Rain rains McCullum McCullums

It it’s all to be expected, really.

As people always say at this time of year, it was “old-fashioned” cricket. People say this because it would have been so long since they watched a proper match that rubbishy one-day cricket has become the norm.

A Kiwi on the radio just said that it was a “technical” day of cricket. He went on to justify this remark. It didn’t make any sense.

I often find that with New Zealanders.

Phil Tufnell is on now. I can’t say things are getting more coherent. He’s like Britain’s honorary little Kiwi.

Anyway, Brenda McCullum was told to behave and bat as if he cared what the bowlers thought of him. He played properly to reach fifty: letting balls go; nurdling singles. He did let go a little after he reached his half-century, but he has long promised to bring a limited overs approach to test cricket.

The New Zealand wise heads, fearing that this might be a bit too mad for them, promoted him up to number five, in an attempt to impose responsibility on the scamp.

The management of your Good Player in small teams is an interesting affair. In rugby, your strategy is simple: give the ball to the big bloke. It usually works out fine.

But in cricket, the situation is a little more complex. You have to consider countless variables. What position should he hold? Who should come in with him? How should he play?

For England, we have long agonised over KP. Should he come in at three? Should he slow down? Should he speed up? He should certainly shut up.

Fortunately, these problems melted away when England successfully imbued Pietersen with our losing ways. He’s one of us now.

New Zealanders are the experts at managing modest resources. Given the size of their country, you wonder how they produce a test standard team at all. But when they do get good players, they seem to know how to squeeze the best out of them.

So.

Yeah.

Hoggy betrayed

So England have not selected the Hogster for the first test against the Kiwis. Instead, they picked James Anderson, who is cricket’s answer to trouser burns.

Normally, watching England cricket is enough to land you in a self-harm clinic, but there is some hope that England might beat the Kiwis in their first crack at the New Zealand lads in ages.

Do you remember, if you can caste your mind back long enough, the press feelings before the last test? Do you remember? Well, in case you are not 80, like I am, I shall remind you: The media was convinced that we going to crush the Kiwis by an innings in every game. Including the one-dayers.

And what happened? We won some games here. They one some games there. It was like watching two lobotomised quadriplegics trying to play “flip the coin.” Of course, there could only be one winner in such a contest: the coin.

And so the ten pence piece was awarded a Man of the Series award and later attempted to bring down a government. The coin seems more successful in its meeting objectives than Anderson.

In any case, the series was not an over-whelming display of skill.

It is worth noting, however, that the rightful captain of England can exculpated from this comedy of errors, this farrago of farces, this fete of fakes, this festival of farts. He wasn’t there at all (if you completely ignore his presence).

And yet despite these cast-iron and only slightly wrong facts, the England selectors have picked some goon that can’t even decide which side of the wicket to bowl his long-hops.

Ah well, one last opportunity for Anderson to prove to us all that he’s really not right for test match cricket. Besides, there’s no way that he’s captaincy material.

Bring back Hoggy.

Celebrity Blog Couples

Valentine’s Day is coming up soon, the air is thick with lurv, so it’s worth lending a helping hand to the lonely hearts of the blogosphere and pairing them up with their hither-to unknown perfect match.

These unions are so potent, that only the power of the celebrity couple can express the vigour of the potential duos.

King Cricket and Line and Length

Celebrity couple: Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas.

The home of the bloggers’ love in, these two hit it off from the beginning. The older, knowing hand of Patrick Kidd helped King Cricket to reach a climax of true blogging supremacy. Line and Length’s experienced and knowledgeable approach to blogging nicely compliments King Cricket - which has people laughing at it across the world.

Miss Field and Suave


Celebrity Couple: Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.

No-one is really sure what Suave did before his Tom Cruise came along, but as soon as Miss Field swept him off his feet, the Cricket Republique has churned out some testing posts with real legs. Miss Field's own approach, although seemingly erratic to outsiders, is in fact immaculately constructed and entertainingly open about her bizarre passions.

David and David


Celebrity Couple: Napoleon and Josephine

David from Pappus' plane has used statistics to prove not only do non-opposites attract, but they elope in secret in France to boot. He is also a power-mad dictator bent on imposing mathematical order onto the world. David from Harrow Drive has taken time to prove the importance of practicing in many different environments before you commit to the big match.

