Why corruption is good for cricket

Seedy, dodgy, self-serving politicians have wronged us many times. Not as much as honest, benevolent politicians, mind.

On the whole, people in power look after their own, to the expense of the rest of us, and although this helpfully distracts them from the disastrous occupation of Trying To Do Good, sometimes executive malfeasance can guide the crooked like an invisible hand to inadvertently aid the general commonwealth.

Gordon Brown, for all his bad hand-writing sins has recently redeemed himself in my estimation by exercising cheap, petty revenge. It turns out that he’s no an insufferable do-gooder after all, but just as crafty, manipulative and scheming as the rest of us.

The Sun newspaper, a flag-waver for honest and responsible journalism, is owned by the delightful Murdoch family. After The Sun dropped its support for Brown to jump into the Tory bandwagon, the Premier plotted vengeance.

Conveniently, minutes after a recent telephone exchange between the British Prime Minister and Rupert Murdoch, an opportunity presented itself and Brown found a weakness: cricket.

Still red-faced with vengeful thoughts, the tottering Government announced a re-think on broadcasting rights of British sporting “crown jewels”, taking away Sky’s monopoly of cricket broadcasting, only minutes (MINUTES) after the conference. Sky, least we forget, is also a Murdoch family asset. The Culture Department re-categorised domestic Ashes matches as a free-to-air television event, stripping away one of Sky Sport’s flagships.

The ECB, deep in the pockets of Sky, announced that they will lose £100 million. But we must remember that the ECB are also a pack of wankers.

One can only assume that, in the fading days of power, the real Brown will emerge to royally screw everyone that ever ticked him off over the past fifty years. And, to be honest, would we want to see power used in any other way?

So, 2013, it may be a return to the sofas from our summer-time occupations of tennis and footy in the park, all for the sake of encouraging sport. It is excellent news for cricket fans that are too bloody minded to give Murdoch a penny.

Let us all thank the lord for his gift of emotionally immature and nasty politicians.

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.

Is nothing sacred?

Bagpuss, not satisfied with taking over London, has now decided to invade English cricket.

Some goon who unashamedly calls himself Lord Marland of Odstock and ran Boris Johnson’s successful campaign for London mayoralty, (although, we all know it was actually some nasty piece of work Aussie that did the dirty, somehow Boris’ old chum was awarded the “Campaign Manager” title) wants to become the new chairman of the ECB.

Boris, flexing his political muscles further, plans to tighten his strangle-hold of the English establishment by sending Oddsocks forth to capture the ECB.

The London Mayor was heard to have said,

“Well, uh, buh buh, it’s kinda, buh, buh, gosh, right! Buh buh. The Johnson house will subjugate the masses through insidious control of its essential institutions, confounding all those who stand against us! Crickey.”

That Giles Clarke, a respected and hard-arsed businessman, has come under challenge from a minion of walking flan, is a sign of troubled times for English cricket.

Clarke hasn’t been a bad chairman. He hasn’t done anything that any other English chairman from the hallowed histories of the ECB wouldn’t have done – with the possible exception of ol’ Lord Bumsoak, whose solutions to administrative problems usually involved large vats of sherry, some well-oiled bats and twelve naked schoolboys.

But, politics is politics, and when the rats smell an opportunity, they begin to talk about strategic leadership and the need to gnaw on the rotting corpses of roadkill.

So, some nobody, whose only claim to fame is an association with the Tory party financial scandal that involved cheating electoral laws by fraud and winning over huge sums of money by misleading the authorities, thinks that he can do a better job than someone with actual abilities.

It’s a bit annoying that English cricket is such a preserve of the political right. I don’t make this objection so much for partisan reasons – my politics is somewhat broken anyhow – but it would be a fantastic addition to the game is so left-wing perspectives were brought into the game.

The Twatford affair would have been considerably more entertaining had (Sir?) Arthur Scargill been at the reins.

“Aye, Twatford lad, let me have a go at they lasses. Hallo love, we’ll keep the red flag flying here. Ooh flippin’ Norah.”

That’s right. We need more communists in English cricket.

Harmison intervenes with tact and diplomacy

Steven Harmison, long-time complainant of the media, commentators and those who open their mouth before engaging their Id, has shamed them all by his dignified entrance into England’s management fiasco.

In case you have some sort of life with priorities beyond the petty feuds of ECB politics, Kevin Pietersen and Peter Moores don’t get on. It might be something to do with Moores’ denial of KP’s opportunity to lord it over Michael Vaughan like some magnanimous twat. Or it might be something as simple as Captain Fantastic being a disagreeable twat, who can’t get on with anyone. Like a twat.

