Stop the melon

I’m not happy today. This morning, as I was making my famous way through Tower Hill Station, I was accosted by what can only be described as a “Community Support Officer”.

“Ho!” said he, “Stop! I must search your bag.”
“No.” said I, “I’m late for work.”
“I don’t care,” said he, “I’m searching your bag.”

And, so he did; whilst his colleague directed asinine questions about my ethnicity towards my bored personage. After a sufficient proportion of my dignity had been removed (apparently, the line is drawn at examining the contents of potential terrorists’ lunchboxes) the original bastard proclaimed, “all clear!” Can you believe that? All clear? What was he worried about? Exploding sandwiches?

Anyway, I wish that someone stopped and searched Michael Vaughan’s brain before he decided to put Sri Lanka into bat.

No one has any idea how this brand new pitch is going to play. And, as such, don’t you think that it would be sensible if we tried to avoid facing Murali on this untested track on the fifth day?

I accept that England have to make the move to draw the series. But acts of spell-binding stupidity and maddeningly unorthodox gimmicks are occasional companions on Vaughan’s curious journey through the captaincy.

You know, this reminds me of the scale of political ideology. The more you move away from the right wing, you are strangely compelled to fascism. You hop from Nazism, conservatism, liberalism, socialism and then, before you know it, you’re Joseph Stalin and a total fascist. Similarly, if you try to be too clever, you end up being a melon.

“Why put in two slips,” he thinks, “when I cam have two short mid-wickets instead.” This is melon-talk, I’m afraid. Melon-talk.

Harmison: oh go on then

I have repeatedly campaigned for Steve Harmison to be dropped and forgotten forever. Sometimes the ECB listens to the first part of my advice, but, crucially, ignores the latter.

However, in my old age, and the festive spirit, I have deemed to allow Harmison to play one more game. He did alright at the Sinhalese Sports Ground, I suppose. He didn’t take many wickets, but he did provide the English attack with the “cutting edge”.

Never mind the fact that bugger all was cut, and we spend most of the time collecting balls from the boundary.

I have accepted that my Chris Tremlett fantasy is a bit of a pipe dream. Plus, he’d probably not add too much to the equation. We have all accepted that we need three swingers and one bouncy bowler. And Monty.

Although, this deranged observer reckons we should drop the Sikh of Tweak for Graeme Swann! Graeme Swann!

Cricket: the cure for Christmas shopping

I saw David Aaronovich in Covent Garden yesterday, whilst I was Christmas shopping. An Incredible Happening indeed. (Actually, he's not so incredible, and annoying. But hey, it's time to be generous.) Judging by the directionless scowl on his face, he was worrying about Matthew Hoggard’s fitness.

You see, that’s what we’re thinking about this Christmas: cricket. Bugger mum’s book; the sister’s socks and dad’s…whatever the hell it is you think of this year, what we’re worried about is the possibility of losing second place.

Christmas, for me, used to be a time of suffering and fear. What on earth am I supposed to get this year? Why can’t they just leave me alone and stop demanding things from me.

But then, I came across the England tour. Suddenly, from the pits of winter, a little summer warmth emerged. Of course, the results of England foreign adventures were just as depressing as being a paper boy in the snow, but there was something to hold on to. I don’t mind holding on to someone else’s shit. Not if it is Michael Atherton’s.

Yesterday, I went in search of a newspaper to read something about cricket over some lunch. Stupidly, I did so in Soho, expecting there to be a shop that sold something remotely useful. I was stymied.

So, I went to get some lunch anyway. I went to a little café place. It claimed to sell pies. I ordered my pie and offered a card for payment. “Sorry sir,” the bastard said “we don’t accept cards. There is a hole-in-the-wall machine just over there.”

So, just as they were putting my lunch in the oven, off I went and, upon inspecting the ATM, decided that I would just go and buy a copy of The Cricketer and read it in a place that acknowledged the advent of the modern world not by putting cherry bloody tomatoes and random sprinkles of green on a perfectly good pie but by taking a debit card.

It just shows you, if you try to do something that is unrelated to cricket you are doing it wrong.

I hope my pie caught fire and burn down that place. Serves those corporate hippies right.

By the way: we've got some new links on the Spinning Party. Check 'em out at the bottom.

Does anyone remember what winning’s like?

Don’t answer that question if you are an Australian. You people can’t possible understand the meaning of “winning”. Not like us losers.

I think my last memory of success was beating that old women to the last seat on the train a few months ago. Since then, it has been a baron, numbing existence.

The nearest thing that England get to victory is a draw. The nation greeted England’s latest achievement of not making a total pig’s ear of it as a major cause for celebration. The BBC Radio 4 programmers have been on a marathon bender since Paul Collingwood blocked the last ball of the day. All of tomorrow’s broadcasts are cancelled. Well, not if you consider white noise and pained groaning you perfect idea of an Archer’s episode.

I think we pretty much have to accept this tour as a write-off. Let’s give it to the Lankans and concentrating on not cocking up against the Kiwis. That would be truly humiliating, and I would have to consider more seriously my allegiance to China.

