Australia depressingly god-like

Continuing my orgy of spreadsheeting debauchery, I decided to map out Australia’s decade in graphical form. And here we go.

And didn’t they do well. It is clear that the mighty Australians piss on all of us from a great height. England’s naughties peak of +18, and India’s current (world-topping) +13 is eclipsed into the toilet by Australia’s current score of +59. Australia peaked on 6 March 2009, with their win at Durban, with a total of 60.

Australia’s performance over the decade is marked by continual progress. Not the one step forward one step back pattern of England: Australia stride continually forward.

Interestingly, however, their “decline” is apparent in a recent plateau. Since the end of 2006, they have only increased their score by 10. Whereas, India’s last ten points took nearly four years, they were on +3 in March 2005.

In January 2008, however, Australia were on +58. And since that acrimonious home series against India, their scores has stabilised. Indeed, their total has increased by +1 in this two year period. It dropped to +57 in December 2008 in South Africa.

It appears that they were not the force that they once were. But hats off to them on a top decade: 117 matches and 77 won.

Better than Twickenham.

Twitter Twat Twotted

Phil Hughes. Oh you plonker. Young. Naïve. But ultimately twit.

The Australian “batsman” caused panic this morning when he brazenly leaked his forthcoming dropping from the team. He did so via the modern’s opiate of the people, twitter:

Disappointed not to be on the field with the lads today, will be supporting the guys, it's a BIG test match 4 us. Thanks 4 all the support!

The ever illuminating BBC commentary responded thus:

Is this the first time that a team line-up has been revealed via Twitter?
NB George continued to hit the brandy hard for the three days before the wedding. On the morning of the ceremony, he was found face-down asleep by the fire in his private quarters. We've all been there.

They were of course alluding to George IV’s reacting to meeting his future wife.

Twittering, much like mobile phones and blogging, I fear is something I shall postpone my participation until it makes me staggeringly unsociable to do so. But, Hughes’ previous tweets do provide some interest.

11:37 PM Jul 19th from web
Been up all night fixing clarkeys bat, ironing hads [??] shirt, come on lads!!!!!

Proof that sycophancy gets you nowhere.

10:15 PM Jul 18th from web
Need to dig deep today.

Australia were fortunate that the young opener didn’t embark on his hole excavation until he was expunged from the team.

11:10 PM Jul 8th from mobile web
BTW, I think its fair to say its 'game on' in the 2009 Ashes!!!!!

Perhaps a future career in the media awaits? With that manner exclamation marks, surely Mark Nicholas’ role is under threat?

Cut-off dates in cricket

I’ve recently finished Malcolm Gladwell’s interesting Outliers book, which rambles on about successful people. The reasons for certain individuals doing great things is due to factors outside their own control, such as their family, timing and opportunities. Excellence comes from chance events and environmental conditions.

Gladwell outlined one study which identified that in the highest level of Canadian ice-hockey an over-whelming number of players were born in January, February and March – well over fifty percent of some terms were born early in the year.

The reason? The cut-off date for youth levels was the 1st January, giving a year’s advantage to beef up and enhance their hand-eye co-ordination to those born earlier in the year. Once this advantage had been bedded in the early years, it reverberated into the professional leagues.

So! I wondered, what about the England cricket time? Any effect there? Here’s a chart of the birth months of the recently announced test team against the West Indies, and those still with lingering contracts.

It doesn’t show us much, really, does it? Other than anyone being born in August is completely knackered already. Although this crumb in itself backs Gladwell’s thesis, as the cut-off date in the English junior leagues is 1st September.

Perhaps the longevity of the games levels out early differences, or the confinement of cricket to a relatively short season negates age advantages?

Generally, though, it seems as though the English selection policy at schools and villages seems to be working ok. No one is unfairly favoured by the system. Grand.


Now, lets look at the Australian cricket team:


The cut-off for Cricket Australia is also on the 1st September, but there seems to be a noticeable effect here. Indeed, more than a fifth of the entire squad were born in the month of October, with a half being born in the last quarter of the year.

