Are Australia the new West Indies?

When I was a lad, I remember watching the 1995 West Indies tour of England. Little did I know at the time that I was witnessing a pivotal point in history. I was dimly aware of Windian dominance against England, but the well-fought draw did not itself suggest to me immanent collapse of the once strutting mega-stars.

I am now old enough to appreciate any such spectacles life throws at me today. I have experienced enough inevitable disappointments, sufficient certain disasters and a more than adequate amounts of predestined catastrophes to be able to spot future failures.

Now, as the Australian bunny blinks mindlessly back into my headlights, my mind quickly recalls the many fiascos in which it has participated, just before engaging the wind-screen wipers to remove the debris.

Unlike the current Australian side, the 1995 West Indies team had hope. They had some world class bowlers and a sprinkling of legendary batsman. Currently, Shane Watson has the role of Brian Lara.

But, it is difficult to see where the future lies for Australia. Much is made of the post 1986-7 cull, but who do they replace the old guard wife? Michael Beer and Phil Hughes?

No one wants to be captain. No one can captain.

No one can bowl, either. Not even Michael Beer.

There are glimmers of hope in the batting department. Much as there are glimmers of sanity in the Tea Party.

The only solution I can see is either scouring the English leagues for anyone who has a secret Australia shame in the bloodline – or a sun tan.

Or, merging with New Zealand. The Oceanic Islands may yet conquer the world.

Testing who?

Bangladesh have won their second test match, against a side that couldn’t actually break into their first team’s test line-up.

The West Indies have revived their persistent player relation issue, with their entire on strike. Of course, it’s entirely reasonable for them to have done so. They haven’t got that much money.

And test match cricket is probably too boring for them anyway.

There have been some facetious murmurings regarding West Indies test status, and much vociferous chunterings about Bangladesh’s.

But, we are left wondering as to the standing of a second-rate test nation’s victory over a test team’s seconds squad. The scorers make the appropriate entries and log records, as their institution dictates, but how to other spectators view the match?

Well, if we are being kind, we can cite Bangladesh’s general improvement (albeit mainly in the shorter formats) and the need to broaden test cricket, whilst dutifully applying the patience that this principle requires. Indeed, as an England fan, I can cite many tours in which their squad has been decimated by gammy knees and unpleasant bowel conditions. Are England’s perennially crock collective worthy of test status, when, their “leading” bowler has been out for the past four years?

The problem however relates to depth. As we saw last week even a second string England team can trouble the leading test nation, perhaps more so than the actual test squad.

Although there are some paper records set by this match – a rare Tiger victory, a test match century, etc – it is doubtful that these statistical achievements will linger in the catalogue of test match honours.

The cricketing community will ignore this match, and forget the events and thrills without compunction. Indeed, it will be tacitly labelled as a first class match, or even a club game. And yet, the absurdly legalistic methods of international cricket afford this game a quality that no critical, rational human being would consider.

So, how does the ICC believe that we should treat this match – or, indeed, similarly sub-standard games?

I suspect they'd advice us to direct our attentions elsewhere. Towards the lucrative Indian market, perhaps?

West Indies rediscover their historic form

Well, I have returned to Blighty once again, and am delighting in the wondrous cleanliness and functionality of English toilets. More to the point, the IPL has finally done the decent thing and finished.

Meanwhile, the West Indies have proved us all wrong, once again, by returning to the glory years of the early 2000s (sometimes, people hilariously refer to this decade as the “naughties” – these people should generally be avoided, and, if at all possible, persecuted).

England have comprehensively humiliated the Caribbeaners in this series. No single Windie resisted the England attack; the usual reliable Big Wigs failed to fill their boots. Even El Crabbo himself seemed overwhelmed.

It’s not as if England are any good – Stuart Broad led the attack, for Courtney’s Sake. The Windies simply imploded.

After the winter’s heroics, the West Indies have returned to the golden era which boasted players such as Ian Bradshaw, Rawl Lewis and Vasbert Drakes. At last, they have returned to the era that young boys remember so well from their childhood.

Chris Gayle is threatening to “do a Harmitwat” and bleat endlessly at how much he suffers, and how terrible everything is. In any case, we can probably look forward to another tour in about two months time, with the possibility of acquainting ourselves with a new quartet of weirdly named seamers.