In any case, the misfiring of their team, despite the sagely advice of Otis the Aardvark, has brought a wave of introspection, self-doubt and, inevitably, wonderfully, beautifully, BLAME.

As all losers know, you can’t spell “You’ve been Ka-Blam-eod!” without blame.

So, the symbol of stability, reliability and mental strength within the England fold, “Steady Steve” Harmison entered the fray. Although, not being Scouse, it reduces writers’ prospects of suggesting he might do this by saying “cam daun, cam daun” and jerk his arms about like a maddy. Although he is sufficiently Northern for this thought to creep into a blogger’s mind, but it impotently sits there, never finding voice for fear of producing an embarrassing and slightly wrong passage.

So anyway, after being interviewed by the BBC World Service, broadcasting his views to every living person with a radio, power source and English-Geordie phrase book, Mahatma Steve has forged peace within the troubled England team.

Peter Moores was heard to say,

“I thought that KP was a right twat, then I heard Harmison’s grating, whiney voice on the radio this morning, and I decided that KP wasn’t so bad after all. There are worse people out there.”

Walter Bagehot, in a second press conference, asked the lanky slip-tester what he had said to calm the warring factions. Harmison replied,

“Oh, not much really. We sportsman have a way with words. I just said, “Hey, guys, just mellow, yeah. Players come and go; both of you are temporary, ephemeral wisps of a whimper. Only Harmy remains constant. Cam daun, cam daun.””

Angus Fraser makes dangerous statement

Generally, I don’t like to get involved in county politics. It’s boring. I prefer to focus on the actual cricketers – and their filthy private lives.

But, if you must know, there are rumours that Angus Fraser will take over as “Managing Director” of Middlesex.

The only reason that this is news is because a) people have heard of Angus Fraser and b) Graeme Smith is in hospital awaiting a mouth transplant.

I love Fraser. He, along with Andy Caddick and possibly Phillip J Tuffers were among my favourite players of England’s 1990s Golden Era.

Fraser’s main tactic was to spend half an hour running in and by the time he got to the crease he was visibly exhausted. When Brian Lara dispatched him to the boundary, Gussy would kick at the ground and blame the captain for asking him to bowl an unreasonable number of overs. Just look at how knackered I am you heartless bastard. He would say that. Only, without quotations marks.

Then the captain was changed. Hopefully to one who would put our Angus in at slip.

On the speculation regarding this county position, Fraser has said:

"I'm keen to chat with them and find out what they [Middlesexian big-wigs] have to say because it's still a place close to my heart. I currently have a very good job with the Independent newspaper but…”

And this next bit requires a severe buttock-clenching bracing position.

“….there is no harm in listening to what people have to say.”

Oh Gussy. Gussy. Gussy. Gussy.

Angus. Angus Robert Charles Fraser. Angus. You may need to know all there is about doggedly plugging away off or around the women’s changing room, but your understanding of human behaviour is somewhat lacking.

Personally, I feel that this dangerous and frankly inflammatory statement should preclude him from any position of authority. Obviously, he’s fine in his current role as a journalist. But any job where people should actually listen to him should be immediately ruled out.

Perhaps send him back to the ICC?

In my experience, the most harm has come from listening to people. In fact, I have given it up altogether.

Look at Stalin. He spent most of his early days listening to Lenin. And then look what happened.

It’s the same storey with Gordon Brown.

Do you want to end up like that, Gussy? Do you? Do you?

Well then.

Donald Trump set to “buy” cricket

“It looks like a class act,” the American billionaire was heard to say, as he stepped off his fully functioning Chinook helicopter this morning.

He has flown in especially from the land of plasticy cheese and watery beer, to make cricket “the bestest sporting event in the outside America.”

Before addressing their lordships this afternoon in the Long Room of Lords, Trump had his teeth painted with uranium and was stitched into his best suit. Although, naturally being an American, he suffered from a national affliction: no matter how moneyed they are, they never look good in suits. Perhaps it’s the healthy complexion?

Trump’s plan to show “you god-damned limies a thing or two amount real entertainment, and I’m not just talking about your Peg before wicket crap, mean end-zone, strike out clean-ups” was greeted with respectful applause.

Trump then produced his large, laminated chequebook, and the polite clapping turned into frenzied ovation.

Giles Clarke later said, “Mr Trump of Foreign Parts, sometimes says confusing things, but he has come here in good faith to implement a programme that I don’t really understand and, in the face of his generous stimulants, who are we to stand in the way of progress!”