So, clearly, Australia discriminates, whereas England doesn’t. According to Gladwell we would therefore expect “double” the amount of elite level cricketers in England, compared to Australia. The Pommies should crush the pommies at every meeting.

Oh dear.

Maybe discrimination at the youth level is a good idea itself, no matter which criteria you deploy to distinguish between candidates, as this allows you to focus energies on enhancing the abilities of someone who is at least reasonably good. Whereas the “let’s all have a jolly good time” approach of English cricket may not be set up to pick out and invest into those displaying talent.

That these two data sets display very different patterns, despite sharing the same cut-off date, suggests that there is something else going on here. Or maybe nothing at all. In any case, the data speaks for itself, and I need add nothing more.

Let’s delude ourselves further

There are some difficult questions in life – how many times does a person need to sneeze before the need to say “bless you” dissipates. I reckon it’s about three consecutive sneezes, any more and you need to wait until the fit is over, whereupon you can say something hilarious like, “going for the record, eh?”

Another toughie might be: Michael Clarke – what’s that all about?

Michael Clarke has a dicky tummy. He’s in India. And people are worried about this. He’s in India, people, India.

Anyway, let me formulate an answer to my original question. Michael Clarke, Shane Watson and all of their ilk, although universally recognised as rubbish, still take runs, steal catches and sport womanly good hair. But they are nevertheless essentially crap.

This is the sort of thing that you need to tell yourself when the Ozzlers pulverise your childhood heros again, pounding them into a crusy, lump dust that floats uncomfortably up your nose.

Let’s look at these players:

- Matthew Hayden
- Michael the Hussey
- Stuart Clark

The list is ended. I put it to an Australian that I met in a bar in Berlin’s red light district, that these players are essentially crap, but it’s only their complete bastardliness that results in success.

His response wasn’t especially cogent. He started mumbling about how England were dead lucky in 2005 and why hasn’t she got the clothes, she needs them, I mean look at her. And, to emphasise how strongly he felt about this, he knocked over his oversized beer all over me.

That’s how Australians feel about the rest of the world. Foreigners are to be treated with poorly co-ordinated contempt, no matter how legless you are.

Let’s delude ourselves further

There are some difficult questions in life – how many times does a person need to sneeze before the need to say “bless you” dissipates. I reckon it’s about three consecutive sneezes, any more and you need to wait until the fit is over, whereupon you can say something hilarious like, “going for the record, eh?”

Another toughie might be: Michael Clarke – what’s that all about?

Michael Clarke has a dicky tummy. He’s in India. And people are worried about this. He’s in India, people, India.

Anyway, let me formulate an answer to my original question. Michael Clarke, Shane Watson and all of their ilk, although universally recognised as rubbish, still take runs, steal catches and sport womanly good hair. But they are nevertheless essentially crap.

This is the sort of thing that you need to tell yourself when the Ozzlers pulverise your childhood heros again, pounding them into a crusy, lump dust that floats uncomfortably up your nose.

Let’s look at these players:

- Matthew Hayden
- Michael the Hussey
- Stuart Clark

The list is ended. I put it to an Australian that I met in a bar in Berlin’s red light district, that these players are essentially crap, but it’s only their complete bastardliness that results in success.

His response wasn’t especially cogent. He started mumbling about how England were dead lucky in 2005 and why hasn’t she got the clothes, she needs them, I mean look at her. And, to emphasise how strongly he felt about this, he knocked over his oversized beer all over me.

That’s how Australians feel about the rest of the world. Foreigners are to be treated with poorly co-ordinated contempt, no matter how legless you are.

Cricket: now the Australians are doing it

The English and German cricket seasons are at an end. This is obviously very sad.

But it’s ok, because the international season is taking over. So, for fans of the County Championship, it’s more of the same: Australians battering seven shades of sauerkraut out of everyone else.

Apparently, they’re going to play India again. The reason for this is nothing to do with money. India is an uncorrupted country, still battling for the purity of the game.

The Australians are just along for the ride.

So, obviously this serious is too close to the last one. The sides are more of less unchanged. Although, the Indians are taking some forward steps by picking Sourav Ganguly – known to the world as Mr Giggles.