Although, with their track record, it is equally possible that they will win the Twenty20 World Cup.

England best team in the world

A lot changes when you’ve been away for a week.

Ravi Bopara, who’s a sort of alright nurdler, that would be perfectly suited to fiddling around the edges of England’s 1990s has now become England’s best batsman.

Joanna Lumley has made a bid for the Prime Minister’s position.

Graeme Swann, who’s about as English as the contents of the British Museum, is the new Andrew Flintoff. He can ably smack a quick fifty lower down in the order, and he’s literally impossible to play if you’re a left-hander.

A man whose name is so funny that would bring Noel Coward to his knees with laughter is now a bowling deity.

Although, struggling with this unexpected elevation to the status of “legends”, the ECB has recalled some of its key players from its “total Sheisse” days – namely, Jenny Bellend and Sadam Hairybottom.

The question is: WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?

Like trying to talk German to Spaniards, the England management have managed to make complete tits of themselves by communicating an apparently simple message.

Of course, as we find every time the Windies come over to the UK, they are totally ill-equipped to cope with English conditions. The tour has no bearing on everything except for providing a troubling set of indicators for the popularity of test cricket.

Although, it does prove that no English achievement is too great for us to belittle.

Ah, England. It’s good to be home.

Strangely disappointing success

If there’s one thing we English hate more than humiliating defeat, is storming success.

Oh, how a nation lapped up the sting of shameful loss of Jamaica. “51 runs!” Said we, “How shit is that?”

Very shit indeed, we all concurred.

Many pints were sunk in many pubs (no doubt a few steins were emptied in kneipen also) as a people took heartily to a favoured activity: bleating on about matters over which they have no influence.

Now all our beer-consuming ambitions have been dashed by unadulterated, brazen and frankly inconsiderate ascendancy in Antigua.

An opening English batsman “went on” to score a big hundred. Large partnerships were compelled. The top order put the opposition to the sword. And wickets, generally, were not thrown away cheaply.

The batsmen are doing all the things that we have demanded of them for the last four years. For the first time in eight campaigns of misery, they’re finally delivering a professional and ruthless performance.

And how do we feel?

Well, frankly, disappointed.

The pitch promised us fireworks. 23 wickets in a day. Lost teeth. Permanently disfigured South Africans. This is what we wanted to see. Violence, pain and suffering.

And what did we get?

Not a sausage.

I commented in a previous post that the last game was a return to the 1980s. Well, we’ve skipped over the 1990s and sank back inexorably into the mediocre Windies of the naughties. They’re not even worth beating again.

So, all we can hope for is that a few of the less popular members of the England team might receive a particular nasty bruise. That or concussion.

Let’s do the time warp again

Do we all remember the 1980s? I know that, generally, remembering anything is inadvisable, and that last century’s eighth decade brought with it special kind of horrors such as Norman Tebbit and white trousers, but it’s worth re-engaging those battered grey cells just for a fleeting moment.

When attempting a reminiscence, be sure to skip over the files labelled “what you said last night whilst drunk” and definitely avoid the “early sexual experiences” folder, and drill down to that unique cringing pain given to you only by the England cricket team.

Ah. You are with me now. Deep within the tortured recesses of your undoubtedly abused brain, you find a potent catalogue of angry scars, each wound marking the next spineless England series, rather like an entombed prisoner counts of each day of his squalid march deathwards, you have commemorated each disastrous slump with a little piece of inward death.

In recent years, however, the scratches have dropped in frequency and intensity. Perhaps there may even by happy bellybutton marks filed somewhere in some forgotten happy part of the mind.

But oh, how quickly the stinging pain of reality re-unites the soul with the throbbing misery of memory. Strangely, as a device to unearth long repressed agony, the England cricket team proves more adept than Freudian hypnotherapy. And, for those mentals out there, a great deal cheaper.

The difference between England’s humiliating tours to the Caribbean in the 1980s and current embarrassments is the anticipation of obliteration, but now the feckless Englanders swaggered into the Windies with the hubristic and frankly hilarious expectation of easy victory, resulting in a predictable outcome.

It’s as if the disintegration of the team’s leadership, collapse in key player’s form and Twatford gang-groping never happened. England sauntered off to the one of the world’s leading tourist destinations with the intention to toss of the third world country before getting down to the real dirty with Australia later in the year.

