It takes a lot to put me off my beer, especially when the words 'Canada' and 'cricket' are in the same sentence.
But one jar had to last all of John Davison's innings against the Windies, so scared stiff was I that I'd miss something if I made for the eskie.
It took me back to my backyard days when I used to belt my sister's left-armers over the fence and into the neighbour's cabbage patch.
Davo Number One and Davo Number Two, big hitters in cricket
Those were the days. Not in 12 years did she get me out, so not in 12 years did she have a bat.
Yesiree, Davo Number Two did the name no disservice at all with a wonderful knock.
You're probably expecting me to go on and on about how he grew up in Australia, learned his trade in Australia and plays in Australia.
I'll bet Darwin to a duck you think I'm gonna ramble on about how we breed top-class cricketers like rabbits breed, erm, rabbits.
No way. I'm much too humble to do that.
But I'd be fibbing if I said I didn't feel a strange kind of pride watching Davo Number Two whack the Windies.
It wasn't the kind of pride you'd feel if your kid got an A in maths, more if your mother-in-law won a round-the-world holiday.
I'm really warmin' to the Canucks.
Unlike sides like Bangladesh, we'll remember they were actually at the World Cup. All out for 36 against Sri Lanka, then the fastest World Cup ton ever. Great stuff.
And that big bloke, Thuraisingam, gives us all hope that professional sport isn't only for the Merv Hughes' of this world.
You read here last week I thought England might do a thing or two in the World Cup, and they sure put one over on Pakistan.
It was a huge win for the Poms, even if the ball was swingin' more than Ma and Pa Davo on their bingo club holidays.
Young Jimbo Anderson's yorker to get rid of Youhana was an absolute corker.
Might have even got Davo Number One out. Might have.