AYALAC no feel like blogging today.

I got sacked today. I don't have a job.

No one has named that bum.

The greatest moment in history

Once again, AYALAC is pretty slow off the mark. Not only did Dave tell me about it yesterday, but JRod already updated the world of it.

But I don’t care. I’ve been to the pub and I bloody love Sluggo I do.

Right, this champion, this he-teddy bear of a man, this goliath amongst puny, underfed Davids, finally struts the international stage like the heaving colossus that he is.

He is.

Sluggo took ten wickets against Canada who, next to Australia, are probably one of the bestest twenty or thirty cricket sides in the whole wide solar system. The Vengeful Venus Eleven and Scary Saturn Sodomites pale into insignificance in comparison to the might and muscular resplendence of North American’s primary cricket team.

It was against this hegemonic power that Sluggo strove so manfully.

To take 5-69 in Canada’s first innings not only showed an awareness of lewd numerology, but pegged the Red Devils back to a score that was unexpectedly pisspoor.

Sluggo, sensing a moment of imperial hesitation within the ranks of his foes, launched into a furious offensive, and dispatched the Canoodians for a pittance in their next innings to record ten wickets.

He was also unbeaten at the crease.

This is the sort of one-man heroics that is worthy of at least twelve public monuments, a change in national motto and the rights to an electric grilling device.

Sluggo. If ever there were a pair of powerful, match-winning moobs in international cricket, there they are.

Have a thought for the poor Canoodling opener, though. This is how he fell in the first innings:

GEF Barnett c Foggo b Sluggo 30

Right, I’m really off to India now. See you all in Delhi, yeah?

England don’t know what they’re doing

Peter Moores has admitted that the $100 million England team need practice.

Their value, which can only be recorded in dollars, came from Donald Trump and his continued attempts to buy cricket.

Moores, the England coach and chief blokie, stated that England’s players were a little rusty when it came to twenty20.

“Frankly, they’re only good at boring cricket. But that doesn’t earn any money, so we’ll have to start taking limited overs seriously.”

The West Indies will fancy their chances of making huge amounts of money in this competition (especially when you facture in PPP – high five to the economists out there!) And, to be quite honest, I think the Windies players need the money more than the likes of KP.

There was a programme on the radio just now. The presenters were discussing the role of the Church of England – possibly the meekest, most mild-mannered religion going. It is polite and is embarrassed and focuses heavily on things like flower arranging and cucumber sandwiches. In short, the perfect religion. An English religion.

Cricket is a lot like that. People shamble about on a village green for a while, and then nip of to the pub. No one really knows why, and are too self-conscious to discuss it, it’s just part of life and people get on with it.

So, I don’t have a fucking massive problem with cricket being a shameless money-seeking enterprise that sucks all that is good out country in what remains of this plastic, atomised world.

Oh, due to some miracle that, once again, makes me question my theological position, I didn’t lose my job today. I survived! Ryan Hairybottom did his bit for me today, he really did. Here’s for six more weeks of gay and paid working life!

Right! I’m off to the pub now, to celebrate employment! Cheerio!

Guest Blog: Defending the Indefensible

Another word from my Northern correspondent:

As the Beatles should have more accurately sung “All you need is hate”. As an avid reader and occasional lame arse contributor to the might AYALAC I will have not been the only one to notice that recently there has been a lot of negative feelings directed at a desolate insignificant country that lies at the bottom of the Indian or should that be Pacific Ocean.

Admittedly these blogs are avidly enjoyed, especially by those they are directed at (it’s as if they love to be hated), however, the latest comparison with Nazis, animal abusers, paedophiles and promotion of terrorism as a solution has lead me to do what I thought was never possible; defend Australian cricket.

I must declare I am not Australian and believe that I have a healthy distain for the country which may derive from the only close experience that I have had with one of their kind who was called Lettuce (what kind of a name is that?) and who broke my toilet.

Yes the Australian XI have bad hair, are bastards and cheat but at least they do all those things with great success. What does the English XI excel at? We used to have snapping defeat from the jaws of victory but even the Kiwis have surpassed us as that. No, I’m afraid England is and will forever be mediocre.

