Mindless game

Australia have normally dominated the Ashes before Steve Harmison has chance to bring the umpire into action. The team had a number of PR vanguards that the ACB would push forward to gob off a few moronic remarks.

Australia teams have always been better at mind games. This isn’t because they are all terrible people – a fact whose veracity we needn’t doubt – it is because they smug, self-satisfied, superiority came from there actual, real, really good superiority.

Since Herr Warne and Glen McGrath, they struggled to find a suitably obnoxious replacement. Ricky Ponting has passed a few windy comments on the lines of, “yeah, look, the other team’s track record is a bit shaky, yeah?”

Mike Hussey a bit of a crack. He has a column in that leading international journal, The London Paper.

But, his problem is that, much as with the rest of the freesheet, it’s shit.

Now Alistair Cook, with all the batting flair of Henry Kissinger and with the cricketing brains of Liberace, has stepped into the fray.

An unlikely candidate to practice the dark arts, Cook’s principal problem with mind games seemingly is the “mind” part. Here’s a report from the Sunday Times:

“Asked for the difference between this Australian side and their predecessors, Cook was reluctant to appear critical. “It’s hard to explain mid-series but one thing that is slightly different is their aura.””

If you want to bring about mental disintegration in the Aussie team, criticise their aura. Also, try to publish pictures of them with “strange, glowing phenomena” floating above their heads, and steal Simon Katich feeling crystals.

So, England are the best team ever

It seems proven then. England are the best team ever and Ravi Bopara is the new Lenny Kravitz.

Playing in the only test ground north of the Artic Circle, the Durham cricket fans are showing the world just how popular test cricket still is. Although the West Indies are doing their best to show us that it doesn’t really matter any more – there are more important things in life now.

Chris Gayle has the air of a man whose passionate girlfriend is jumping all over him, but because of the sounds of the neighbouring Morris dancing session he is finding it hard to get into the mood. He seems to be trying his best to respond, but the gentle clunks and whoops of the tubby men next door are proving compulsive listening, and certainly not eliciting the desired reaction.

Two Essex lads made runs for England yesterday. The most noticeable feature of this was their post-match interviews, were viewers could delight their Beckham-esque, streetwise accents.

“Yeah, mate, we chuffin’ ‘ammered ‘em propah.”

In celebration, Southend Pier was moved seven miles inland, in order to turn it into a giant kebab, in a bid to provide Alistair Cook with the mental encouragement to forge a double century.

It’ll probably happen, not because of the kebab, but because England only get double hundreds against the West Indies. But, of course, they’re still quality opposition.

Alastair Cook nude

Yes. That's right. Naked pictures of Alastair Cook today.

Because that's what you sick people come here for!

Picture 1: Alastair Cook offering you some Champers.

Picture 2: A dignified Alastair Cook takes off his trousers in front of a camera, whilst waiter looks on, awed in respect.

Picture 3: Alastair Cook indulges himself in some streaking. A favoured past-time.

Picture 4: Alastair Cook also doubles as a part-time eye-liner fairy, friend to women everywhere.

If you are worried by the homo-erotic turn of the site, don't worry, you are not alone. I'll get back to the cricket once I have realised how rubbish I am at Paintbrush.

Until that point, it'll be perv-a-plenty!

Angry Cook prepares meal of rage

It is important to keep a healthy level of bubbling hatred within you topped up at all times to maintain a balanced lifestyle. I get mine from walking home over Tower Bridge every evening, and thinking evil thoughts about the tourists who inexplicably stop in my path.

Yes - it’s the London skyline. Brilliant. If you don’t take a picture of it now, it might disappear.

This is the kind of internal bitter ranting that keeps me breathing. And now Alastair Cook, proving his divinity beyond mortal doubt, is starting to adopt these principles.

In a recent interview, he said that he wanted to be “more aggressive”. That’s the stuff, Alastair, being an angry, red-faced, fight-starter is the only way to succeed in life. This is what got me to where I am today.

"Obviously we don't know what these wickets will be like, but we saw how aggressively [Australia] played, and we know that you've got to be positive and look to score. On those wickets you could probably hit through the ball more, but if you just look to survive there will be a ball that gets you out."

Reading between the standard sportsman’s spiel lines, this essentially means: RRRRAARRR! I’M GUNNA POUND ME SOME MURALI! I think he ripped off his shirt at this point.

You may have thought that Cook was a mild-mannered Essex muppet, not any more! He’s going to attack without mercy.

Although, I found this a little surprising, given his interviews some time ago saying that, because of his conversations with veteran Sri Lankan tourists, he’s going to play more conservatively. Preserving his wicket and scoring slowly was the name of game in Sri Lanka. Perhaps I misheard him?

It is almost as though the England team is desperately swinging from one extreme to the next on some forlorn mission for “a plan”. But, what do I know? I push American photographers into the Thames; the ECB have the tour all sorted. It’ll be fine.

Sri Lanka meekly crumble

Apparently, therefore, they should inherent the Earth. So perhaps this is a crafty trick to win the next World Cup? I doubt it, though.