Martyd and Straight Points

Celebrity couple: Nikolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni

One the one hand we have an artist; a true visual feast. Martyd has managed to smooze his way up to the very top of the blogosphere through beauty alone. It has taken a tough, powerful blogger to contain these creative impulses. Although Straight Points may be a little short, he has one heck of a nose that invariably points in the right direction.

Miriam and Unkie JRod


Celebrity Couple: Jordan and Pete

Now that Miriam has married JRod in the holy grounds of the increasingly inaccurately named cricket with balls, a gentler, more feminine touch has been brought to this chart-topping blog. Further maximising their publicity, the sharp and relentlessly witty site, is complimented by a fuller, rounder approach to blogging. A truly mind-blowing combination.

Kiwis do some stuff, some others respond

Sorry for the absence. Been doing some very busy, work-related things, I’m afraid. I’ll promise I’ll respond to all your emails soon…

I’ve been looking around, pondering what to post on. I wanted it to be something original. I even had a look at The Netherlands’ pages on cricinfo.

I decided to compromise with a New Zealand tour game.

The Kiwis recently played against England’s “B” team. Or “A” team. Or team of trained lions. I’m not sure what they are. But it’s essentially a group of blokes that can’t get into the Test team, but receive sufficient pity from the selectors as to warrant a near-test experience.

I’m not sure whether I approve of it. It’s a bit like buying your granny a “zorbing” experience. Sure, she might take it up, and she may even enjoy it, but you’re buggered if she wants to do it all the time. Although, it might heighten your prospects of a quick inheritance wind-fall.

During this game, some blokes scored centuries. Thus increasing the pressure on the incumbents that the selectors are never going to drop no matter how low their form drops.

It’s all rather sad really. The likes of Michael Carberry and Graeme Swann will never play at the highest level. You’re giving them false hopes.

Perhaps these players enjoy their little moments in the lime-light. Which is a bit sad, really. It’s like those people that consider one biscuit a sufficient snack.

ONE BISCUIT IS NOT GOING TO FILL NOWT! EAT THE PACKET, YOU GOON! EAT THEM ALL. HAVE A PROPER QUANTITY AND EAT THEM ALL.

But they don’t listen.

Nevertheless, I still follow these diddler games. I’m not sure why. It’s like the world’s fascination with Nicolas Sarkozy’s sex life. Sure, the object is short and unsatisfying, but I still go back for more. There’s a lot of ineffable magnetism going on.

Name That Bum #9: Answer

The answer to today's tricky Name That Bum was, of course, Darren Lehmann.

Well done to Suave, from the Republique Cricket. In honour of the new weirdness of his site, we award him the following Paintbrush masterpiece.

Well done Two Bins. Tune in next week to see if you can... NAME THAT BUM.

Name That Bum #9

Same rules as always, you have to identify the international cricketer in the shots below. Please give you answers in the comments.

Winners will have a poem written in their honour.

Hopefully, this'll be a hard one. Although, given certain readers' genius for bum identification, I never can tell.

Good luck, and good bumming.

Clue One

Clue Two

Clue Three

Can you....NAME THAT BUM?

Australians moving to England

The tour details of Australia’s tour to England in 2009 have been announced. They arrive in May and depart in late September.

That’s four months. They’re probably going to claim squatters’ rights. Well, I suppose that’s only fair, seeing as that’s how we claimed Australia in the first place.

The administrators, displaying how hip and “wiv it” they are, decided to pack the tour with seven one day internationals. Yes, remember those? Fifty over cricket was what our granddads used to play, before Bollywood took over the sport.

I used to think that five-match ODI series were too long. Then seven became the norm. Then everyone decided to hate fifty-over cricket.

All except for bureaucrats in Australia and England. They think everyone else are bastards, and are going to stick it to ‘em with as many tediously drawn out out-moded competitions as possible.

In fairness, ruling out tyrannical self-indulgence, if I ran these sorts of things I would do it in the same way: aim to piss everyone else just so I can bellow with malevolent amusement.

They’ve also decided to give the Welshies a test match. Also, Hampshirians, a county so non-descript that its residents have no name (except for Southampton folk, who are affectionately known as “scummers” bless ‘em) have been awarded a test match as well.

It’s sad that Trent Bridge doesn’t have a test. I can only assume that this is because their ground is “too good” and not at all in Cardiff.

The tourists play only one four-day match against a county side. Rain will probably reduce this to a two day match. Meaning that Australia’s preparation is pathetically short.

