Make cricket beautiful

He was of a peaceful, placid nature, no jarring element in it, all was mixed up so kindly within him; my uncle Toby had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly. 'Go', says he, one day at dinner, to an over-grown one which had buzzed about his nose and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time and which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last, as it flew by him. 'I'll not hurt thee', says my uncle Toby, rising from his chair and going across the room, with the fly in his hand, 'I'll not hurt a hair of thy head'.
'Go', says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape, 'go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should I hurt thee? This world is surely big enough to hold both thee and me.'

Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy, talking about his gentle and kind uncle Toby. Perhaps the most beautiful passage in the history of English literature and one which the cricketers of India and Australia, after their ugly series recently, should be made to learn and then recite before the start of every day's play from now on for the rest of their careers.