The wild party that followed then spilt out onto the Nursery Ground, where several small boys had their bats broken by an ECB director explaining to a Trumpite (Trumpet?) flunky the art of collapsing after a well-built foundation.

The boy was told to, “naff orf.”

Australians moving to England

The tour details of Australia’s tour to England in 2009 have been announced. They arrive in May and depart in late September.

That’s four months. They’re probably going to claim squatters’ rights. Well, I suppose that’s only fair, seeing as that’s how we claimed Australia in the first place.

The administrators, displaying how hip and “wiv it” they are, decided to pack the tour with seven one day internationals. Yes, remember those? Fifty over cricket was what our granddads used to play, before Bollywood took over the sport.

I used to think that five-match ODI series were too long. Then seven became the norm. Then everyone decided to hate fifty-over cricket.

All except for bureaucrats in Australia and England. They think everyone else are bastards, and are going to stick it to ‘em with as many tediously drawn out out-moded competitions as possible.

In fairness, ruling out tyrannical self-indulgence, if I ran these sorts of things I would do it in the same way: aim to piss everyone else just so I can bellow with malevolent amusement.

They’ve also decided to give the Welshies a test match. Also, Hampshirians, a county so non-descript that its residents have no name (except for Southampton folk, who are affectionately known as “scummers” bless ‘em) have been awarded a test match as well.

It’s sad that Trent Bridge doesn’t have a test. I can only assume that this is because their ground is “too good” and not at all in Cardiff.

The tourists play only one four-day match against a county side. Rain will probably reduce this to a two day match. Meaning that Australia’s preparation is pathetically short.

Having said that, the Aussies won’t need much practice before playing against the pathetically short Englanders. But, it’s the thought that counts; at least pretend you take the opposition seriously.

That’s all we ask.

We can take repeated humiliations and spineless slumps. We’re used to it. Just say that you think we’re "not to be underestimated” or something and the English nation will be happy enough.

You can take our dignity. But please don’t take our pride.

Or is it the other way around?

English cricket for sale

My new best friend, Giles Clarke, is considering selling off English cricket to some bloke, for a lot of money.

I previously thought that the tender only covered a single, one-off match. That alone made me annoyed. Not as irritated as I was this morning, whilst trying to negotiate the exit of Fenchurch Street Station whilst fending off the jingoistic advancements of some freebie newspaper distributors encouraging me to honour St. George’s Day.

“No,” I thought. “Go away.”

Needless to say, they didn’t. St George’s day? What on Earth will they think of next? Let’s All Beat Up The French Day?

Anyway, this state or anger was topped today when I discovered that Allen “Call Me Sir” Stanford is planning to bank-roll an expanded English twenty20 competition to rival the IPL. Why we would want to do such a thing is unclear, but Stanford is only prepared to organise such a useless tournament if he receives assurances from the ECB that they’ll guarantee his investment plus returns.

Cheeky bastard.

This produces is a whole new layer of fury. This makes me angrier than that woman who clips her nails on the train. And I want to kill her. I want to kill her with a cheap rubber spatula such is my accrued wrath.

In a vague, feeble justification, Stanford says that England need to be at the heart of any future evolution of cricket. And hilariously adds,

“The organisation here is better, the management is better, the structure is better.”

Clearly, the Texan billionaire didn’t attempt to catch a Northbound Circle line from Tower Hill this morning, and then worked out, without any official communication, that the Circle Line was delayed, requiring him to walk to Aldgate Station to wait a further twenty minutes during the rush hour for an over-crowded train on another buggered line, resulting him in being late for work. Again. Thoughts of managerial efficiency do not spring to one’s mind in such circumstances.

In any case, the whole thing is shocking and awful and terrible and a betrayal. These people need to be sent to the same place as nail-clipper girl.

Pakistan spring forth from India’s can of worms

The ensuing madness that India have created has emboldened the Pakistan Cricket Board to request the ridiculous: Overturn the forfeited test.

Never mind the fact that it is only a year and a half late and unnecessarily re-opening old wounds, it’s just a bit daft. Can any imagine a possible world where the ICC would reverse its own rulings? Perhaps the key change in context is that subcontinental sides feel they can bully the ICC to do anything.

Well done India. You’ve completely cocked up international cricket. Nice one.

At the heart of this ridiculous series of events is the unsportsmanlike pressure behind the scenes. The ICC succumbed to Pakistan’s insistence that the ball tampering charges were dropped. Yet, despite the lack of any novel evidence to suggest that there was no interference with the ball and Daryl Hair’s maintained status as a “pukka bloke” by the ICC, the accusation was dropped.

