Andrew Flintoff has rejected the entire English nation. He said, in a statement recently,
"To be honest, like, I don't really like the lot o'yous. So, if it's ok, I'm gunna take the money and you can all piss off, alright?"
This is part of his bid to become the first freelance cricketer since F.R.O.OP. "Blinkers" Staple-Gunn in the 1840s, who was famed for bowling for sex and the theft of two-man, peddle-powered boats.
The English nation rejoiced in the impoverished Flintoff's move. Little Emily from Clacton, aged eight, remarked,
"Fweddie Flintoff has also been my hero. Now that he has ripped out my heart for a quick buck, he has taught me the value of never trusting anyone ever again. I now want to become a management consultant."
In a quote that I didn't make up, Flintoff has had said:
"I said when I retired from Test cricket my ambition was to become the best one-day and Twenty20 player in the world," the 31-year-old said. Playing in all these different countries can only help."
One less country though, mind.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Australians get pissed and thrown out of a club in London
Three Australian got pissed on Saturday night. They went to a series of fancy London nightclubs the likes of me would never see in a jillion years.Brett Lee, Mitchell Johnson and that Callum Ferguson were on the razz to celebrate their pounding of the Englanders. Whilst painting the town canary orange in Mo*vida, they attracted the attention of a crowd of City Boys.
Champaigne cocktails flowed as liberally as office instant coffee. So much so, that the Ozzlers switched to "drunk, arsey types" and began to prattle on about their triumph over England.
Endlessly.
So irritating was their company that the finance workers eventually expunged their company. Skuffles followed. As did the intervention of the bouncers, whereupon the Australian role-models to millions were ejected into the cold, dark London night.
The source for this is a highly reputable organ that is not on its last knackers before bankruptcy proceedings kick in on Friday.
Being caste out by City bankers because you’re being too much of a bragging tit is, I wager, an achievement of unparalleled prattishnes. Again, Australians lead where only friendless pissheads dare.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Do we really like cricket?
Briefly moving over England “new era” of global dominance, I’m going talk about something else. Cricket.
Cricket fans are hard to please. It’s normally raining, one-sided hammering or ponced-up yammering so we do have a lot to complain about.
The fans love the thrill of it all. The sixes, the wickets and the drama of sport. And yet, when any of these things happen, we tend to moan.
Too many runs: boring. Too many wickets: no value for money. Excitement of any sort: not pure cricket.
There were too many World Cup games. Too many matches. It’s all too much. There’s too much cricket these days. This commonly accepted truth is witlessly repeated ad nauseum, but the case against players re-weighting their schedule away from lackadaisical domestic games to high intensity international matches has never been successfully made to me.
All we know is that, as cricket fans, we fear change and must ruthlessly defend the status quo while Francis and Rick still have air in their lungs.
Those lazy thinkers of older generations carelessly assume that the world, like them, is in decay and that modernity equates immorality and decline. Cricket fans, naturally being cantankerous octogenarians in their outlook, ape this mentality.
Yet still, older elements of the game still infuriate some. Here’s a quote from today’s cricinfo OBO doodle-ma-whatsit:
“I love these middle-overs. This may be my last time on commentary, but by heck - these middling overs are nothing less than a fantastic waste of everybody's time.”
I suppose the commentator is correct. Cricket is a fantastic waste of time. I have wasted hours watching a group of men work themselves into a lather over the relatively small movement of leather and wooden objects. I have wasted hours travelling to see these non-events. If I aggregated the sum total of these hours, I could have done one of the following:
- Learnt French;
- Written an unsuccessful yet worthy novella;
- Traversed the perimeter of Mongolia twelve times on racing yak;
- Understood long division;
- Saved the children of Belgium from the whatever baddies they battle;
- Forgotten any German.
And I suppose I could have cured a few pigeons of mange in the time it took me to write this post. But I didn’t. I WASTED MY TIME. And am now responsible for the DEATH OF UNTOLD QUANTITES OF DISGUSTING PIGEONS.
Perhaps our idea of a perfect cricket match consists of a single delivery, which is defended after which we can hurry off to the pub.