By, OMG!!1 how pisspoor was that effort? I mean, really now. REALLY.

What were they thinking? What were they flipping thinking?

All that can save England now is a strategic ball placed under the ankle of a devastating fast bowler.

Welcome back to the good old days.

England may earn a draw. If they slow down.

Perceiving the fearsome threat before them, England buckled down, and prepared to eek out a draw from an apparently unbeatable opposition.

Former England Captain Andrew Strauss looked a bit out of form; as did Future England Captain Alastair Cook, and England’s innings was only given a glimmer of respectability by the efforts of Former England Captain Kevin Pietersen (97) and Former England Captain Andrew Flintoff (43*).

Former England Captain Paul Collingwood, managed a smash a no doubt decisive 16 from a mere 61 balls, after the testing and probably nose-endangering bowling of Sulieman Benn threatened to cause serious damage to the west coast of England, such was his potency.

Everyone is still convinced that Paul “Speed Gun” Collingwood is still a valuable addition to the side. We all agree that we can do no better - so why bother?

That Former England captain Kevin Pietersen’s “rash” miss-shot is the main headline, reflects just how difficult and boring things were.

Former West Indies captain, Shivnarine Chanderpaul appears to be England’s crab-apple of their eye, as they attempt to copy his method of grinding down the opposition with a gradual and ugly accumulation of runs. Isn’t it odd how England’s style of play cuts across sports: cricket, rugby, bar crawling – we all approach them in the same way.

The only difference between Shiv and ourselves, however, is ability to be good, which is a failing that has long dogged the Englanders.

Here’s looking for a lucky escape for England on day two.

Pakistan turn to the Windies

Yes, it got that bad.

After India, Sri Lanka and wussey Oceanic nations said no, Pakistan finally turned to the fat kid, and said, “West Indies, I pick you.” And then added “I suppose.”

No one is sure whether even the ugly, fat kid will get involved in Pakistan’s increasingly pooey team.

The WICB website doesn’t seem to have registered the proposal. Its last news item is dated in July. Apparently, nothing has happened to the entire region during the summer.

The proposition is an interesting test of sociological convention: which is more dangerous, downtown Islamabad or uptown Kingston?

It’s a tricky one, but hopefully, armed with bat-like clubs and full body protection, the Windies are tooled up to hit the streets and get involved in some serious action.

I say that excitedly, although the only action that the West Indies busy themselves with is of the “rear guard” kind. And rarely with much commitment then.

You rather feel that Pakistan has been buoyed by the BCCI’s bolshiness, and attempted similarly bullying of the world. The world, though, realising that Pakistan is a dodgy backwater, simply say, “farty pants.” And all goes tits up.

Talking of tits us, seen Herr Warne’s recent comments? HA!

I’ve found a new Australian to hate

I watched a bit of the West Indies/Australia game yesterday. Admittedly, it was in the pub.

The images were a little galling. There was sunshine. Happy, semi-naked people. Music. Food and drink. Everyone was having a great time.

I’d just spent the last two hours on a grid-locked M25. Why oh why aren’t I Alastair Cook or something? Why are my cricketing skills comparable to those of a banana? Why am I cursed to a dreary existence of traffic jams and uncooperative software whilst young Cooky, with no apparent altruistic pedigree, gets off lightly as a cricketer?

In any case, I was watching the Caribbean scenes with these embittered thoughts in mind when I saw a large English flag. Usually, I hate the St. George’s cross. In fact, I hate all flags. Daft bloody things.

But this one raised my spirits, for across it bore the words: St. Helens. A town that is a serious contender for “Worst Place in the World 2009”. A town covered in grime, clouds and misery.

And this nutter went all the way to the Caribbean to broadcast his pride in his little Northern dump through the medium of flags.

Knowing that there someone more messed up than I, steeled me and gave me fresh resolve as I bought in another round of drinks to numb the pain of life.

Then I saw Simon Katich standing and the despair returned.

You see Katich’s crotch was badly maimed as a young man when a bully provided a kick that was to disfigure the Australian opening batsmen’s stance for ever.

“I think PS McDonnell is awesome” said a young, naïve Katich.
“You little bastard,” said the bully as he sent his victim screaming to the ground, clutching his permanently disfigured area.

Simon Katich’s stance, like the first earwig attack of summer, ruins something great with something small. Christ, I really wished that bully finished the job, he looks like a walking Francis Bacon painting.

