Kiwi mothers advice sons to keep away from Zimbabwe

Apparently, the New Zealand Prime Minister John Key has recently stated that he might prevent his nation’s big hitters from entering the Dark Continent.

The reason is that they might catch a disease.

Although a sound reason, and one I would subscribe to myself, generally speaking, I’ve never heard it used in a cricketing context before.

"There is the risk of cholera and quite frankly we don't support that regime" of President Robert Mugabe.”

You would think that senior politician of an industrialised nation would have better things to do with his time, rather than probing into the medical condition a group of gallivanting young men might find themselves in after enjoying a bit of sport. But, compared to the shenanigans of these lively lads, the financial crisis is but a bagatelle.

Bangladesh robbed by bad luck (and skill)

I know I’m preaching to the converted, but do you see? DO YOU SEE?

Do you see why test cricket is the best form of the game?

Bangladesh aren’t great, but they are improving. And they have some players that might even get into a Twickenham eleven. Given a few injuries.

Occasionally, they are capable of some Steve Tikolo-like efforts. Mohammad Ashraful has put in some impressive knocks, and some of their fans have strong opinions.

Now, Shakib Al Hasan, has burst onto the scene like a meaty porn star, and made a complete mess of the New Zealand boys. Those caps don’t look so black now.

Shakib scronked nine wickets in the match. Which, by most people standard’s, is pretty good. By Australian standard’s, that’s amazing-incredible-do-you-want-a-passport-mate?

Yet, AND YET, New Zealand are nevertheless, the better side. Look at them. Alright, they’re a scruffy bunch of Oasis-wannabes, but they have been playing cricket for a while now.

And, lead by their spin bowling captain genius Mr Trousers, the Kiwis absorbed the fright, recovered and forced an unflustered victory.

If this was a one-dayer, we’d be heralding an unexpected, if unsatisfying upset. If it was a twenty20, we’d be staring at the ceiling whilst our partner snored away.

Yet, the ups and downs, the interplay of luck and, ultimately, the skill were all allowed to entertain us.

“Yeah.” You might be thinking, “So what? I know this, and you always go on about tests.”

Ha. But, you’ll notice the gratuitous Steve Tikolo mention. Clever that.

Kiwis batter Irish

It feels like I'm blogging on the World Cup again.

Only I'm not so fucking happy.

The New Zealanders (the team that everyone decided were rubbish) recorded the largest ever ODI victory margin over the Irish (the team that everyone decided were rubbish, but said they were great anyway). The difference between the two sides was 290 runs.

Things started off for the Kiwis in a rather rosey fashion. The openers knocked out 266 for the first wicket. After this loss, the Black Caps' Crazy Shoes started to do some talking, and they cracked out 17 runs an over for the remaining 46 balls.

In response the Irish went "Oh no," and opted for village cricket's tried and tested method of accepting the defeat and racing to the pub. Which, in fairness, was an objective the Green Gaps were wholly successful in achieving: they were bowled out for 112 in 29. The leading scorer was a Mr Extras, with 83.

Michael Mason is still having difficulties in placing the ball in the right county.

Kyle McCallan, the Irish captain, commented on many of the Irish players' controversial assualts on the Kiwians:

"Well, we have a young side, to be sure, but our real problem is finding players who understand the rules of the game. But, let's be honest, who seen Brena McCullum's face and not wanted to re-arrange it with a hurling stick?"

AYALAC does it again

Do you remember last year? I was struggling with HTML tables and the problem of England’s next captain. Before my Hoggard Epiphany, I worked out who was going to be the new captain.

Actually, you probably don’t remember. You’ve taken way too many drugs since then.

I decided that England’s next captain was going to be Kevin Pietersen.

Unfortunately, I lost the use of my tongue and typing fingers for about month after I made this heretical pronouncement. Promotion of dodgy Saffers isn’t good for the street cred.

But now, he has been elevated through default, I’ll take full credit: I am responsible for this; I have a direct line to the ECB. I am their guru.

Before I continue bragging, it’s worth highlighting KP’s enormous powers of captaincy in England’s latest triumph against New Zealand.

His choice of relying heavily on Owais Shah’s unplayable off-spin and sticking on a frightening Graeme Swann at the death was genius. To restrict the Kiwis to just 266 after England’s bowlers had them at 124-4 after thirty overs was an indication of mighty captaincy skills for years to come.

