The last time I can remember Australian fielding a stand-in captain for any significant length of time was in 2007 against New Zealand. It was a humiliating experience, that provided much hilarity across the world.
Now, in Dubai, the land where you never change your socks, and the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks, Australia looked like losing to a bunch of weekend cricketers.
Now that dream, that distant spark of hope in a gloomy, darkening world, has been stamped out by the Aussie jack-boot of despair.
Ah, Australia.
Australia, a land of rich and varied culture, whose sole culinary contribution to the world has been vegeshite. Once this unassailable delicacy was created, the entire nation sat back and though, “well, bollocks to it, that can’t be bettered.” (Let me pre-empt some ill-informed responses here by highlighting the Yorkshire Pudding. That is all.)
Ah, Australia.
You have given the world much pain, much suffering, and it’s just not getting any better.
Michael Clarke, a man who is rubbish, undeniably rubbish, but still scores effortless fifties and single-handedly wins matches with his useless yet devastatingly effective spinners. WHY?
Why can’t they just implode like a flannel? Why can’t they just die? Or, to express it in the words of that bit-part Asian bloke in Snatch:
“I shoot you Tony you go down. I shoot you good, Tony. Die! Tony, Die.! No! Aaaargh!”
Showing posts with label Michael Clarke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael Clarke. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
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.
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.
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.
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