And another thing. Why does his grill look so massive? What have they done to his head? Did the bully smash that into a jawless prune too?

Christ, that bloke pisses me off. I know I said he didn’t. But he does.

Australia: why must you do this to us?

I heard someone say on the radio that “everyone wants West Indian cricket to be strong.”

I thought this rather trite: surely we desire universal strength in a highly-competitive arena. Then I realised that this wasn’t true. There was one team that deserved a long period of flailing, flabby retreat.

We want that side to lose. That’s right. Australia: land of high art and sophistication.

Naturally, success breeds contempt and jealousy, but why oh why must they be so heartless?

During their first test match against the West Indies, daft buggers like myself dared to hope: perhaps the Windies could sneak a win?

But that’s how the Australians get you. That’s how they crush you, like a hammer crushes a kitten’s brain. They let you hope and then, much like the Nazis, they finish you off within a flash.

This exactly the sort of thing that bastards do. Don't get me wrong. I’m not calling Australians bastards. I’m just quietly encouraging the reader to put two and two together and perhaps bomb their local Australian embassy. That’s all.

Worst still, people like Stuart Clark, built by weekly instalments via subscription of “Build Your Own Fluky Geriatric” magazine, finished off the naïve Caribbeans. Like a bastard.

Now. Which one do I hate the most? Ricky Ponting? The Little rat-like bloke who looks like he spends the weekends offering sweets to kiddies in the local girl's school? Perhaps he tempts a few back to his "studio" with promises of a great modelling career, only, she might want to lose some of the clothes...

Certainly a contender.

How about the hilariously awful Michael Clarke? The great hope for the Australian future of highlighted hair-dos and flashy misses? Perhaps.

The most infuriating fact, despite all this inept crockery, they still win. This cannot be tolerated. Everyone, heed these words:

Send a letter to your local secret service branch, with some intelligence to the effect that there’s weapons of mass destruction somewhere in Crocodile Dundee land. Hopefully, this’ll find its way into the Oval Office. Although, if the CIA ever discover Shane Watson’s hair products, the trigger-happy yanks won’t need much persuasion.

This is the only way we can win.

Special report from Antigua

The AYALAC news wires have been buzzing busily this afternoon: I have just received an exclusive report from my Special Antigua Correspondent.

My mum has just returned from a holiday in the Caribbean, and kindly provided me with a cricket report. Well, sort of. Most of the time, her testimony discusses obviously irrelevant details: many non-cricketing references to things like sun and cocktails abound strangely.

Anyway, I was charged with picking up the ol’ alma mater from the airport, on Saturday. Oh, did I say Saturday? I meant Sunday. You didn’t drive all the way to Gatwick at five o’clock in the morning on Saturday as well, did you? Oh, sorry. The ticket said I took off on Saturday, I just assumed that I was going to land on the same day. Besides, waking up at four o’clock in the morning at the weekend is good for you.

I would have been more annoyed. But years of infrequent telephone conversations and general filial neglect have swung moral righteous decisively in a maternal direction. Besides, I’m glad she didn’t arrive on Saturday, when she may have noticed the bloke who was waiting to give flowers to his inward bound mother.

Those people should be ostracised.

Anyway, pointlessly waiting in Gatwick’s South terminal was a small price to pay for the gold-mine of exclusive cricketing information I can provide to you today.

As you can see from this image hurriedly taken from a speeding taxi, the Stanford Ground really does exist. My reporter described this shocking development as looking “really posh”.

See? It's real. We weren't being lied to.

In a further unexpected turn, it was revelled that the small Caribbean island was covered in large billboards displaying images of “men wearing white. Does that mean they’re cricketers? Are they famous then?”

At this point, the report becomes hazy. Apparently, my journalist spotted Giorgio Armani three times, and even swapped good mornings when making eye contact. I think young master Armani is an up-and-coming quick who reputedly possesses excellent seaming abilities.

I’m hoping for more incisive details when my Dad returns in six weeks after he’s sailed back from the Caribbean. So good luck to him… wherever he is.

Bloody parents. Smug ones, at that. It's not like I have a compensation: I hear Geoffrey Boycott's mum averages over 43 in first class cricket. She's no mug with a stick of rhubarb.

