I was busy playing psychological games with their opening bowler, partly by strolling to the wicket and playing his first over with a bum bag hanging from my arse. I then proceeded to wind him up by suggesting to the umpire that he was no-balling, and generally indulging in cheeky sledging, including asking second slip was he related to Rudi Voeller as I had not seen such a quality mullet since the 1990 World Cup. All of which enable me to nudge a few singles and pick up an overthrow or two as their anger levels rose.
I then cleverly allowed myself to be bowled playing down the wrong line, and letting our Number 11 take all the glory.