England’s batters were equally as impressive.

I’m not at all incredibly pissed off at their feeble efforts today. It’s not like they throw away a lead every week.

It’s not like I want to burn down Lords at all.

One dayers, briefly, get fantastic

I missed a key issue in yesterday’s ODI between England and New Zealand.

Of course, there was the whole “I am a right twat, me” thing with Paul Collingwood. In case you didn’t hear: a Kiwi runner was downed by an England bowler, resulting in his losing his verticality, the use of the left side of his body and his wicket.

Of course, it was a hilarious incident, especially when the full extent of his injuries was revealed, but it displayed a rather unseemly element to the England captain’s game.

Despite the fact that the umpire repeatedly asked if Collingwood would like to withdraw his appeal, he claims that it was a “split second decision”. We claimed he was a twat.

In fairness, it probably was an unthinking moment of stupidity, where any appeals to reason by the umpire were drowned up by the cricketer’s usual ridiculously high levels of elation after taking a wicket.

You might say that this distinguishes international players from international captains, and that Collingwood isn’t really captaincy material. You might say something different.

In any case, the key moment of this match was just after the last ball, when the New Zealand captain lost it completely. After the Kiwis one he did this:

Leap around like a maddy, pointing at the English.

And he said this:

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you all!” at the English.

Oh, how I wish I could have seen it. Oh, how I wish all teams could do that after winning. The MCC should put it in the rules.

That a professional sportsman can sink to the level of a jeering darts player, after winning his local pub’s drunken competition against his ex-wife gives hope to us all.

Collingwood: we can’t sing. Shit.

Paul Collingwood, the inspiration of England, said in an interview recently,

“When we’re on song, we’re on song.”

So, we can only suppose in their latest slump against New Zealand that they weren’t on song, because it didn’t look like they were on song at all.

Tunelessness seemed to affect all elements of England’s game. Their batsman, although promising, failed to capitalise. Their bowlers, although tight, failed to prevent release. Their fielders, although pisspoor, failed to be any less pisspoor.

New Zealand, held themselves together like the grown ups that they are, and deservedly won on the last ball. Weirdly, even though they weren’t on song, they were a bit on song. Perhaps, if not totally on song, they were a bit singy.

Like Bjork sings a bit, in between her deranged hamster wails.

Predictably, I was disappointed by Collingwood’s rather wankish decision to injure one of the Kiwi runners and then insist on running him out. Being a bit of an old fart, I rather feel that that sort of thing isn’t cricket. But I have a feeling that I’m just not on song today.

La la la burp.

No. No, it’s just not happening. Maybe tomorrow?

New Zealand’s South Africans beat England's South Africans

The English selectors came under further pressure today, as their radical policy of not fielding an all South African eleven against New Zealand resulted in another loss for the “English”.

Sensing weakness, the Kiwis picked a little known Saffer by the name of Bruce Lee. After making a bang at club level, Brucie forced his way into the New Zealand outfit through his undeniably South African qualities.

He scored the only fifty in England’s latest spineless defeat in Bristol, and also returned bowling figures of 2-9.

Requiring only 183 to win, England took pity on the weenie Kiwis. “Oh, they’re only small; let’s give them a few wickets.”

But like the relentlessly biscuit eating aunties in my family, if you give them an inch they’ll take the whole bloody packet. As the overs ticked away, England were rapidly running out of South Africans, and somehow converted certain victory into hilarious defeat.

Interestingly, this is probably one of the few occasions were the qualities of the captain were revealed. The English captain really showed his ginger nuts, by electing to bowl harmless dibbly-dobblers for twenty bland overs to allow the Black Hearts off the hook and let them build a defendable total.

Daniel Vettori, on the other hand, was like Nelson at Trafalgar, like Wellington at Waterloo and like Gordon Brown at the 42-day vote: amongst the chaos and impending doom, his magisterial and prudent figure saved his nation from total and immediate destruction.

Unlike the French President. Not only is he French and married to a woman that only wears socks, but has charged the responsibility of the “death of African children” at the feet of Peter Mandleson – the British Commissioner to the EU. Although this might be right, there’s a way to do these things, Sarko: you have to do it in a picket whilst your followers sing the red flag and smash up Paris.