Surprisingly interesting results in Caribbean

I have been avoiding the Sri Lanka tour in the West Indies because I’m generally parochial and self-obsessed, but a match so exciting has come along it has forced us to consider something that isn’t me.

A tough ask, you might think, but this was genuinely a great match. Normally, ODIs that reach the last five overs of the second innings are classified as a “thriller”; those that reach the final over are “tense thrillers.” I’m not sure what you call this match, because it was won on the very last ball.

Maybe a “super thriller” or “thiller thriller”. You know its thriller, thriller night.Youre fighting for your life inside of killer, thriller tonight.

Our hero, our champion, our chief of the crabs, saw the Windes home with 63 from 63 balls. Chris Gayle also scored a captainly half century.

Plaudits also go to Chamara Kapugedera, who I thought was just some guy, you know, but turns out to be an aggressive and effective hitter of the nasty old women in the street with a stick mold. OK – she doesn’t look much, but you don’t want to get in the way of that lashing walking stick of death.

Is fifty over cricket the new twenty20? Of course it is. It’ll happen all over again with the IPL in a few years. Mark my words, sunny jim.

West Indies make meek surrendering noises

Two of my favouritest cricket sides are playing at the moment: The West Indies and Sri Lanka.

We all of us retain an affection for the Windies because they used to be great, and most of their players seem so damned cool. Sri Lanka has charmed the pants off the rest of us because of their apparent niceness.

In the First Test, the Lankans beat the West Indies by 121 runs. Centuries by Mahela Jayawardene and some bloke I’ve never heard of in the first innings secured a handsome 476 for the Lankans.

The West Indies gently succumbed in their first innings, avoiding a follow-on but still conceding a 194-run deficit.

From there, it was a classic cricket set up of dominant side pressing for a win against a gritty rearguard grinding for a draw. But, after some brave stands, the Windies finally lost their pluck.

There is something increasingly Bangladesh-like in the Windies’ loses. Here are there last 12 games:

Mar 22-26, 2008 – lost to Sri Lanka by 121 runs.
Jan 10-12, 200 – lost to South Africa by an innings and 100 runs.
Jan 2-5, 2008 – lost to South Africa by seven wickets.
Dec 26-29, 2007 – beat South Africa by 128 runs.
Jun 15-19, 2007 – lost to England by seven wickets.
Jun 7-11, 2007 – lost to England by 60 runs.
May 25-28, 2007 – lost to England by an innings and 283 runs.
May 17-21, 2007 – drew to England.
Nov 27-Dec 1, 2006 – lost to Pakistan by 199 runs.
Nov 19-23, 2006 – drew to Pakistan.
Nov 11-14, 2006 – lost to Pakistan by nine wickets.
Jun 30-Jul 2, 2006 – lost to India by 49 runs.

It is, of course, troubling that they have only won once from the last twelve (and their previous win was in 2005), but is most concerning for me is the margin.

The main criticism of Bangladesh’s cricket is that they are rolled over which such ease, to the point that some are demanding their withdrawal from test cricket. But, judging by the Windies’ record, they are just as suspect.

Dead frog down

Here is a picture of a flattened frog on my road - I have come to know her as “Squashy” . She reminds of the West Indies cricket team. Not only is this frog dead, but it has been completely crushed.

Unaware of the forces that removed is from the third dimension, it has accepted its fate by laying back and submitting itself to devastating rolling over.

As you can see, the parallels between Squashy and the Windies’ current performance are stark. As noted previously, the West Indies were bowled out for just 139 and allowed South Africa to rack up 556 for four – with three Saffers notching centuries.

In reply, the Windies have just managed to scrape together a hundred runs for their three wickets. Two words: Pah thetic.

The team is welcome to use the deranged drivers on my road to help dispatch them in a dignified manner. They are useless. So at least they could transform themselves into street art. They could learn a few things from Squashy.

West Indies: All your dreams are dead

Well, I say “dead”, it would be more accurate to say “killed”. Borrowing catch-phrases from a fellow internet phenomenon aside, there was something cute about the resurgent West Indies.

Their recent success wasn’t an arrogant dispatching of the Saffers, but a boy’s own tale of team spirit and happy-go-lucky cricket. From this, the world wondered if they could resurrect their 1980s confidence. However, the South Africans effortlessly crushed all these hopes in Durban.