Just how pathetic, derisible and shit the ICC is begs belief. Could they not foresee by granting Pakistan this impossible request that the PCB would inevitably move to annul that test match? Now the ICC has admitted that Inzy was right to protest a decision – so the match was unfairly forfeited. So, the only logical course of action is to annul the test.

Even though no new evidence has emerged and the ICC still considers Hair a reliable arbiter.

The ICC: installing confidence through incompetence.

I'd like to take this opportunity to honour my great blogging friend, the most unwormlike and tolerably opinionated J-Rod. If I had a real, live, proper cricket team, I'd definitely make him the side's photographer. Some of his shots are stunning.

Windies defend their last international cricketer

After the ensuing insanity pants which resulted in the indefinite canning of Steve Bucknor, the West Indies Cricket Board have hit back.

Julian Hunte, WICB President, wrote an angry letter to the ICC.
He condemned the ditching of Bucknor as “extreme”. Not as in skate boarding on a collapsing glacier extreme, more planting daffodils next to snow drops extreme. Another irritated party in this happy episode of pisspoor public relations and insipid administration.

"There is no question that even the best umpires make mistakes. They are human and there are circumstances which may affect their judgement. What worries us is whether the action of the ICC in the case of Bucknor might create even more problems for the ICC and international cricket down the line."

The press has lapped up this ever-growing debacle. I noticed that it was page five in yesterday’s (London) Financial Times and page three news in the Guardian. This is no mean feat, in the context of American primaries, a collapsing Kenya and continued Pakistani bonkerness. Only cricket can cause such an international firestorm. One wonders whether it is a sport at all, and not some sort of geopolitical death match.

I heard Navjot Singh Sidhu give an interview on the radio last night. He pointed out that world create is “dependent” upon sub-continental revenues and, as such, “India rules the roost.” This means that India should get its way in all matters; racism be hanged. This, more or less, is exactly what happened.

The ICC, ever conscious bean-counters, trembled at the BBCI’s chest-beating, and caved in. Consequently, they have annoyed the West Indies, Australia and tacitly condoned racism.

Glad to see world cricket in splendid health.

Administrative dust-ups

You may remember that I mocked the United Cricket Board of South Africa’s decision to drop their best player in the up-coming Twenty20 waste-of-time, sorry, I mean “tournament”.

Well, the plot thickens, because Jacques Kallis wasn’t informed of his ditching. In fact, it seemed he wanted to play and cites his all-round credentials as a potential boon to the squad. He says that things got a bit “emotional”.

For “emotional” read “nasty”. Kallis has resigned the vice-captaincy, in, more or less, protest of his being dropped.

Cricket South Africa’s CEO Gerald Majola has condemned Kallis’ “unilateral” decision (unilateral, you mean, he made his decision by himself…? What? What are you talking about?). Anyway, he goes on,

“The reasons for his omission from the squad were fully explained to him as well as the prominent role he will play in a very full and varied season after the tournament.”

Majola then goes on to criticise Kallis’ lack of professionalism in not consulting CSA before his announcement. Of course, you can’t slate their decision not to inform Kallis before they publicly dropped him. That’s perfectionly professional.

CSA’s selection convenor, Joubert Strydom said:

"Jacques is the cornerstone of our Test and one-day teams. We felt that because of what he brings to the Test and one-day teams, it wasn't worthwhile sacrificing him in the Twenty20."

The back-tracking exercise that the CSA has been running is that they’re worried about Kallis getting tired. Wouldn’t you have thought that Kallis is the best judge of his stamina over the next 18 months?

I don’t normally talk about sports administration, but this episode rather reminds me of the hilarious Chris Gayle fiasco. Also, Omar’s blitz of activity in his long-awaited come-back, asks a question:

“Shouldn't cricketing boards be run by ex-cricketers for the cricketers? Don't they have a right to vote and select the new board? Things need to change!”

He then goes on to rant about something. I don’t know what. I lost interest after a while.

But, I think that ex-cricketers should be kept away from cricket administration. Mainly, because they’re useless. The skills of running a large and complicated organisation are distinct from messing about on a field with a bat and a ball.

The ridiculous Kallis spat shows the importance of communication. The habit of communication and people-management is second-nature in the business world. The emotional out-bursts, mouthing off in press releases and childish tit-for-tat exchanges underlie amateurism.

Bring in the City boys, I say.