Australian coach and chief book-maker, Dringo Wallaroorodger, was over-heard to say,

“We’re playing these bastards again. Oh Christ, what do they think we are? Trained apes?”

Of course this is going to be a disappointment. Remember the Ashes after 2005? That was a right proper rubbish series. The Australian were just a push over.

I’ve found a new Australian to hate

I watched a bit of the West Indies/Australia game yesterday. Admittedly, it was in the pub.

The images were a little galling. There was sunshine. Happy, semi-naked people. Music. Food and drink. Everyone was having a great time.

I’d just spent the last two hours on a grid-locked M25. Why oh why aren’t I Alastair Cook or something? Why are my cricketing skills comparable to those of a banana? Why am I cursed to a dreary existence of traffic jams and uncooperative software whilst young Cooky, with no apparent altruistic pedigree, gets off lightly as a cricketer?

In any case, I was watching the Caribbean scenes with these embittered thoughts in mind when I saw a large English flag. Usually, I hate the St. George’s cross. In fact, I hate all flags. Daft bloody things.

But this one raised my spirits, for across it bore the words: St. Helens. A town that is a serious contender for “Worst Place in the World 2009”. A town covered in grime, clouds and misery.

And this nutter went all the way to the Caribbean to broadcast his pride in his little Northern dump through the medium of flags.

Knowing that there someone more messed up than I, steeled me and gave me fresh resolve as I bought in another round of drinks to numb the pain of life.

Then I saw Simon Katich standing and the despair returned.

You see Katich’s crotch was badly maimed as a young man when a bully provided a kick that was to disfigure the Australian opening batsmen’s stance for ever.

“I think PS McDonnell is awesome” said a young, naïve Katich.
“You little bastard,” said the bully as he sent his victim screaming to the ground, clutching his permanently disfigured area.

Simon Katich’s stance, like the first earwig attack of summer, ruins something great with something small. Christ, I really wished that bully finished the job, he looks like a walking Francis Bacon painting.

And another thing. Why does his grill look so massive? What have they done to his head? Did the bully smash that into a jawless prune too?

Christ, that bloke pisses me off. I know I said he didn’t. But he does.

Australia: why must you do this to us?

I heard someone say on the radio that “everyone wants West Indian cricket to be strong.”

I thought this rather trite: surely we desire universal strength in a highly-competitive arena. Then I realised that this wasn’t true. There was one team that deserved a long period of flailing, flabby retreat.

We want that side to lose. That’s right. Australia: land of high art and sophistication.

Naturally, success breeds contempt and jealousy, but why oh why must they be so heartless?

During their first test match against the West Indies, daft buggers like myself dared to hope: perhaps the Windies could sneak a win?

But that’s how the Australians get you. That’s how they crush you, like a hammer crushes a kitten’s brain. They let you hope and then, much like the Nazis, they finish you off within a flash.

This exactly the sort of thing that bastards do. Don't get me wrong. I’m not calling Australians bastards. I’m just quietly encouraging the reader to put two and two together and perhaps bomb their local Australian embassy. That’s all.

Worst still, people like Stuart Clark, built by weekly instalments via subscription of “Build Your Own Fluky Geriatric” magazine, finished off the naïve Caribbeans. Like a bastard.

Now. Which one do I hate the most? Ricky Ponting? The Little rat-like bloke who looks like he spends the weekends offering sweets to kiddies in the local girl's school? Perhaps he tempts a few back to his "studio" with promises of a great modelling career, only, she might want to lose some of the clothes...

Certainly a contender.

How about the hilariously awful Michael Clarke? The great hope for the Australian future of highlighted hair-dos and flashy misses? Perhaps.

The most infuriating fact, despite all this inept crockery, they still win. This cannot be tolerated. Everyone, heed these words:

Send a letter to your local secret service branch, with some intelligence to the effect that there’s weapons of mass destruction somewhere in Crocodile Dundee land. Hopefully, this’ll find its way into the Oval Office. Although, if the CIA ever discover Shane Watson’s hair products, the trigger-happy yanks won’t need much persuasion.