Disappointment is part of the Proteas’ natural game. Much like the Four Eyed Monsters film, which promised heart and quirky charm, but only delivered unendurable, introspective whining. Of course, South Africa don’t so much as whine the elbows off you, but rather, they gradually dismember your optimism, extract your joy for the world and leave your happiness a shrivelled, moist lump.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not like this guy, I don’t hate South Africa. They’re not like Australia. It’s just that they’re beating the underdog, indeed, they’re slaying the puppies.

After bowling the Windies out for 132, South Africa finished the day on 213 for 1. Graeme “Smug Saffer Number Seven” Smith managed to biff his day into a rapid century.

Even the creaking and newly recalled Shaun Pollock eased to 4-35 from his 11 overs.

What this means is that the West Indies’ are back to where they were a few months ago: rubbish. OK – they’ve had a few injuries that denied that competitiveness. But, at this level, you have to have some depth in your squad. Depending on a handful of key men will lead to disaster.

I like towels.

Angel of Cruelness intervenes in Cape Town

The West Indies have played superbly in this tour. Not only did their new captain, Chris Gayle, lead them to a handsome 126-run victory over South Africa in the first game of the series, but the Windies are battling hard in this match too.

During their tour of England, the buzz word in the Windies camp was “capitulation”. All aside from the god-like Shivnarine Chanderpaul and always lively Dwayne Bravo, the team looked hopeless and were deservedly battered.

The most saddening element of their loss was the totally ineptitude of their bowling attack – a once terrifying squadron of batsman-eaters, deflated into a feeble dud’s army.

Yet, from the pits of ineffectiveness, their bowlers suddenly skittle the Saffers for only 195 in Port Elizabeth – with that man Bravo taking four wickets.

The West Indian all-rounder galvanised his side once again with three quick wickets during his marathon 24-over spell. His over-use was indicative of a crippling problem in the Windies’ attack: an epidemic of crockitis.

Jerome Taylor and then Fidel Edwards both received injuries. Although Taylor eventually recovered, Edwards is out for the remainder of the match. With Daren Powell bowling his usual mix of threatening wides and under-cooked half-volleys, Gayle was forced to turn to some part-timers.

Letting the Proteas of the hook. If their attack was fully stocked the Saffers would be struggling to save the follow on. It would be naïve and foolhardy to say that the Windies are back. But it is this blogger’s hopeful, desperate belief that The Windies Are Back, Baby.

News of the World

I have received some requests to provide an update on the neglected, although no less important, nations in world cricket. So here we go.

The West Indies

They’re about to face the fearsome Zimbabweans. This may never happen as there’s an article on cricinfo headlined “West Indies delayed by luggage.” Apparently, Chris Gayle took too many spangly man-bags, or something, and the team had to catch a later flight.

They have also been enjoying turmoil in the ol’ captaincy department. Dwayne Bravo has been appointed vice-captain, which is a bit like employing an Elvis-impersonator as a judge. It’ll probably be alright, but there might be a few fruity decisions now and then.

After Zimbabwe, they will receive a royal battering at the hands of the South Africans

Kenya

Domestic cricket continues its shambolic exploration through life. The Nairobi Provincial Cricket Association has held up the national administrative process with some constitutional rambles about something. To be honest, I care more about Bjork’s views on whales. Anyway, Steve Tikolo is still from Kenya and he’s Ace. Their next match is in January. It will be against the United Arab Emirates. Fascinating.

Bermuda

Otherwise known as “Sluggo-land”, Bermuda is another example of a cricket board that has stopped responding to my emails. Do you think there’s an international black-list or something; perhaps the ECB has point out a warner? Anyway, the big news is that Gus Logie, Bermudan coach, reckons that Bermuda can qualify for the World Cup again. Judging by their recent performances, Gussie, they’d by lucky to get into my local’s Open Mike night. (The Broker, in case you are unaware, is not known for its discriminating approach to talent.)

The Pimmies

In other news, UAE beat Namibia by five wickets at the Wanderers. This means they are still at the top of Division Two of the World Cricket League. Fantastically, Uganda thrashed Argentina. There’s not many contexts in life that you can say that. But, in cricket, anything is possible. Even making Namibia seem faintly interesting.

Namibia, in case you are unaware, is not, and never will be, interesting.

Let’s try not to gloat

Many petty minded people would gloat because Australia lost to Zimbabwe, which is an intrinsically hilarious event. I am above such things.