Having said that, the Aussies won’t need much practice before playing against the pathetically short Englanders. But, it’s the thought that counts; at least pretend you take the opposition seriously.

That’s all we ask.

We can take repeated humiliations and spineless slumps. We’re used to it. Just say that you think we’re "not to be underestimated” or something and the English nation will be happy enough.

You can take our dignity. But please don’t take our pride.

Or is it the other way around?

Special report from Antigua

The AYALAC news wires have been buzzing busily this afternoon: I have just received an exclusive report from my Special Antigua Correspondent.

My mum has just returned from a holiday in the Caribbean, and kindly provided me with a cricket report. Well, sort of. Most of the time, her testimony discusses obviously irrelevant details: many non-cricketing references to things like sun and cocktails abound strangely.

Anyway, I was charged with picking up the ol’ alma mater from the airport, on Saturday. Oh, did I say Saturday? I meant Sunday. You didn’t drive all the way to Gatwick at five o’clock in the morning on Saturday as well, did you? Oh, sorry. The ticket said I took off on Saturday, I just assumed that I was going to land on the same day. Besides, waking up at four o’clock in the morning at the weekend is good for you.

I would have been more annoyed. But years of infrequent telephone conversations and general filial neglect have swung moral righteous decisively in a maternal direction. Besides, I’m glad she didn’t arrive on Saturday, when she may have noticed the bloke who was waiting to give flowers to his inward bound mother.

Those people should be ostracised.

Anyway, pointlessly waiting in Gatwick’s South terminal was a small price to pay for the gold-mine of exclusive cricketing information I can provide to you today.

As you can see from this image hurriedly taken from a speeding taxi, the Stanford Ground really does exist. My reporter described this shocking development as looking “really posh”.

See? It's real. We weren't being lied to.

In a further unexpected turn, it was revelled that the small Caribbean island was covered in large billboards displaying images of “men wearing white. Does that mean they’re cricketers? Are they famous then?”

At this point, the report becomes hazy. Apparently, my journalist spotted Giorgio Armani three times, and even swapped good mornings when making eye contact. I think young master Armani is an up-and-coming quick who reputedly possesses excellent seaming abilities.

I’m hoping for more incisive details when my Dad returns in six weeks after he’s sailed back from the Caribbean. So good luck to him… wherever he is.

Bloody parents. Smug ones, at that. It's not like I have a compensation: I hear Geoffrey Boycott's mum averages over 43 in first class cricket. She's no mug with a stick of rhubarb.

Atherton unpicks seam of Vaughan enigma

I have been vaguely aware of Michael Atherton’s ascent through the journalistic ranks. It hasn’t been full-on, consciousness, just a steady, distant understanding: like the catholic view of the Trinity.

Today he has an interview in The Times.

Now, just to set the scene, my view on interviews in papers is strong: especially when the hack attempts to set the scene. These pieces usually begin with the word “As” and then brutally followed by a “I walked into the strangely dark café…” Thereupon you are treated to ten full paragraphs of this failed novelist’s desperate musings as he gropes for some literary merit in an apparently cruel world where useless journos are excluded from excreting their clichéd, half-thought out piffle onto hard-back.

Sadly, this just system does not extend its regime into the world of newspapers. Any over-optimistically coined phrase is acceptable so long as it meets the deadline.

So, it was in this context that I met Atherton’s recent interview with some reservation.

These qualms were hastily confirmed when he began with:

“Nonna’s is a clean, well-lighted place on Sheffield’s…”

Oh no. Athers broke my rule. I only had one, you bastard, and you bloody broke it. Not only that, but references to Earnest Hemmingway in cricket pieces are a bit too university – don’t you think?

I would normally, at this point, throw my head back in disgust, yodel angrily and assail the random passenger to my right.

However, seeing as Athers, like an aortic tumour, has a soft spot in my heart, I gave him a second chance and continued reading.

Although he waits another four paragraphs before he reaches the point of the piece, he spends his acres of room wisely: he insinuates some insider property trading by the England captain and gratuitously insults Yorkshire folk as “pathetically self-absorbed”.

The Times needs to produce more of these cheap shots; I approve of them greatly.

Troublingly, the piece repeatedly points out its origins in Sheffield. Yet, the previous page has Michael Vaughan in Leeds. Surely, Schrödinger couldn’t have accidentally placed Michael Vaughan in his box? More likely: it took the recipient of a first class degree from Cambridge about a fortnight to toss off this piece.