This is the only way we can win.

Who’s new to hate?

The title for this post was originally “Can Bjork play cricket?”, but I was a bit short on content.

So, instead, here’s the squad that is going to destroy the hopes of millions of small children in the Caribbean.

As Matthew Haydn’s Achilles Heel is still proving his Achilles Heel, we have a lot of room to fill in the “angry at success” box that is in all our tiny, bitter brains. So, here’s the likely team, with their appropriate hate scores.

1. Simon Katich 3/10. Low scorer. Seems inoffensive enough. Hasn’t done anything terrible against England yet.

2. Phil Jacques 7/10. Not reached his full potential yet, but we all know he’ll be there soon.

3. Ricky Ponting 9/10. What annoys me most about this bloke is that he’s a useless captain. That and he’s small.

4. Michael Clare 8/10. Despite being rubbish, he persists in the side. He’s like the Aussie’s Marlin Samuels.

5. Michael Hussey 2/10. I don’t mind this bloke. Apparently, he’s better than the Don.

6. Shane Watson 0/10. Pure gold.

7. Brad Haddin 1/10. Anyone’s who’s not as good as Adam Gilchrist is ok in my books.

8. Brett Lee 1/10. Classic harmless Australian. He’s alright. When he’s not singing.

9. Stuart Clark 9/10. How this dude gets any wickets is beyond me. Truly a worthy of target unreasonable disdain.

10. Stuart McGill 1/10. How anyone could have got so far in international cricket whilst suffering goat is worthy of respect.

11. Mitchell Johnson 5/10. Bit middle of the road on the hatred count. I’ll tell you where I stand on him after a few drinks.

So, there you have it. Plenty of room for hating in the future. The only question is: who to hate? (And possible why. Only, that’s not as important.)

English weather shows Antipodean climes how it should be done

Here’s a picture of the Thames Estuary, close to where I live. It was taken about half an hour ago. It’s just a normal perfect, Caribbean day in my little part of London.

Meanwhile, in a continent where the climate is so awful, the insects evolved new forms of incredibly dangerous poison just to ease suicide, the rain continues to pour and pour and pour.

And pour and pour.

There really isn’t much more to this post that pathetic gloating. I could allude to England’s feeble performance against wonder bums, New Zealand. Apparently, we conspired to lose by 13 wickets. That’s how bad we were.

As bad as the current weather over Australia.

The Englishers simple-minded capitulation was pretty low. About as the hearts of all the little Ausslers and Kiwis, as they hear the persistent precipitation pound down on their under-maintained corrugated iron roofs. “Oh please stop,” think they, “just for a little sleep.”

In other news, five members of the Australian team went, and I’m not making this up, totally mad. Honest to god, I got this from Cricket Australia’s official website. So weather-depressed were the Australian first team players that they spontaneously began to run about trouserless, shrieking about how they wished they changed nationality in order to enjoy the wonderful sunshine on the Essex Riviera.

Maybe Tim Ambrose was smarter than we though?

Match not rained off

In an unexpected turn, the notoriously wet Australian climate briefly became “not crap” to allow the playing of a one day match.

The famous Australian meteorologist, Dave Dingo, stated,

“Well, I was all, y’know, sorta geared up for the usual shower of soddenness that we get around here. Y’know, the normal Australian thing of rain, cold and misery. But, crickey my koala, we’ve had sunshine today. It’s so sunny, I feel like I’m in England!”

Strong words indeed. The weather in London has been described by Michael “The Fish” Fish as “lovely” as of late. And it is widely thought that the English climate can tell the Australian weather system a thing or two about being “not crap”.

However, in its defence, Cricket Australia issued a press released of the usually reliable atmosphere:

“G’day. It is true that the weather has been disappointing during matches. However, its net form has been strong, and we here in Cricket Australia back our climate to perform well in the long term.”

Unfortunately, the press conference was cut short when, caught at the nadir of depression, the spokesmen spontaneously decided to take a holiday in South East England where, “it’s bloody marvellous” before adding “mate”.

Australia: unworthy winners?