Although, in fairness, it was rather like Sri Lanka resigned this test to a draw as well. “Look”, they collectively asked, “can anyone actually be bothered?” There could only be one answer to such a question. So, they proceeded to waste an entire day batting like a hermit crab with a broken stick, and failed to force the win.

England gratefully accepted this let off. And the fans dutifully turned off in droves. All excepting the barmy army. Who were pissed.

In other news, didn’t Chamara Silva bowl well? I liked the look of him. He’ll look like a useful, dare I say it, Jayasuriya-type figure for years to come. He’s also a spinner. Which automatically makes him cool.

And, for the first time in 33 years, England’s openers scored century partnerships in both innings. Openers are my favourite sort of batsman, and there is something mathematically pleasing when the first wicket partnership is a big one. It’s like a righted jumper.

I’m worried about Monty

There is something wrong. This is an innate, perhaps even distant, anxiety. Like unwittingly putting a jumper on the wrong way around – you are vaguely aware of the world being disrupted, but it’s not worth going to the doctors about. Eventually, a mocking friend points out your mistake and the universe is brought into order. Today, I am that friend.

One component of England’s seemingly ineffective attack is Monty Panesar. Although he is England’s leading wicket-taker (with 8 (Hoggard has 6; Murali has 14)), if we are to be honest without ourselves, the Sri Lankan batsman are untroubled by the Luton spinner. Those wickets he did take were, in the main, tail-enders (I count 5/8).

Moreover, even though he has been generally economical (going for three an over) he has only bowled 16 maidens. By my calculations, he bowls a maiden every 6.8 overs (Murali takes 3.4 to do likewise; Hoggard takes 4). In conditions where you seriously consider deploying two spinners, this is not good enough.

We all love Monty; he’s great. But there is much to criticise. His batting and fielding are just about passable.

But these weaknesses reveal a wonderful quality in Monty: his ability to improve his game. When he first entered our consciousness, his batting was appalling and his fielding derisible. But now, after working incredibly hard, he is now able to support an upper-order batsman in a handy late partnership and even effect match-changing run-outs.

But now Monty needs to slow down, and perhaps think a little more deeply about his game. Undoubtedly, he has an admirable work ethic, but his bowling doesn’t lack effort, he just needs to put some more thought into his deliveries.

He has always emphasised the importance of getting the ball “in the right areas”. He is very good at achieving this objective– just look at this. But, at this level, accuracy is not enough; you need to outfox your opponent. Vary your pace, change the loop, alter the spin or Warne the hell out of the batsman.

He is doing these things, obviously, but it is lacking direction and predatory intent. Rather, there is something mechanical about his approach. He has heaps of talent, but, if we look at lesser bowlers, like Stuart Clark, we notice that talent is not everything.

Monty needs to integrate these other, more crafty sides of bowling into his arsenal. Once he does (and he will ECB, you hear? Leave him alone) he’ll be better than free pens.

Thanks to all contributors to yesterday's party. Sometimes, I wonder if it is the links to other blogs are the best thing about Ayalac.

The Ayalac Festival of Spin

Spontaneously, and quite unexpectantly, the cricket blog community has collectively noticed my anniversary and celebrated my greatness with some lovely posts on spin bowling. Thanks chaps.

We're a year old today (ish) so bring on the cake!
First off, King Cricket has written an interesting narrative on his internal struggle to cope with Shane Warne’s greatness.

Jrod, recognising that I had no friends, kindly filled the void by writing no less than four pieces on spin.

• Why the pain of living under Shane Warne’s shadow can be a mixed blessing. No. That’s not true. It’s just rubbish.
• Why some Kenyan I have never heard of is brilliant. A 3-7 against Australia is pretty good, I suppose.
• Why leg spinners are from another planet. “Bishen Bedi probably has his own solar system.”
• Why leg spinners are cool. As if the answer isn’t obvious.

Cricket with Balls is truly a great little blog. More perverts should write about cricket.

Marty, of Cricket=Action=Art, one of the most original and attractive cricket blogs, has contributed three wonderful pictures. One old, another less old and one of a fearsome action of yore. Great stuff.

Samir Chopra, from Eye on Cricket, reveals all in his interview with the great Murali.

Patrick Kidd tells us about his encounter with the mighty Neil Edwards (not, not the Somerset champion; apparently, this one's an accountant).

If anyone has anything they'd like to add, please give me a bell.

Facing spin bowling is a nightmare. It’s much harder to face than facing fast bowling. You have a simple plan when up against a quick: don’t make eye contact and try not to whimper as the bowler approaches the crease. When the ball is delivered, leap backwards and towards leg-side, leaving your bat free to flail widely at the ball. This may allow you to deflect it over the slips, but, if you’re lucky, you’ll nick it to the keeper, enabling you to scuttle to the safety of the pavilion.

Spin bowling, on the other hand, is impossible. Running away is not an option. You simply have to stand there, and helplessly watch the ball spin into your stumps.

Spin bowlers are great. Spin bowling is great. Hurrah for all things rotational!

Update: David from Harrow Drive (yes, the one with the cheesy grin) has offered up a brilliant article on how to bowl like Ray Illingworth. It's full of tips that are actually usual. In that regard, this blog is unique.

