England finally reach the Bell End

It took a lot of hinting, cajoling and physical coercing, but the England selections finally gave in to our desires, to show that they know what to do with heads, and satisfying released exactly what we all want to see: a white paper of real substance.

Although, in its usual desperate search for branding with which it could use to “sell” to the “media”, England’s line-up has already been branded as the “new face”, the “future” on our happy march towards the “next era”.

A completely novel era where the bits and pieces player that doesn’t really excel at anything have been given central importance. Let’s look at England new vanguard:

Ravi Bopara – bats a bit, apparently bowls, but the ECB FORBIDS him from doing so.
Paul Collingwood – see above.
Tim Bresnan – although his medium pacers aren’t good enough for international level, he bats a bit, so that’s ok.
Stuart Broad – see above.
Graeme Swann – see above (ish).
Matt Prior – his keeping is rubbish, but…

In fact, the only players that actually appear to be good at anything are Andrew Strauss (whose seems to be alright at batting at the moment) and KP (whose brilliant mind games have surely won England at least eight matches in the past).

It’s as though the Englanders looked at New Zealand and collective thought “oh yeah, that’s where we’ve been going wrong – let’s pick the crap players.”

Ah well. Spare a thought for Michael Vaughan though – his chances were smote by the Yorkshire weather. Not for the first time has a promising career been suppressed by Northern precipitation.

Welcome to the defensive era, where we succumb the Ashes before it begins and seem to be meekly comply with the Australians demands for whatever debauched designs they have for us. It’ll be all over our faces before long. And I’m telling you, knowing Australians, it won’t be very long at all.

When the chins stalk the land

There are some things that you forget about home when living abroad for a bit. The care-free charm of London buses drivers or total coverage of train carriages' interiors with stickers telling you what to do: I counted 26 within view on the 00:05 from Liverpool Street the other night.

However, strange things also happen when you leave the place unattended. For instance, people are surprised when they discover that politicians scheme and Graeme Swann becomes the countries premier spinner.

What the hell has happened to the place?

What has happened? I’ll tell you.

The chins have taken over.

Observe. Andy “The Zim Chin” Flowers:


Graeme “Likable Lineament”, known to cause fear and envy across the land when his captain orders Swann to fire up his weapon with the words “chin up!”, is also worth a look:


Anyway, the twin peaks recently chimed together to produce some interesting chin music.

“So, we’re aliens? What you going to do about it, you jawless flannel?”

Of course, not only are both their chins Danishesque in their jut, but both are also afflicted by foreignness. As respected Nazi scientists have long pointed out: the foreigner is a malformed, weird looking creature. They won’t mind that I said this, though, they can take it on the chin.

Having the second Zimbabwean coach of the team in under a decade has had the ECB slightly embarrassed by its Double Zim look.

Don’t get dishearted, the future for England looks bright. Keep your chin up.

Wronged Radio

Right. First things first. Who turned the cricket off?

Us Englanders in Germany used to follow live cricket over the radio. TMS, it seemed, was available to the entire world.

This was the case yesterday, when I woke up and, as is my want, listened to cricket in bed whilst breakfasting of muesli. A German AND English experience. The cultures are compatible.

Today, these simple pleasures in life, that all of us enjoy, were taken from me as cruelly an abruptly as a Bolivian grabs a child’s hamster to prepare in their dastardly Rodent Gravy.

Instead, I had to listen to BBC “We Don’t Do Adverts, We Only Constantly Spam The Airwaves With Trailers To Programmes You’ll All Probably Hate Anyway” rubbish.

Rubbish.

So, now I’m at work, and, consequently, in my usual angry mood (the Finance Department is being a right pain – but you know how finance people are, right?) following the OBO coverage, but without the usual colour and romance that TMS adds to my mornings.

Oh bastards in the BBC. If you were here, I’d give you a right going over with this pile of invoices and reimbursements claims, I would. Then, and only then, would you realise the wrong you have done.

Next item on the agenda: Graeme Swann, another player who hails from Burkina Faso or wherever, shoved in an England kit, given a few “patriotic” tattoos and thrown into the team. Why oh why, I have no idea. He is not one of my favourites. He, along with KP, Pratty Prior forms England’s Axis of Evil.

I mean, we know all foreigners are terrorists, so why are we letting them in the England side? To ease surveillance?

Anyway, just to cap off my bad mood, he’s only gone and bloody fluked two wickets in his first over of test cricket. Not only does this mean that he’s probably pushed Monty out of the spinner slot for about a year, but apparently, no other decent cricketer has ever done this before.

Why don’t the amazing blokes do amazing things, whereas the dreary, rubbishy geezers breeze through test cricket without a hitch. This explains a lot about the powers of Finance.

Tyin’ in Notts

Graeme Swann is infuriatingly good. Match-winningly good, in fact. It’s not for these reasons that I don’t like him. No. My problem with Graeme Swann is that he is not Monty Panesar.

Worse still, England won a match. This reinforces the misconception that Monty should not be played in all matches, and be given the ball at every opportunity. The more Swann plays, the less likely it is that Panesar will open the batting.

Swann complements well with his Nottingham shire team-mates, Stuart Broad and Ryan Hairybottom. The mid-lands trio took nine wickets and scored 52 runs.

However, the chief reason for England’s victory was Sri Lanka looking out of sorts. Sure, the pitch was hopeless and the ball moved around like a dysfunctional gypsy family, but they’re a quality outfit. They should be able to see off difficult patches.

I suspect some anti-Monty match-fixing was going on. It can be the only explanation for England’s success. Heck, they certainly don’t have the talent. It’s just not natural that they win.

An England victory always makes me feel a bit dirty. No. Not that kind of dirty.

Thankfully, my mood improves with the knowledge that Fiji lasted longer than Australia in the Rugby World Cup. It was a good job that a rubbish team knocked out those Ausslers.