Friday, February 22, 2008

Philosopher's XI

It’s been a while since I’ve spoken some philosophy here at AYALAC. I’ve talked plenty of rubbish, of course, but that is only a partial substitute. Today, we right that wrong.

After much deliberation in our selection committee’s ivory tower, we present the philosopher’s cricket XI, in batting order.

#1 – Bertrand Russell. Cautious and fastidious, this batsman is capable of playing long innings by sub-dividing the sessions into smaller, manageable atoms. Sometimes, he is susceptible to over-complicating his batting, a trait he caught from the King of France.

#2 - Aristotle. Opening with a classical technique, he sometimes veers into controversy. His nick ethics is based on a refusal to walk, trusting the umpire’s virtue to make the right decision. A big hitter who, unlike his partner, is ready to go nuclear and transcend the known boundary whenever possible.

#3 – David Hume. A solid, straight-forward slogger at three, who is sceptical of abstracted approaches to batting. Strangely, he eschews the traditional willowy blade for some sort of fork of his own fashioning. It’s Denis Lilley all over again.

#4 – Socrates. Excellent at sledging, but seemingly incapable of constructing an innings of real value himself.

#5 – Plato. Captain of the team, who emulates Michael Vaughan in communing with metaphysical forms of the perfect field formation. Although these structures are inherently unstable and subject to frequent change. A gifted batsman, who seems to know a priori the bowler’s delivery before it’s bowled.

#6 – Rene Descartes. An all-rounder who is able to make contributions to multiple areas of the game. Although, when the going gets tough, he tends to struggle with the reality of the situation.

#7 – Ludwig Wittgenstein. A traditional nutcase, of the English school, behind the stumps. Like Hume, bats with this own poker. Often shouts at the slips for using their own unintelligible private language.

#8 – Martin Heidegger. Here’s a right-armed unorthodox spinner with real class. Manages to get his side out of all sorts of unlikely situations. Although, occasionally, the time and being of his presence may not be appropriate.

#9 – Immanuel Kant. Combines intuition and experience well in a swing bowling package that transcends previous categorisation. If everyone bowled as well as this fellah, the world would be a terrible place for batsmen.

#10 St. Anselm. No one really knows how he got into the side. He just sat down one day and defined his way in.

#11 – John McDowell. A fast bowler straight out of hell: Scotland. His relentlessly metronomic deliveries invariably hit the spot, flattening any opponent. He also holds the advantage of being alive.

12 comments:

Suave said...

Surely Nietzsche, the Übermensch, would prove to be a wonderful all rounder, in the Andrew Flintoff (2004-2005 version), mould.

martyd said...

Their supporters would of course chant "The Philosopher's Drinking Song" from the terraces.

I would pay to see this team play!

miriam said...

Talking of philosophers and drinking:

*lame joke alert*

Rene Descartes walks into a bar. Barman says "a drink, Rene?". He replies "I think not", and vanishes.

John said...

No Derrida?? Would be bit like Kumble.

The Sporting Spirit said...

thats quite an interesting concept...heheh...well done...

Cricketer said...

hmm.. i would say that you missed out some of the more-suited cricketer-philosphers in the list..

an interesting perspective anyway :)

Cheers
Cricketer [iplcrazy.com]

Jrod said...

Icke would have been great.

Imagine the sledging, you sir are a vulgar alien lizard.

There is no come back for that.

Miss Field said...

"I am not Tom Cruise..."

Suave said...

WHERE ARE YOU!!

Please to come home now.

I miss you nearly as much as I miss Daddy Suave, Mark Nicholas.

miriam said...

Yes. Is everything ok?

Miss Field said...

He's assembling an epic for us.

The Atheist said...

Don't panic. I was away.

Although it's nice to be missed. Without my regular updates, the lives of my readers are empty and meaningless.

I'm rather like porridge, in that respect.