They just have no idea over there, do they?

England not English

If there was one aspect of the game that the English excelled at, it was losing gracefully. There was no moaning about biased umpires, not blaming the pitch, and not (much) complaining about injuries.

We were simply inferior people and we accepted that.

Occasionally, we could hope for a plucky, match-saving rear-guard by a brave tail-ender: grinding a draw out of an angry opposition. We took pride in our sportsmanship.

Not in our latest game against the Kiwis. In a shoddy and rather Australian display, England delayed the match’s progress at every opportunity to ensure the eventual abandonment of the rain affecting game.

Paul Collingwood has blamed the game.

“Cricket has nothing to do with sportsmanship or spirit. It’s about gingers leading men into battle. We should probably change the rules. Only red-haired captains allowed.”

In response, the New Zealand captain, Daniel Vettori, said,

“Does my bum look big in this?”

It is uncertain which country feels more shame towards their captain. I’m guessing South Africa.

England vs. New Zealand: Live coverage

Now that ball-by-ball coverage is the next Big Thing (can be found here, here and here), AYALAC needs to get in on the act.

Although, we don’t have the energy to fit in front of the computer and telly at the same time, so AYALAC sent along one of our correspondents. Here are the first of his reports:

Start

“Morning. Spots of rain already at the street. Should they really play cricket this far North?”

Interesting question, which suggests a more fundamental problem: should anything happen that far North?

England 100-3

“Bell did well. Pietersen is steady; Colly good. Very enjoyable. Beer good.”

But not enough, I fear. But not enough.

England 200-3

“England have the advantage. KP played well for an English Saffer. General consensus is Harmison is a twat and DFID needs restructuring.”

Things are getting political oop Narth. I suggest that insufficient beer is being consumed.

“True. I’ve given up and reading the Observer. I hope to bring is back n the second session. Have they always played music at one days? WTF?”

WTF indeed.

England managed 307-5 in their 50 overs. Things have gone a bit quiet, so I've asked what's going on...

New Zealand 72-3.

"Not sure. I've just woken up. It seems New Zealand have tried to bore us all to death. The crowd was buzzing, but everyone seems hypotised."

140-5

"Mini riot in the barmy army stand. New Zealand grinding out a loss. Hairybottom hair isn't that bad in real life. Gus O'Donnel needs tighter control of the civil service."

England win by 114 runs.

"A pleasant afternoon in the North. England were average, nothing special. New Zealand were rubbish. KP played well. He is suprisingly tall. Crowd and beer were good."

Well, I hope you enjoyed that. It was straight from the horses mouth. Proper journalism, is that.

England are ruthlessly efficient; Kiwis are ruthlessly fishy

Us fans are a fickle lot. Sure, England are alright, we say, but they’re inconsistent, they can never finish off the weaker sides.

Then our boys, prim with highlights and eye-liner, go out and effortlessly dispatch the demoralised opposition, and we complain that the match was too short.

Sure, England won, we say, but where is the competition? Where are the ups and downs?

Perhaps we like the ups and downs more when they’re not actually happening to us. In my experience, there is nothing worse than an up. Or a down. Especially when it comes to trousers.

This victory wasn’t attractive. Some people say it was. They point out the century and seven-fors and all those pretty things. But those folk think that lieder music sounds nice. And that’s just mental.

The hapless Kiwi batsmen fell feebly this morning. They were playing swing like it was 1965. They were simply far too late. Naïve fools.

Only Jacob Oram attempted resistance, and his runs were due to fortune than fortitude.

Isn’t it marvellous how the English can suck the positivity out of any situation? Let’s say something happy.

Hurrah! Alastair Cook took a catch!

Hurrah! Andrew Strauss was awarded Man of the Series!

Hurrah! Jimmler Anderson didn’t get 10 wickets in the match!

Hurrah! New Zealand are about to prove how rubbish limited over matches are by giving us a pasting in the ODIS!

Hurrah for calculators! Hurrah! Hurrah!

He’s back

Sorry about my long absence, work sent me far away. When you’re working to ten at night, the demands of your readers are low down on your list.

Sorry.

