media, the public, they are oh so slack minded. For he doth not his cap to the paying seat warmers . . . And particularly not defense. Oh sure, that war machine may overrun some meagre colonial outpost yet when the Germans come along with their rigid eyed malevolence, pop goes the serum of substance. An approach imagined and an approach better off consigned to the sewer.