I rather feel like those far-right Americans that condemn anyone thinking that public healthcare as an un-American socialist, but I honestly don’t know what people’s problem with cricket it.
It’s alright, you know. I quite enjoy it.
And that makes me better than all of you.
Cricket fans are hard to please. It’s normally raining, one-sided hammering or ponced-up yammering so we do have a lot to complain about.
The fans love the thrill of it all. The sixes, the wickets and the drama of sport. And yet, when any of these things happen, we tend to moan.
Too many runs: boring. Too many wickets: no value for money. Excitement of any sort: not pure cricket.
There were too many World Cup games. Too many matches. It’s all too much. There’s too much cricket these days. This commonly accepted truth is witlessly repeated ad nauseum, but the case against players re-weighting their schedule away from lackadaisical domestic games to high intensity international matches has never been successfully made to me.
All we know is that, as cricket fans, we fear change and must ruthlessly defend the status quo while Francis and Rick still have air in their lungs.
Those lazy thinkers of older generations carelessly assume that the world, like them, is in decay and that modernity equates immorality and decline. Cricket fans, naturally being cantankerous octogenarians in their outlook, ape this mentality.
Yet still, older elements of the game still infuriate some. Here’s a quote from today’s cricinfo OBO doodle-ma-whatsit:
“I love these middle-overs. This may be my last time on commentary, but by heck - these middling overs are nothing less than a fantastic waste of everybody's time.”
I suppose the commentator is correct. Cricket is a fantastic waste of time. I have wasted hours watching a group of men work themselves into a lather over the relatively small movement of leather and wooden objects. I have wasted hours travelling to see these non-events. If I aggregated the sum total of these hours, I could have done one of the following:
- Learnt French;
- Written an unsuccessful yet worthy novella;
- Traversed the perimeter of Mongolia twelve times on racing yak;
- Understood long division;
- Saved the children of Belgium from the whatever baddies they battle;
- Forgotten any German.
And I suppose I could have cured a few pigeons of mange in the time it took me to write this post. But I didn’t. I WASTED MY TIME. And am now responsible for the DEATH OF UNTOLD QUANTITES OF DISGUSTING PIGEONS.
Perhaps our idea of a perfect cricket match consists of a single delivery, which is defended after which we can hurry off to the pub.
I rather feel like those far-right Americans that condemn anyone thinking that public healthcare as an un-American socialist, but I honestly don’t know what people’s problem with cricket it.
It’s alright, you know. I quite enjoy it.
And that makes me better than all of you.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Things that aren’t the best thing in the world
The entire West Indies Cricket Team
The entire West Indies is not the top ranked cricket team in the world. In the player rankings, most individuals are placed below Jesus.
The Fourth Umpire
No match is not incomplete without the inclusion of this non-essential official of uncertain responsibility. I once thought I saw in a pub Denis Engels, the famous Fourth Umpire at the not unwell known “Vicious David” incident at the Worcestershire vs. Leighton Buzzard game in 1993. but it was actually Alan Titmarsh.
Paul Collingwood
Paul Collingwood strides confidentially around his three inch square spot in the Pantheon of Glory that is Things That Aren’t The Best Thing In The World. His defiant refusal to ever forge a match-winning innings has won plaudits from across the world as being “below Bradman-esque.”
Scripts for cricket
Five years ago, players could not have “scripted” a better match. Now they regularly “script” opponents out by “scripting” in advance. No one knows what they are talking about. This phenomenon is generally considered not at all like parachuting out of a plane with no pants on.
Playing football at any time
Standing in a raining park, whilst your hopeless team slumps to defeat in the mud has been described by Arthur Cabbage of Whittlestonworth as “not as good as sex with greased up dolphins.” As a means to bond young cricketers it has been variously called “unearthshattering”, “ok s’pose” and “round”.
Giles Clarke
Business skills below those of internationally respected Texan billionaire Alan Twatford, but better than Yoda’s.
The entire West Indies is not the top ranked cricket team in the world. In the player rankings, most individuals are placed below Jesus.