So! Cricket! All sorts of travails have been produced by this match. During the latest England/New Zealand test match, I have already experienced my full emotional gamut, from A-B.

You see, the only thing worse than the failings of one of your favourites, is the success of one your less favourite players.

The press this morning is going mad about James Anderson. For years and years, this bloke does bugger all. He goes for loads and he keeps Chris Tremlett out of the side for literally months.

Clearly, Anderson is a gimp.

And then, on hopefully his last ever test match, the bugger emerges from incompetence and blows away New Zealand’s finest with an excellent spell of pitched-up, fast and hooping swing bowling.

He took the first six Kiwian wickets. Obviously, Tremmers would have taken seven, but now it’ll be another year before Anderson’s inherent uselessness drives him from the side in favour of the Hampshire monster.

The worst aspect of media coverage this morning is the “ten wicket” stuff. Anderson has to take four more wickets before he takes ten. That’s mathematics. The press, however, have decided to ignore this, and talk up Anderson’s impending elevation in history.

The radio just interviewed Ottis the Aardvark. He said that if the ball behaves amphibiously then Anderson could take the full ten. If the ball does that, I’d be impressed if Anders managed one. In fact, I’m generally astounded is he takes any wicket.

Anyway, it’s back to reality soon. Misery will return one South Africa and their good players get at us.

Back to the misery of commuting for me too. The worst thing I had to worry about last week as remembering to put my trousers on as the room service lady brought my dinner. A surprisingly difficult ask.

Kiwis get all English on our asses

Well well. There I was. Rage flowing strong. Ready to launch into an angry tirade against England’s incompetents, and then New Zealand committed hari kiri.

These are scenes familar to followers of spineless English cricket across the world. It feels odd to watch New Zealand suffer a rather English fate.

They were ahead by about a jillion runs yesterday, and then the whole of New Zealand decided that they couldn’t be bothered.

They even gave Andrew Strauss a century.

There are rumours that Daniel Vettori gave his troops a bollocking, but, to be honest, the Kiwian captain was at the centre of every cock-up that unnecessarily turned the advantage towards England. Drop catches here; ridiculous run outs there; coupled with some pedestrian bowling, Frankie D’Vettori was looking like he fell off his filly before he's had chance to get his hands under the wire.

At the end, Paul Collingwood briefly changed his name to Genghis Khan, and smote the sheep herders without mercy to see The England home.

This is weird. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the pent-up aggression. I might expend it on Australia.

Boogie Woogie England’s woozy

Today’s blog combines moaning about the England cricket team, with a review of a gig I saw recently in an unspecified barn in rural Essex, the most unspecific of all the counties.

England’s innings got off to a bad start, consisting of an over-jazzed set reliant on a shouting, screaming, bellowing lead singer who unsuccessfully sought to drown out the happy-go-lucky rhythm section. Also, his hat was rubbish.

The New Zealand innings, rather like the women standing in front of me for much of the night, saved a doubtful performance with an impressive rear action. How the Kiwis managed to pack in such a lively and cheeky little number into such a small pair of jeans was mystifying. But Ross Taylor’s excellent effort certainly shared the same hypnotic qualities.

Hearing that a “burlesque” performer occupied the next billing, I began to feel increasingly nervous. Much like when the announcer heralds a new spell from Daniel Vettori, I feel the need to hide in the toilets.

I’ve never understood this burlesque thing. Reminiscing the debauchery of the 1930s through the power of nudey women is a bizarre art-form. Not entirely displeasing though.

Obviously.

But it’s a strange beast, nevertheless. I once saw a fairly generously-sized women perform with two flaming torches and minimal clothing. She faffed about for approximately three minutes and left the audience in a state of titillated confusion.

The following act was an Australian stand up. His opening remarks were:

“Er… I’m not sure what I’m going to do now. I was planning to get my tits out and arse about with some fire.”

So anyway, the evening looked lost until a final hoorah by England’s foremost spinner, Monty Panesar. We all cheered when he took the stage. We roared when he revealed a new player – a flutist with stripy trousers. We lost the plot when his accompanying guitarist feigned masturbation with his ancient instrument.

Now the evening is delicately balanced. Will Strauss creep home to another century after a painful and heady session at the bar? Should I buy another burger? Why do the girls like that obnoxious South African? Why can’t I stop drinking this god-awful wine? Can England recover the game after fowling it all up by throwing up over the girl in blue?