Probably too busy down the pub. Or the bookies.

The actual interview part is rather plastic, so I would avoid reading the middle bits, if I were you. Just skim along to the final sentence, nay paragraph.

“Summer has arrived, and England’s captain bounces out into the sunlight in optimistic mood.”

I recommend re-reading that sentence. There is a lot of depth to it. It is a sentence laden with sunny metaphors. We asked by the author to imagine the England captain as if he were a beach ball, leaping into the salty air above a crowded beach in July. The sun beamishly leers the bouncing objects with warmth and approval. All is well.

It is a celebration of the ever-sizzling English weather. A climate which never disappoints us with constant, numbing drizzle or tamely knocking a catch to second slip after an attractive thirty.

So, Atherton’s not quite a heavy handed hack yet, but he’s getting there. We, in AYALAC, shall scrutinise his blossoming career with great attention.

Indian premier yawn

I’ll try not to be too smug, but isn’t the IPL boring?

Does anyone care any more? What’s more interesting: the IPL or the English county championship?

An obvious trick question. However, if you are a) a cricket blogger; b) not well disposed to twenty20; c) obsessed with international test cricket; d) me, then you were always going to struggle for consciousness whilst watching this marketing spectacle

A great many people who satisfy none of the above criteria but are still reaching for their remote controls and hitting the “Big Brother” button. Or a film. Whatever floats your boat. Personally, I’m a news 24 man. Except when there’s no news. Then news 24 is pretty much the least informative thing outside of a White House press conference.

With 59 games scheduled in total, you don’t have to be Malcolm Speed to work out why interest is waning. Indeed, television audiences have been dropping steadily as the novelty of this event begins to fade.

I’ll chuck in my usual self-congratulatory anti-twenty20 rantings here: perhaps people are recognising the shallowness, the artificiality and the limited possibilities that twenty20 offers as compared to even a 50 over match.

The subtle nuances, the competition of bat versus ball and the developing strategies are all removed from this format of the game. Once you watch a bloke smack a ball 70 yards you have exhausted the game’s entertainment possibilities. It’s just more of the same.

I’d like to think that viewers are assessing these weaknesses and are deliberately boycotting an impoverished version of the game. However, the fact is that they’re just getting bored by it. No one really cares about the teams, the play is predictable and the results unrelated to skill. They’d rather watch reality television.

Heck, I'd rather watch reality television.

People make a big deal of twenty20’s potential to pull in cricket-haters into the fold. But, judging by this league, twenty20 might result in putting people off from the game.

Take that establishment!

One player maybe banned, others not so banned

A confusing day of ban, counter-ban and lifted bans.

Apparently, Andrew Hall, Justin Kemp and Johan van der Wath were all banned from participation in official ECB events (like that cocktail party at Lord’s at the end of the season) because they were involved in the Indian Cricket League.

The ICL is pretty much the cricketing equivalent of the chubby girl at school. Anyone caught canoodling with her risks a lifetime of ostracisation and ridicule.

However, we are informed that today, of all days, this ban has been lifted and the Saffers can re-integrate into the county champagne set and get down to some serious yaughting at last.

Frustratingly, neither the cricinfo piece nor the bbc article informs us as to who lifted this ban. It could have been some sort of court, or perhaps alternative dispute arbitration conducted by a geezer in the street. I’m guessing it must be, because I can quote from his judgement:

“Yeah. It’s like this, yeah? It’s like, this man, yeah? And he has this, like, thing, you know? He’s got this thing and he should ‘ave it? AVE IT! Yeah?”

In other news, another, more official court ruled decisively to procrastinate over the future of Shoaib “I realise that I’m in the wrong now that you’re about to ruin me” Akhtar.

Shoaib was originally sentenced to serve a five-year ban for being a bit of a tit, which many hoped would stand as an influential precedent wordwide. Sadly, this ruling has yet to be extended to the people who inflict themselves upon my life.

Some judgy bloke from Pakistan ruled that Shoaib’s ban should sort of remain, but sort of not,, oh, I don’t know, he judged, let’s deal with it later: say June?

And so the wonderful limbo of law descended upon Shoaib’s life. Sure, you can play cricket. So long as it’s outside Pakistan and probably not in India.

I think you will all agree that this is an elegant and neat way of solving the problem. Put it off until tomorrow. Lawyers at their best.