This was a hum-dinger of a series. A really close one. And, if you discount the first two matches, India were the run-away champions.

However, with the run-glut boredom of the last test, everything just faded away. In stead of watching that, I decided to do this. For hours and hours.

We found out some new stuff from this series as a whole. We found out that Irfan Pathan is not really opening batsman material. Virender Sehwag stills has it in him. Anil Kumble is still god-like. Michael Clarke isn’t all that bad. Michael Hussey isn’t all that good. And the Australians are still the embodiment of all that is evil.

This might go down as one of those series that people talk about for ages and ages. Like the Ashes 2005. I hope not, though. I’m English, and I get pissed off when people go gooey and start banging on about the past.

I wish we could all say, “Yeah, there was a series. Some stuff happened, you know?” And then we can get on with appreciating the present world, the new world of Australia being really good and England being really crap.

So yeah. India showed us that Australia aren’t invincible at home. Which no one has done since we realised that Neighbours wasn’t popular at all over there. I suppose that’s some progress in world cricket.

But, truth be told, this series won’t really be remember for the quality of its cricket. India were caught on the hop at the first match, and were robbed of the second test in a highly emotional and unpleasant game. Thereafter, once the administrators stepped in and removed the Ausslers key strength of being complete pillocks, the series rather tailed off.

Yeah, India one a match. The first time Australia lost at Perth since the country was founded in 1975. But, you know, so what? We were all geared up for some eleven-a-side fights; we wanted to see Bret Lee clobbered by Sourav Ganguly with a wicket. We wanted violence, revenge even.

It never happened, and some blokes just ponced about a pitch frolicking about with some sticks for a bit. Disappointing, to say the least. We don’t like Australia.

So, it’s disingenuous to say that Australia didn’t deserve to win this series. They just don’t deserve to win anything.

India, exits are to your left and right

Right. Well, I’m not sure whether I have the mental strength to degrade myself back to pen and ink-cartridges after yesterday’s multi-media extravaganza. But, frankly, videos are too much bloody effort to do every day. So you’ll have to endure my dodgy spelling for now.

So, anyway. Who’s watching the disappointing third match of that India/Australia series? Although one of my favourites, Rahul Dravid, neared a century, this day’s play was remarkable for its total lack of agro.

No racist taunts were thrown. No argy-bargy. Not even a single melee between psyched-up, overpaid cricketers. Dreadful. W.G. would be turning in his grave.

However, one good thing did come from this match. Shaun Tait (that nasty-looking bloke with the scarred rottweiler that always hangs around your local off-licence, but hasn’t uttered a single world for all the years you have been scared of him) is still rubbish. He went for four and a half an over. Against Dravid. Ha!

Mitchell Johnson, however, looked disappointingly solid.

There was a bit of “ooh! Will it kick off again?” when there was a suspect umpire’s decision. But India’s batsmen were determined to help the umps out with a bit of creative hari kiri.

Anyway, here’s hoping for some manly cricket tomorrow. I want to see blood.

(By the way, I popped down for a walk on the beach today. The duck had gone. I assume this means that he wasn’t dead in the first place. He was just resting. The water’s edge is a bit like a fowl’s Jacuzzi. He was just resting. That’s why he didn’t notice the dog sniffing at it. It’s all ok, really. Right?)

2008: proving as predictably depressing as 2007

Well, just as you think that India might create an interesting match against Australia, the Ausslers grind out a strong position and begin to press home their own advantage.

The seemingly effortless success of those bastards is all the proof I need for the non-existence of god.

New years always start badly for me. First, you struggle with verticality. Can I do it? After hours of trying you manage this feat, by sitting upright in bed, trying not to fall on the ceiling. Most of the day is spent man-handling yourself into your trousers and seeing whether you can cope with a cup of tea.

After two day’s recovering, I decided to look up the cricket score. I think that this reckless act reversed all progress on my condition, sending me staggering back to bed with a grey illness. This is what Australia does for you.

V.V.S. Laxman, however, like a bad joke, keeps repeating the same, desperate rear-guard in the SCG. His century improved my mood a little. But, you already feel that, once the Ausslers take the advantage, they do not yield it.

