If Humpty Dumpty and a pair of promiscuous (look it up Cam) wicket-keeping gloves ever had a love child you would get a little something like our Nigel. Like his dear old father Dumpty, who couldn’t be put back together again, our Nigel also appears to be shot to pieces in more places than one. I mean what is it with you wicket-keepers? First you moan that my bowling is too far down the off-side then you tell me its too far down the leg side. Are you never happy? Our Nigel is a rare breed. With what knees he has left he leaps to any wide ball like a gazelle, one that was once a fine prancing animal but has since been shot a few times and half eaten by a lion. Who needs knees anyway?