But that is not really the problem. Perpetually being average is drilled into the psyche of every Englishman from a young age. What comforts us in the dark of night is the knowledge that we underachieve with dignity, modesty and style.

Which leads me to identify the real enemy; South Africa. The same as the Australian XI but not actually that good at cricket. In addition to racism, support for Robert ‘look at me I’m mental’ Mugabe and even more annoying barman, their real crime however is bringing KP to the world.

Yes a man who is so unspeakably bad his name is thankfully abbreviated to two letters. Whining that makes Steve ‘I’m better than all you lot’ Harmison look modest, this man has disappeared so far up his own arse that those diamond earrings should have at least caused some serious internal bleeding by now.

His record is patchy to say the least, he is one of the main instigators in this IPL bollocks and is a twat. His presence within the team makes me feel dirty.

We should either be totally basted/Australian/good or at least stand for proper English values. Surely we have enough subperforming cricketers in this country to pick from. Why import hate when there is KP?

Some post-pub thoughts

OK. I may be a bit merry tonight. This is not unusual. So, I think that, to add extra spice tonight, I shall write this post whilst continue to drink heavily and muse upon recent humbling experiences involving me, a microwave and rubber spatula.

It’s not just extra spelling errors and typos you can expect; it’s not just the near-unreadable prose – Oh no. You are talking 100%, bone fide sobriety-liberated incite, my fireinds.

Right. Let’s list the points, I want to make in list format. If I work out how to bullet them, I shall, but don’t be getting your hopes up you silent bunch of judging ingrates.

1. Harmison. He’s rubbish. Unlike mythical African football players, he does not improve when playing with no boots. Like mythical African diseases, he just gets worse the more you are exposed to him. I mean really. He’s bollarks. Really. Why won’t you people listen to me. I have been publishing for yaers now. Bloody useless buggers.

2. Point two. Matthew Hoggard should be made captain. You bastards in the ECB, you may have stopped answering my emails and making subtlke suggestions about court injunctions, but the people will have their way! THE TRUTH WILL OTU!

3. Blooggers should be provided with booze more often. Especially to those who’s Enlish it does improve and makes more lucid. Yeah?

4. WHY IS THERE A GRAEME SWANN. Why the hell would you have a bloke in your side who’s name looks like a drunken typo? I mean Jesus. Why on earth would anyone bother with another Christing spinner when we have Monty? What are they doing?

5. West Indies. Why aren’t they in the news that much? Why do I always have to read about South Africa, or Pakistan or bloody Australia. I WANT TO HEAR MORE ABOUT DWANYE DRAVO, ALRIGHT?

There. That’s off my chest. And, this time, I’m not even going to pretend to proof this post. Proofing is for poofs. Actually, I apologise for that comment. Even I know that’s Beyond the pale. But, it’s ok, I’ve been drinking; and we all think that everything is acceptable when you are drinking. Except if you are a girlfriend of any kind, than you totally lose any sense of perspective, and apply the same “standards” to the drunk. Like muppets.

Cricket and important items from its histories

I may, or may not, have just come back from the pub. You will have to judge for yourselves based on the quality of writing.

I freely admit, that, because of my work commitments, I have not had the opportunity to examine the cricket press as is my normal habit.

However, today saw a special Ayalac visit to the Bank of England Museum. Some of my older readers may remember the Dingly Dell vs. Old Muggleton watsit on the £10 note. You may recall that the sort of solicitor looking bloke had his hat knocked off by a dangerous looking beamer. Another, podgier looking chap at leg gully made a face like this: O.

The characters looked faintly Dickensian in their juxtaposition. In fact, I think it may have been an invention of ol’ Charlie.

So, in this Museum, as well as collectively remarking on the surprising weight of a gold bar, we also observed the ORIGINAL sketch of above cricket match.

Only I appreciated its significance. I was part of history…being a visitor to that place of cricketing thingy-ma-bob. And you too, by your loose (but not loose enough for my liking) link to me.

I think that last paragraph might have clarified the pub-situation for you. But I still think you’re all a bunch of bastards. So don’t worry about that.