For local cricketers, isolation has been a familiar feeling, as the pursuit of such an esoteric, colonialist sport has led to countless lonely Wednesday’s wondering when that girl you DM’d on Friday night will message you back. And for cricket tragics, the archive of Robelinda2 has provided warm company on par with that of a few kind words from their respective fathers.

But for one young cricket nut, the quarantine has provided an opportunity far greater than merely the chance to binge-watch The West Wing on Stan, and order UberEats with the pained justification of ‘I’m supporting local business!’

Michael McMorrow (22), a failed Commerce student and one-time Bitcoin investor, has just achieved the rare honour of which other cricketers can only dream. He has brought up a ton, a century, a dazzling hundred, at the MCG. All from the comfort of his own bedroom!

Staring intently at the Pulp Fiction poster on the wall, with Foo Fighters’ greatest hits playing in the background, he brought up the milestone with a deft late cut, slipping the ball through the four slips and a gully, using the pace of the delivery to ensure he hit the ropes, before raising his bat to the empty bedroom.

‘These opportunities come but once in a lifetime, Michael,’ he thought to himself, after completing four hours worth of imaginary batting alone in his room. And not the wanking kind!

Had to get that joke in there somewhere.

‘The members at the MCG are standing as one,’ he imagined, as his family labrador watched on, bored shitless at the antics of the 22-year-old who had declared at the start of the year that he would ‘really get his life together.’

The strange thing is that Michael has been in the 90s countless times before whilst shadow-batting. However, his crippling ego complex has meant that whenever he ‘envisions’ himself on 98*, he finds a way to shadow-bat an outside edge, and in a unique feat of mental gymnastics, he has even been able to shadow-bat handling the ball on 99, leading to his inevitable dismissal after a spirited appeal from a yet-unidentified South East Asian Test side.

Yet as he knuckles down further in his Paddington bedroom, the doubts have begun to return, and his once steely-resolve is beginning to crumble. Is this quarantine-driven mental decline? Or has shadow-batting always been the issue? Only time will tell.

No more to come from this profoundly tragic figure.