The Fourth Umpire
No match is not incomplete without the inclusion of this non-essential official of uncertain responsibility. I once thought I saw in a pub Denis Engels, the famous Fourth Umpire at the not unwell known “Vicious David” incident at the Worcestershire vs. Leighton Buzzard game in 1993. but it was actually Alan Titmarsh.
Paul Collingwood
Paul Collingwood strides confidentially around his three inch square spot in the Pantheon of Glory that is Things That Aren’t The Best Thing In The World. His defiant refusal to ever forge a match-winning innings has won plaudits from across the world as being “below Bradman-esque.”
Scripts for cricket
Five years ago, players could not have “scripted” a better match. Now they regularly “script” opponents out by “scripting” in advance. No one knows what they are talking about. This phenomenon is generally considered not at all like parachuting out of a plane with no pants on.
Playing football at any time
Standing in a raining park, whilst your hopeless team slumps to defeat in the mud has been described by Arthur Cabbage of Whittlestonworth as “not as good as sex with greased up dolphins.” As a means to bond young cricketers it has been variously called “unearthshattering”, “ok s’pose” and “round”.
Giles Clarke
Business skills below those of internationally respected Texan billionaire Alan Twatford, but better than Yoda’s.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Blackwell comes from no-where to skittle Somerset
Durham’s hitherto unheard of mystery spinner, Ian “Dark Horse” Blackwell has rolled over Somerset at Chester-lee-Street.Blackwell span, bounced and doosra-ed his was to 5 for 7 in 8.1 overs, leaving the mighty men of the West in tatters at 174 all out.
A spokesman for Somerset stated:
“Who the hell is this guy? He looks a bit foreign to me, and I’m sure that Durham aren’t playing by rules by playing him. Surely it’s only fair that we get to have a look at him?”
It is fortunate for Durham that there mystifying tweaker came to their aid, as their pace attack has been significantly weakened now that Steve Harmison is no longer on England duty.
They'll probably go on to win the UEFA Cup now. Bloody brilliant, in the words of Ron.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
England win twenty20 series because that’s how GOD wants it
The England cricket team rub sulphurous hail stones into Australian wounds today by winning the match by having it abandoned.
No content with their Ashes triumph through fixing the pitch and nobbling the umpires, the Englanders further emasculated the Ozzlers by bribing the weather gods to piss it down. We don’t pay Ulbator Choobleton for nothing.
Some might dispute this “win”. But I dispute them. Clearly, if the Ozzos are not able to contend with the weather that we fight our way through to work every morning, then it reveals a lack of character that is unsuited to the trials of international sport.
Of course, Old Trafford has long maintained that it is a world class cricketing venue, with high quality flood lights and drainage facilities. Undoubtedly true. But it is in Manchester. And when the Mancunian rain isn’t cancelling my connecting flights to France, it’s pissing on the Australian parade.
So, in terms of the last three series we have played against Baggy Bums, England have won three. They nought.
It is said that the South Africans are the worst fans to gloat, and to bang on and on about fluked victories. But I think it is time that English fans build on current achievements, and strive for that top spot in international cricket.
For the Queen.
No content with their Ashes triumph through fixing the pitch and nobbling the umpires, the Englanders further emasculated the Ozzlers by bribing the weather gods to piss it down. We don’t pay Ulbator Choobleton for nothing.
Some might dispute this “win”. But I dispute them. Clearly, if the Ozzos are not able to contend with the weather that we fight our way through to work every morning, then it reveals a lack of character that is unsuited to the trials of international sport.
Of course, Old Trafford has long maintained that it is a world class cricketing venue, with high quality flood lights and drainage facilities. Undoubtedly true. But it is in Manchester. And when the Mancunian rain isn’t cancelling my connecting flights to France, it’s pissing on the Australian parade.
So, in terms of the last three series we have played against Baggy Bums, England have won three. They nought.
It is said that the South Africans are the worst fans to gloat, and to bang on and on about fluked victories. But I think it is time that English fans build on current achievements, and strive for that top spot in international cricket.
For the Queen.
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