The answer to all these questions is: Flip yeah!

(Apparently, there’s a picture online of me dancing the “twist” with a leggy brunette. Anyone that finds this image will win a prize of a savage beating.)

Oram Orbits like Occidental Orb

Let me set the scene. New Zealand were 120-4. Brenda McCullum was seriously maimed by Stuart Broad. The ball was swinging like Peter Stringfellow. And the English press was refining their pre-written “walk-over” pieces.

In came Jacob Oram, owner of the biggest teeth in international cricket, to steady the boat. Although his early innings was dogged by narrow chances and dodgy footwork, he fended off the under-achieving England bowlers and saw his side home with one of the best centuries recorded on the Lord's Honours Boards.

His Worzel Gummidge hairdo, which is the source of all his strength, flapped gaily in the Spring-time cool as he wofted another powerful boundary.

The cleanness of his striking and the freeness of his scoring was emphasised by his apparently useless partner: Daniel Flynn.

Flynn looks like a young Ian Bell, who has just been told that Katie Jenkins in form 9B fancies him. He hit 29 from 118 balls. I suppose we should say that he preserved his wicket. But I have decided that I don’t like him. I’m not sure why. He just offends me.

Rather like the girl in the office with the “hilarious” sneeze.

Both teams, I think it is fair to say, performed admirably in rather difficult conditions. Despite what the rabid English press say, England did not run away with it. The sides are even, and the series is setting up to be a real coochie snorcher.

England are getting the fear

Give us a downer. I've gone and fucked my brain.

So, things are cold, wet and dark in England. The Caribbean and Australian umpires are surprised at this, so take every opportunity to hide in their little officials’ room, which, I am told, is equipped with tea making facilities and an attractive open fire place.

Anyway, the first test match of a twenty game series between England and New Zealand is meandering towards a draw. Neither side really wants it any other way. And when it comes to mutual disappointment, the English excel.

There have been a lot of dodgy decisions by the Englanders in this game. They ran away like little girls from an exhibitionist when they were offered the light. Why they did so is beyond comprehension. Perhaps they’re scared of Jacob Oram’s bowling?

This is exactly the sort of behaviour that Australians jeer at. “Rubbish” they say. And, god help me, I am inclined to agree with all 20 million of them.

Although we have to draw some limits. One of my favourite programmes, Peep Show, guested an obnoxious Australian. She generally found herself in rather unseemly situations. Don’t worry, explains Mark to the horrified natives, she’s Australian – they think it’s OK.

We can’t agree with Ausslers on everything. That would lead to anarchy and barbarism.

In the actual cricket, Michael Vaughan scored a century. I think it’s his fifth at Lords, and the first since he performed the same trick at the first test in the series last year. So, well done him.

Daniel Vettori is making a good case to be deified, by taking five wickets. We’ll have to watch this space on that one.

The weather is really depressing. I had a special correspondent sent to Lords and everything. The only wire he sent me was that it was “depressing”.

RAH-bish.

Rain rains McCullum McCullums

It it’s all to be expected, really.

As people always say at this time of year, it was “old-fashioned” cricket. People say this because it would have been so long since they watched a proper match that rubbishy one-day cricket has become the norm.

A Kiwi on the radio just said that it was a “technical” day of cricket. He went on to justify this remark. It didn’t make any sense.

I often find that with New Zealanders.

Phil Tufnell is on now. I can’t say things are getting more coherent. He’s like Britain’s honorary little Kiwi.

Anyway, Brenda McCullum was told to behave and bat as if he cared what the bowlers thought of him. He played properly to reach fifty: letting balls go; nurdling singles. He did let go a little after he reached his half-century, but he has long promised to bring a limited overs approach to test cricket.

The New Zealand wise heads, fearing that this might be a bit too mad for them, promoted him up to number five, in an attempt to impose responsibility on the scamp.

The management of your Good Player in small teams is an interesting affair. In rugby, your strategy is simple: give the ball to the big bloke. It usually works out fine.

But in cricket, the situation is a little more complex. You have to consider countless variables. What position should he hold? Who should come in with him? How should he play?