In a deflating performance, Sri Lanka lost the match and the series to the inferior and more rubbisher England side.

The Lankans got off to a dreadful start, with the first three wickets falling for just twenty runs. Although Kumar Sangakkara and Chamara Silva put on a defiant 126-run stand, the England seamers dominated their innings.

In reply, Alastair Cook dug in for a characteristically dogged 80 off 123 balls, and KP looked similarly gritty before unleashing a flurry of boundaries to bring England home and record his first fifty in literally donkies.

The Sri Lankan’s lack of application has rather deflated the meaning of this series. It is as if the relentlessness of international cricket has worn their desire down to the size of my weekly pay-cheque.

This is understandable, if even predictable. Perhaps England played a master-stroke by brining in previous outsiders, untainted by the endurances of past defeats. They arrive, fresh-faced, keen and surprised as heck to be there and clean up.

Just look at Graeme Swann. Carefully crafted by the great dibbly-dobbly factories of no-where in particular, like a customised, pimped-up Jamie Dalrymple, and yet he dominants one of the best teams in ODIs in all areas of the game.

How on Earth is an honest, if bitter, blogger supposed to respond to such things?

By swearing, that’s how. Bollocks.

Wait, England won! I suppose I should be pleased. I am, in a way. Mainly because I have a lovely glass of wine in front of me, and my boss is away for the next fortnight. But anyway, well done boys. You clearly know a lot more about cricket than I do, which hasn’t always been the case.

Alastair Cook: Officially God

This man is amazing. So amazing, he must be a deity.

I have therefore declared young Cooky a God. You may worship him by turning your childhood cricket bat into a shrine to the Essexshire opener. Offerings of tea and cream cakes are advised.

Today he hit another hundred. Not a huge one, a mere 106, but his consistency is reaching Mark Ramprakash proportions. Although, it is against the Windies. They're a bit like the cricketing version of Bangladesh.

Saying that, they’re a versatile bunch. The keeper, Ramdin, is injured, and Dwayne Bravo, of all people, has filled in. Sir Viv reckons he’s the talisman of the side. Jonathan Agnew thinks that he must be exhausting to go out with.

I think that would be an accurate description of me. But usually because I’m hard work to talk to and would rather be in bed. I’d rather be in bed now. But instead, I’m increasing the word’s supply of tyops.

That’s the sort of talisman I am.

Day one, Old Knackered: No streakers yet

So busy, was I, complaining about the weather and being bitter I forgot there was a test match on. Speculatively firing up the computer, to have a quiet browse of the cricket sites, I was bowled over by news of Alastair Cook's half century.

I didn't see that coming. It's troubling times when international cricket does not consume your life.

The next England captain, Andrew Strauss, is beginning to cause real worries for the future, by failing to score again. If Straussy loses form, who will take over from Michael Vaughan now? It must be Hoggy.

The most interesting aspect of this game so far is the inclusion of Fidel Edwards and throwing of a cap Darren Sammy’s way.

What you need to know is this: Edwards is fast, but a bit of a Harmison. Sammy is apparently a swing bowler, but is much like all the other blokes that failed previously, so much like a slower Harmison.

This may, or may not, be interesting.

Anyway, I’m going to stop writing now. The ill must not be made to suffer unless any of their lazy readers send in some cash. But they never do. Those lazy bastards.

Lords, day two: Praying for gloom

The forecast seems good, perhaps a light shower in the afternoon. It looks like the best the Ayalac can hope for is bad-light. It looked gloomy enough outside the station this morning, but then again, it's London.

Well, as was noted by Trapper John, the Predictoron made a balls-up of it already. The international season has just started, and we are way off any sense of reality here. I blame the cat.

Bloody cat.

Like all the boys, I like Alastair Cook, and respect his batting ability. Unlike the girls, I don’t really think he’s that attractive and, judging my last night’s TV performance, he seems to be a bit of an Essex muppet, too. He reminds me of the young builder’s mate that was doing some work in my house over the summer. He also smiles too much. I’m suspicious of people who smile. What’s he hiding, thinks I.

But, for me, Cook’s approach epitomises good, old-fashioned Test Match cricket. Like the Michael Athertons and Geoff Boycotts of yore, Cook grafts out a sensible innings, battling it out with bowlers. Yesterday, the young chappie from Essex was aided by poor bowling, but this tactic of tediously wearing down the opposition looks like a promising addition to England normal bloody “positive” tactics.

The bowlers looked rusty, and seemed to struggle with the slope. However, the West Indies’ control and command of swing improved mightily as the day wore on. Interestingly, they also seemed to bowl tighter lines to the right-handers: Owais Shah never looked comfortable; Corey Collymore outplayed Kevin Pietersen in a beautiful spell; and Paul Collingwood, as always, looks like he’s struggling to stay in.

It’s a shame that the Windies weren’t as well prepared, but it seems as England will find it tougher going on Day Two.

Nevertheless, I’m hoping for a full-on, action day of looking at the megatron.