It is interesting to note that, if Zaheer Khan was playing, Australia would probably been skittled for less that 200. It is even more interesting to note that if my dead Aunt Gwendolyn was an Indian out-fielder, they’d probably be all out for 150. Sadly, the BCCI opted for hopeless butterfingers instead of my expired relative. A mistake that they never seem to learn from.

With a little intent and some well-time injuries, India may squeeze a draw from this match. I have my well-stabbed Bret Lee voodoo doll at the ready. It’s never worked in the past. Although, when my little niece started inviting it to her tea-parties, the Australian fast bowler started releasing pop songs. It would make for an interesting match if I invited little Sarah over for some Earl Grey tomorrow.

Eating cricket

Thank the gods that’s over with.

The worst thing about Christmas is the lingering feeling of guilt. Yes Mum, I know we have barely spoken and I have been a terrible son to you for a year, but let me make it up by chopping some carrots. What’s that? I’m making an awful job of it? Maybe I can help you most by sitting in front of the telly? Oh, Finding Nemo is on.

Then, once your annual offspringly duties are fulfilled, you can happily retreat to your seat and continue with your quiet experiment: Can Bailey’s Get You Drunk?

Anyway, it is reassuring to discover that it is possible to engage in physical activity immediately after Christmas. The Australians, proving their super-human powers, are cracking on with a test match on Boxing Day, no less.

Now, I have seen Matthew Hayden. He has splodged himself on my television screen many a time. He is not a man to say no to that extra mince pie. Not only can he brush away those chocolate wrappers from about his person and manage to lift himself out of his armchair, but he can even go out-side and stand at some wickets. I have heard rumours that he’s even running from one wicket to another, some 22 yards away. These are obvious lies.

This doesn’t surprise me. There is a lot of lying around the festive period. Like, “Aunty Jane, how lovely to see you” or “Father Christmas is going to get you something nice.” You just have to get used to it.

Wonderfully, Shivnarine Chanderpaul has scored a century to put the West Indies in a strong position against South Africa. This is great news. I like Chanders. If he does something half decent in the next innings, we might have a change of God.

Not only does he more or less single-handedly prop out the Windies line-up, but he grinds the opposition down with his remorselessly weird shots. And lo! I rejoice with much happiness.

It is a joy akin to discovering that, after much dedication and patience, not only is it possible to inebriate using Bailey’s, but its effects are pleasingly similar to acid. Although, it does rather make your family nervous about next Christmas, when one of their kin locks himself into the bathroom for a few hours to stare at the “really cool” patterns on the soap dish.

100 6s

In collating 67 effortless runs in Australia’s current test against Sri Babwe, Adam Gilchrist broke a record. He has he more sixes in test cricket than anyone else. Ever.

In fact, he has scored one hundred. Daniel Vettori has received the most biffing, having 17 sixes biffed off him.

Striking one hundred sixes is amazing. Reflect on the one four scored in Geoffrey Boycott’s entire career, in all forms of the game.

In those one hundred balls, Gilchrist has whacked 600 runs. That’s a run rate of 600. I don’t think I have scored that many funs whilst buggering about in the garden over the course of my entire childhood.

To add some context to this incredible achievement, he’s playing against one of the bestest sides in the world, with arguably the best bowler of all time.

The Lankans are struggling to make a come-back in the series (read: England-like desperate clawing for a draw). Kumar Chokshanada Sangakkara hit a valiant century in a brave rear-guard. But we all know that they are doomed.

Doomed.

Bloody Australians. I wish they would get a biffing.

Yawn: Australia are winning

This is like watching your dad playing rugby against your three year old brother. You hope that he’ll eventually stop pounding your sibling into the ground. But he won’t. He just keeps pounding and pounding. Eventually little Jimmy stops moving, and then you have to talk to the police for a bit.

Sri Lanka is just like little Jimmy. Except, there is no coroner’s inquiry or judicial cover-up; Sri Lanka’s defeated corpse is getting relentlessly battered and not even Social Services will intervene.

