England win twenty20 series because that’s how GOD wants it

The England cricket team rub sulphurous hail stones into Australian wounds today by winning the match by having it abandoned.

No content with their Ashes triumph through fixing the pitch and nobbling the umpires, the Englanders further emasculated the Ozzlers by bribing the weather gods to piss it down. We don’t pay Ulbator Choobleton for nothing.

Some might dispute this “win”. But I dispute them. Clearly, if the Ozzos are not able to contend with the weather that we fight our way through to work every morning, then it reveals a lack of character that is unsuited to the trials of international sport.

Of course, Old Trafford has long maintained that it is a world class cricketing venue, with high quality flood lights and drainage facilities. Undoubtedly true. But it is in Manchester. And when the Mancunian rain isn’t cancelling my connecting flights to France, it’s pissing on the Australian parade.

So, in terms of the last three series we have played against Baggy Bums, England have won three. They nought.

It is said that the South Africans are the worst fans to gloat, and to bang on and on about fluked victories. But I think it is time that English fans build on current achievements, and strive for that top spot in international cricket.

For the Queen.

Ah, Humiliation, my old friend.

Well. Just when you thought that the viscous, pulsating flow of faeces that constitutes life couldn’t get any thicker, the England cricket team thicken the mix by collapsing to 21 all out.

It looked really shaky, at one point. We lost six wickets for only three runs. But we recovered to a stronger position when Ulbator Choobleton worked his magic on the skies. But lo! Even England Chief Raining Coach was having a shocker, and we were dismissed in short time.

For those of us waking up to the news that the country of our birth is incapable of producing (or importing) a single decent cricketer are familiar with the bad mood that pertains.

It’s not just a little annoyed disposition. By way of constrast, say you’ve hit “back” on a site, but, because it has some infuriating ad thing you remain on the page. So you have to launch a frenzied attack upon the back button to get anywhere. And then you usually end up on your home page. (I mean really people, how could that possibly constitute effective marketing? You aren’t even directed to another site. You just sit there. What? What are you thinking?)

No. After that you remain annoyed for about two seconds, before you realise that the little “back” button has a drop-down, that could have effortless obviated this problem. Of course, you’ll always forget this convenient fact, and the frustration will return.

But the point is this: the annoyance is temporal. Whereas England’s river of poo is permanent. Occasionally, it empties into a clear, clean lake. But it won’t be long before the pristine waters are contaminated by sewage.

Observe Pratty Prior’s technique here. Just look at him. He’s a broken man. I heard that he has dropped six catches off Ryan Hairybottom alone during this tour. Prior isn’t a bad player. At least, he wasn’t before he joined the England team.

Another is Kevin Pietersen. When he burst onto the scene he openly declared his ambition to be the best batsman in the world. Some applauded his motivation, others thought him a twat, some of us even believed him.

But how long has it taken for the grinding drudgery of all things English to crush his aspiration and obliterate his spirits? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the answer to the question.

No time.

England, one by one, die

If people must persist in talking foreign, why must they do so loudly? Why the hell won’t Diana get the hell out of my face? Why can't the England players buy a packet of cigarettes without getting a side strain?

These are some the questions that constitute the mysteries of Sod. These are the questions that will never be answered, but they will continue to piss the crap out of you.

Sorry about the absence, by the by, I have been a little busy. And quite frankly, bringing the Ayalac little ray of bloody sunshine into your indolent and pathetic lives is at the bottom of my life’s "to do" list.

England lost a match yesterday. They lost because the other team is AMAZING, and we are A BUNCH OF USELESS DUFFERS. Their batsmen put the England bowling unit to the slaughters, all top four scoring half-centuries. Yuvraj Singh was particularly brutal, plundering 72 off 57.

The change of bowling strategy had much to do with this. First mistake was picking Jon Lewis, who failed to swing the ball, or prevent the batsman from swinging the bat. Bizarrely, the bowlers decided to eschew the previously successful strategy of bowling back-of-a-length in the hope that it would swing. It really didn’t. Not even on the tenth time Sachin Tendulkar drove you for four.

England’s batting hope lay mainly with Ulbator Choobleton, their chief Rain Dancing coach. Sadly, he, as well as everyone else, failed. Paul Collingwood put on a good show (91 off 71). And when Matt “The Pratt” Prior and Ian Bell were sharing a 90-run partnership, England may have thought they had a hope.

But they didn’t.

Now they are either (a) injured or (b) dead. Winning a single match may be a tough ask given the present state of disorder.

Can’t finished today’s post without mentioning Ravi Bopara and Stuart Broad’s incredible innings together at Bristol. It was probably the best partnership in England’s ODI history. I really thought they were finished when Colly ran himself out.

I even stopped listening to TMS. But I eventually tuned in again and it was clear something special was happening. It was a tremendous, thoughtful and composed performance. Better than I have seen from England since I saw Sydney Barnes and Pip Fielder contribute 39 matching winning runs in a brave last-wicket stand at the MCG.