I am not above saying I TOLD YOU SO, however. Let’s quote yesterday’s post:

I wouldn’t be surprised if Zimbabwe beat the Aussies. Or even won the World Bloody Championship.

And so it was. Australia, the mighty World Cup holding, Ashes Urn bearing monsters of the Antipodes were slain by teeny-weeny Zimbabwe.

Australia didn't lose because I made them, my Predictoron powers don't really apply in the twenty20 world, but because the randomness of the format did its thing. There was some skill shown by the Zimmers, but, you know, so what? Yeah?

Many people having been asking where The Predictoron went. Maybe I should bring it back for the new World Cup, they asked.

But, as stated elsewhere, you can’t actually predict the outcome of twenty20 matches. What you really need is a random number generator, and get that to crunch some stochastic statistics.

Of course, it would be absurd to say that the twenty20 was a ridiculous waste of time, where a bunch of blokes mess about on a field where strange, unexpected events emerge from tiny cricket vortexes to produce previously shocking results. It would be more correct to say: twenty20 is rubbish.

In other news, the terrifying Bangladesh knocked out the West Indies from the World Championship. Was that because the West Indies are terrible at batting? No, they’re pretty good at that. Awful at bowling? No, they’re ok. Dreadful fielders? Well, yes, but that really isn’t a decisive issue.

No, they simply received a bad role of the dice. They lost through bad luck.

Gayle gets runs with a bat

Although there has been a lot of truthful raging against the rubbishness of twenty20, I somehow found myself of being enthralled by one of those bastard matches.

I was mainly drawn in by the incredible batting of Chris Gayle. He managed to bludgeon the South African attack for 117 in just 57 balls – heaving 10 sixes in the process.

What compelled me to watch an otherwise impoverished format was the crazed, unorthodox stroke play. The photo is a case in point. He is standing well outside his leg-stump, standing tall and flays a cross-the-line slog. Even when the bowlers altered their line to follow him, he managed to adjust at the last minute and still club them for six, despite being totally out of position. Astonishing.

It is testament to his innings that the rest of his team affected a near-collapse after the fall of the wicket. The Windies’ inability to follow-up this foundation with an impregnable score rather gave the momentum to the Saffers.

The West Indies’ effort was also stymied by the disintegration of their fielding. I counted three drops that were near to dollies as you could ask in international cricket. Nevertheless, the random swinging of the bat by South Africa proved successful, and they eventually won by a handsome margin.

In other news, Kenya received a thumping by the hands of New Zealand. Mainly thanks to their new overweight bowler Mark Gillespie, who equalled The Atheist’s career best with 4-7. Kenya lost because the Kiwis spiked their tea – they put too much milk in, which would seriously affect anyone’s mental condition.

I am still standing by my randomness thesis. There will be plenty of upsets. I wouldn’t be surprised if Zimbabwe beat the Aussies. Or even won the World Bloody Championship.

Bureaucrats bluster

OK – so the Chris Gayle saga continues.

Not only did the newly-appointed one day captain attack his own board. Not only did the WICB publicly tear a stripe off Gayle. But it appears now that there was some deception involved.

A new party has entered the brawl: The West Indies Players’ Association. They claim that team manager, Mike Findlay, in fact, approved the offending blog. Who, later with the WICB President, reprimanded Gayle for his “unacceptable” behaviour.

Thus, the WIPA argues, Gayle has no reason to apologise as the management already condoned his piece. That Findlay was involved in the disciplinary process makes the entire debacle ever more farcical. It’s like agreeing to buy your four-year old ABSO daughter an ice cream, and then chastising her for not watching her weight.

Dinanath Ramnarine, a spokesman for the WIPA, makes another interesting point. He notes that the WICA President dealt with the matter, not, as convention would dictate, the chief executive officer. The holder of this post, Bruce Aanensen, previously lambasted the Windies players for being useless.

"Is this because Mr Aanensen publicly referred to the players as incompetent and felt he may have lost the respect of Chris and the team, and in fact owed them an apology?”

So now we have a situation of total chaos. The WICB criticises the players, which appears to be acceptable behaviour, as no action has been taken against Aanensen; the players criticise the WICB. No cohesion; no direction. An utter shambles. It would be impossible for any team to pull themselves together in this divisive atmosphere.