Again, the Australians eased into hegemony. With two Ausslers notching centuries. One, Mr Boring, scoring 101* overnight – taking his average to 432 for this year. The other, Phil Jacques, not satisfied with a perfect 100 in the previous match, opted for an exact 150. Presumably, Jacques is a mathematician, and likes to score in binary numbers only. Heck, if you’re an Australian, you can do that.

You can do anything you want.

Meanwhile, the impudent Sri Lankans, toil like lobotomised Lions that are too stupified with sun-stroke to grab even a blind quadriplegic goat. Even Lasith Malinga, the supposed savour of the Lankan cause – so badly missed in Brisbane – looked a member of Twickenham’s second eleven.

This is really rubbish. Australia is really rubbish. Please stop battering us Australians. You can’t really enjoy it. Look at the picture, even Mr Chimney finds this dull. Think of your forbearers. You don’t want to make their record like insignificant, do you? Think of you heritage…such as it is.

Oh, what's the point?

Putting in the opposition, rather like farting in the shower whilst not alone, is rarely advisable. This is the schoolboy error that Sri Lanka made in the first match in their series against Australia.

Australians being the predictable buggers that they are, set about crushing the Lankans for their naivety, with Phil “I’m not as shit as you hoped” Jacques scoring exactly 100 runs. Which, frankly, is just showing off.

Another error was dropping Lasith Malinga for some useless goon who reckons bowling with leather pants on constitutes good swinging. No, people of Sri Lanka, Malinga is great. He bowls really fast and gets wickets. This is a good reason to select him. Really.

God, it’s so depressing when Australia win. Sri Lanka are such a good side, they don’t deserve to be crushed like this. Oh Jesus, give me some mercy from this endless drudgery of bastardly hegemony! Just break one, tiny little leg somewhere please. Just one more rogue ball…

In other news, Muttiah Muralitharan bowled well. Which is great because Australians hate him. I know, that’s like hating Jimmy, your nephew’s adorable hamster, but that’s what they’re like over there. However, the Ausslers employed the tried and tested strategy of blocking the good bowler, whilst murdering the rest. Thankfully, they treat the weird-eyed wizard with respect these days.

In another hilarious development, all the people that take photographs of people playing cricket in Australia have been banned. Why this is, I have no idea, but it makes life difficult for us bloggers who rely on innocent internet theft for pictures to liven up an otherwise dreary entry. So I decided to go for this one. It almost looks genuine. It is, in fact, Graeme Hick celebrating his 16 at the Wanderers in 1995.

New Australians: They’re coming to get us

Those relentlessly competent Antipodeans have produced the next generation of names that you will smite in those violent dreams you have about blowing people up with guns and stuff.

This is their squad against the Sri Lankans:

Ricky Ponting (captain), Adam Gilchrist, Stuart Clark, Michael Clarke, Matthew Hayden, Brad Hogg, Michael Hussey, Phil Jaques, Mitchell Johnson, Brett Lee, Stuart MacGill, Andrew Symonds, Shaun Tait.

New faces worth noting are Phil Jacques, who’s like Don Bradman, only more reliable; Vlad Hogg, who is, as far as I can tell, useless; Shaun Tait, who might be good; Stuart MacGill, who is not Shane Warne.

Interesting, Australians exciting young generation of players are probably older than the current lot. The baggy brains have been picking old blokes for a while now. We all laughed at Stuart Clark and Michael Hussey and the rest of them. “Ha ha ha” we said, “you’re old.”

But we forgot the times when our dad would beat us again and again at everything. He was old. He was ancient. He was unbeatable.

This is Australia's tactic. Pretend to be the opposition’s dad, and the younger side is cowed into deference and defeat.

There is one way of beating your dad though. That is by moving him into the proximity of a young female. He’ll immediately make a prat of himself and thereby fall to pieces. Therefore, we need to pack our sides with attractive young women.

Seeing as this against the rules, we need to encourage our boys to grow long golden locks and large pink breasts. That’ll distract the Ausslers and ensure trans-sexual dominance in international cricket for years to come. Boys with breast: it’s the only way to beat the Australians.