England trundle away into a dark hole

So, give or take 100 runs, I predicted the score almost perfectly. I also got Andrew Strauss’ and Paul Collingwood’s scores right. Unfortunately, some marmalade must have clogged inside the old Predictoron, as everything else was way off.

Fortunately, we in Ayalac are a fore-sighted bunch, and we adopted the prudent strategy of making Contradictory Predictions. That’s right, long ago doubts were expressed about the Go-Slow approach to the early innings. Let’s quote myself on the 8th March:

But, what happens when England lose their upper-order cheaply? The sloggers are exposed and, if they lose their wickets, an imperfect start turns into a disastrous end. ... Arguably, the insurance of consequence-free early hitting provides a greater buffer to a side wanting to “play it safe”; obtaining quickly the comfort of runs. Whereas nurdling singles can only succeed if executed over a long duration, and with wickets in hand. Pinning our hopes on preserving wickets might undermine confidence further, and place more pressure on the lower order to “catch up”.

This was exactly what happened. The openers did nothing with the many overs they faced, pressurising the exposed middle order to improve the 1.0 over rate, and this proved too much.

The first 45 balls of the England innings saw four scoring strokes. FOUR! You can’t expect to win a match like that. My original view of playing it slow was to get the singles, nurdle it about a bit. But England weren’t even going slowly, they weren’t moving at all.

Moreover, “playing yourself in” requires the batsman to feel bat on ball. To hit into the gaps, to get a sense for the pitch and the bowling. Shouldering arms for six overs does not do this. As we saw with the wickets of both Michael “I’m in” Vaughan and Ian “I’m seeing it like a beach ball” Bell. The first overs were just, quite literally, wasted.

Perhaps England were a little mesmerised by the Irish success against Bangladesh on the same pitch. The Irish openers stayed in for 25 overs for not much, and managed to launch a successful attack at the death. However, the key to Ireland’s victory was keeping those wickets. England’s failure just shows you how risky and even radical this strategy is.

If a useless blogger could have predicted this why couldn’t an entire team of backroom experts? Why the hell am I better than Duncan Fletcher? What is wrong with the world?

West Indies blown out of the window (World Cup)

’m too depressed to blog. The Windies, despite my fervent backing, finally bow out of the World Cup. Apparently, it’s still mathematically possible for Lara’s boys to get through, if New Zealand recalls their 1975 team, for instance. But we all know that even a bunch of naked old commentators would still fancy their chances against the West Indies.

There has been a lot of negativity in the Caribbean about their team’s lack of performance. I am normally dead keen on moaning and being bitter. But it seems to be wearing down the mental strength of an already feebly-minded bunch.

It would have been truly wonderful if they won, though. I think the UN would have declared world peace, or something, if Lara had held aloft the World Cup. Actually, I think the UN always bang on about world peace, but, rather like Geoff Boycott, think they’re too tedious to listens to these days. Or, for that matter, ever.

Ah well. We all knew this would happen. But I let my jubilant elbows get the better of me. Why didn’t anyone restrain my naïve joints, eh?

England fails

I decided to watch the fag-end of the England/Sri Lanka match in the pub around the corner. By “fag-end” I obviously meant the opening overs. I watched the openers lose their wickets in their usual way. They played the traditional English innings of nurdling the ball around for hardly any runs and then losing your wicket after facing down ten overs. Brilliant.

It was at this familiar point of despair that the publicans revolted and decided to watch an interview with Alex Ferguson. He droned on about something. How he loathed the world and everyone in it, or something. Operatic scores and images of footballers footballing followed. The match didn’t seem to start until tomorrow, but that didn’t bother the hype-mongers. God I hate football.

So I head home after a while. A nice pint, at least. I turn on the computer to get Test Match Special over t’internet. I also checked my emails and the people I went to a job interview for thought I was a twat, and offered the job to someone less twat-like. My mood improved when I discovered that Ian Bell and Kevin Pieterson were doing alright. We racked up 100 runs without further lose. Great stuff, we can actually…win. “Screw you!” I thought to the rejectionist firm “I don’t need you now that I can live my life through English cricketers!”

It was a thought I later regretted. England did what only England can. They capitulated feebly like a French army.

Bell out in crazy circumstances. KP, as Vick Marks put it, let his ego get the better of him. Paul Collingwood and Andrew Flintoff similarly fell for not much. 133 for six, chasing 236. I knew this story. Depressed at my lack of job and Australian passport, I decided to spend the rest of the evening watching The Apprentice.

Rory the Rah was fired because his lack of performance and poshness wasn’t what his obnoxious, red-faced boss wanted. Which is what happened to Andrew Strauss, I suppose.

Whilst I was watching quality television, exciting were happening. And we nearly did something amazing. Which was nearly worth writing about.

Why are all the sides I support rubbish?

Well, it looks like Brian Lara’s confidence was misplaced. Yesterday, the Windies failed in their objective of not looking like tits, and were battered by New Zealand.

The Predictoron, predictably, was wrong, And I feel more pain.

As an England fan, I have suffered greatly at the hands of my team. I have lived a vicarious life: I feel woe when they lose and disbelief when they win. It is an intimate, if disappointing relationship. I have invested so much into my support, but what do I get in return? More agony.

So, I thought it would be ok to have a little fling, a small, meaningless affair. A wee dabble on the side, whilst still committing, in the long term, to my true love. It turned out that the Windies was not a good choice in crumpet. I am being punished by GOD for my treachery. Or, more likely, the ICC.

The ICC and me, on the other hand, have had a more straightforward relationship. I hate them, and they hate me. This, too, has been one-sided - they being a hugely powerful supra-national quango and me being a pathetic imp. Worse still, they are winning. They have successfully eroded my quality of life time and time again. Observe: I do not like 20twenty; the ICC forces everyone to play it all the time. I like watching high-class cricket, the ICC grinds the players into the ground to make loads of money, compelling teams to rotate their players and field muppets. I like watching videos on You Tube; the ICC takes them away from me. It is obvious, I think you will all agree, the ICC is out to get me.

Perhaps I should channel all my feelings of disillusionment and frustration with my chosen teams into a campaign of hatred against the ICC. Yes. That would be the healthy way of dealing with this.

Bloody ICC. I’ll have my revenge! Heed these words!