For England, we have long agonised over KP. Should he come in at three? Should he slow down? Should he speed up? He should certainly shut up.

Fortunately, these problems melted away when England successfully imbued Pietersen with our losing ways. He’s one of us now.

New Zealanders are the experts at managing modest resources. Given the size of their country, you wonder how they produce a test standard team at all. But when they do get good players, they seem to know how to squeeze the best out of them.

So.

Yeah.

Kiwis do some stuff, some others respond

Sorry for the absence. Been doing some very busy, work-related things, I’m afraid. I’ll promise I’ll respond to all your emails soon…

I’ve been looking around, pondering what to post on. I wanted it to be something original. I even had a look at The Netherlands’ pages on cricinfo.

I decided to compromise with a New Zealand tour game.

The Kiwis recently played against England’s “B” team. Or “A” team. Or team of trained lions. I’m not sure what they are. But it’s essentially a group of blokes that can’t get into the Test team, but receive sufficient pity from the selectors as to warrant a near-test experience.

I’m not sure whether I approve of it. It’s a bit like buying your granny a “zorbing” experience. Sure, she might take it up, and she may even enjoy it, but you’re buggered if she wants to do it all the time. Although, it might heighten your prospects of a quick inheritance wind-fall.

During this game, some blokes scored centuries. Thus increasing the pressure on the incumbents that the selectors are never going to drop no matter how low their form drops.

It’s all rather sad really. The likes of Michael Carberry and Graeme Swann will never play at the highest level. You’re giving them false hopes.

Perhaps these players enjoy their little moments in the lime-light. Which is a bit sad, really. It’s like those people that consider one biscuit a sufficient snack.

ONE BISCUIT IS NOT GOING TO FILL NOWT! EAT THE PACKET, YOU GOON! EAT THEM ALL. HAVE A PROPER QUANTITY AND EAT THEM ALL.

But they don’t listen.

Nevertheless, I still follow these diddler games. I’m not sure why. It’s like the world’s fascination with Nicolas Sarkozy’s sex life. Sure, the object is short and unsatisfying, but I still go back for more. There’s a lot of ineffable magnetism going on.

New Zealand vs England: The complete series

We're back baby. Perhaps not legally, but back nonetheless.

I'm quite proud of my little stop-motions, so have decided to publish the entire three match series between England and New Zealand.

Let's see how long these last.

First Match One: Hamilton


Second Match: Wellington


Third Match: Napier

Video 9: The Empire Strikes back

We're back in business!

So England win

Put your Smug Boots on, chaps, England won a test series abroad. It has been a while since anyone has said that. Nevertheless, some England fans are treating this as an effective loss. I’m not sure why, I think that most of them are stuck on “whine” mode.

Some are confused as to where their loyalties lie, others focus on the positives, and the rest don’t care.

Generally, I think our boys did well – players AND management. We went there under-cooked and over-confident. The Kiwis taught us a lesson during the ODIs, but we still didn’t get the picture and consequently lost the first test.

Then, drastic action was taken, and we saw a substantial improvement. Shockingly, both Matthew Hoggard and Steve Harmison were dropped. And I suspect the rest of the team received a barracking.

Then centuries and five-fors began to emerge – a sure sign of a settled side composed of quality individuals.

Sure, the New Zealanders aren’t the Harlem Globetrotters, but all you can do is beat the team in front of you. England did that, so fair play to them.

More encouraging, was the decisive way in which the temporary inadequacies of the performance were dealt with. So, plaudits to Peter Moores, too.

So, do we make any special mentions? Yes. Yes we do.

Firstly, to the Kiwis, although you looked generally rubbish and at times desperate, but there are some positive indicators for the future: Ross Taylor looks competent; Jamie How should be scoring runs soon; and young Tim Southee put in an exceptional performance on his debut. His mad innings of 77 from 48 balls, giving him a test average of 136, and his five-for opening the bowling is an impressive feat for the most gormless man in international cricket.

Lastly, to the England, what to say? A typical up-and-down knock-a-bout for us loyal fans. However, by far and away the most consistent and penetrating team-member was Ryan Hairybottom. His awesomely simple bowling destroyed the Kiwis. And for that… I appoint Sir Siders as the new OFFICIAL GOD.

Hurrah!