Marty from the wonderful cricket=lust=pornography has created another cryptic spinning image. Who could it be?

Do umpires make England rubbish?

No. We do the hard work ourselves.

The recent flurry of dodgy umpiring decisions has galvanised the technophiles, and they are once again calling for increased use of the Third Umpire in adjudicating appeals.

Alastair Cook fell to a shocker, and Kevin Pietersen may feel rightfully upset. This, coupled with the freak dismissal of Michael Vaughan and the loss of Ravi Bopara, who should never been out there, leaves England feeling persecuted and hard-done-by.

The England captain has said in an interview,

“Those bastards! I’ll kill them! Why do we get the dodgy decisions, why do we get attacked by killer bees? Why us? It’s not fair! IT’S NOT FAIR!”

However, despite this, King Cricket thinks that these decisions didn’t affect the match. And that corresponds with my general mistrust of technology.

Here, I’m lazy tonight; let’s quote an old post of mine:

“Not only will [the increased use of technology] act to further undermine the field umpires confidence and authority on the pitch, but it also has the potential to reduce the quality of umpiring in the long-term. If the umpires give a decision based on their immediate thoughts, knowing that poor judgement can be corrected, we might develop a culture of dependence.”

Weirdly, I haven’t changed my views since then. Actually, the more I read of that blog, the more I agree with it. That bloke talks a lot of sense. Technology is pants.

I think this is because I hate all things technological. My copy of Word at work is completely buggered, and IT refuses to do anything about it. So I’ll be damned if I’d help the IT sector in any way by advocating its continual interference into the noble game.

That’s cricket, by the way.

Anyway, make sure you have a look at the blog tomorrow… I have some special treats for you tomorrow…oooooh….

England: psychologically ill-equipped for success

England, feeling pity for their toiling Ceylonese chums, and remorse for doing so well in their recent test match at the Singhalese Cricket Club, decided to give away whatever advantage they gained.

By contrast, Sourav Ganguly, an Indian, when he’s on top he rams home the advantage by relentlessly battering his way to a double hundred. England, on the other hand, are happy to simper out into the sunset.

In an interview, England captain Michael Vaughan said,

“Well, it’s like this: we rolled up to Colombo in a satisfactory “under-dog” position, ready for a plucky, British come-back, and upon enacting that spirited recovery, we rather, well, you know, we felt sorry for winning and held a vote and decided to sort of let Sri Lanka win.”

There was some gestures toward out-cry by the press, but Vaughan was only saying what every Englishman thinks. We don’t like winning. Victory on the field is like beating your dad at chess, you want to do it, you yearn to do it, but when you do, you are overcome with a strange guilt. Perhaps it’s best just to lose, we think. Avoid all that unseemly smugness.

This, I deeply suspect, is a pervasive and sub-conscious presence that guides all Englishmen’s actions. We have the loser gene. Look at football, Eurovision, primary school results, etc.

There are some players that have had intensive shovel-around-the-head therapy, enabling them to turn off this gene – take Ian Botham. Others have evaded it through foreignness – take Kevin Pietersen. The rest of us, however, irresistibly follow instinct. Trying to fight it is foolish. You’ll just go all Matt Priory, and no one wants that.

Not even Matt Prior's mum.

No, it’s best just to accept failure. This is why English beer is the best in the world – we have so many opportunities to drown our sorrows.

By the way, the answer to the last blog’s question was, inevitably, overpoweringly, crushingly, “no”.

Will a deranged Tremlett crawl back into the side?

Before the match in Kandy, I was a little worried that picking three swing bowlers may not be the best plan. I wanted Stuart Broad to “add something different”. The extra ingredient may have been chump sandwiches for the Lankan batsmen for all we know, but I’ll be smug nonetheless.

Seeing as Matthew Hoggard has broken his aging body, a replacement has become necessary. Normally, I would happily have picked the youngster.

However, with the benefit of some time and thought, I have come to wonder a little about Broad. Perhaps Sri Lanka is not ideal debut territory (Paul Collingwood didn’t flourish here when he started). Plus, Broad has looked OK but not terrifying.

So, if not Broad, then who? Well, there is, of course, an immediately available option. But that is too terrible to contemplate further.

This pretty much leaves one international class bowler standing: Chris Tremlett. Not only is that Hampshire quick a handsome fellow, but he’s also handy with the bat.

But the “thing” about Tremlett is that he’s a good bowler. Off a short run up, he hits the deck hard and generates bounce. He is difficult to play.

I was very impressed with his performance against the Indians, although he did look patchy in patches, but nonetheless, I felt annoyed when I heard that Durham geezer got in the squad ahead of Tremlett’s proven talent.

On the hard pitches and oppressive atmosphere in the matches to come I think that Ryan Hairybottom and James Anderson will break down. My man Tremlett won’t, though. He’ll get a few five-fors, I wager.

I have no evidence for this. It’s just a casual wager, you see.

The future is Red

Let us find new heros. The country of my birth, England, isproving to be more rubbish than Darth Vader could possibly have imagined, so I looking about for some alternatives.

(JRod suggested that neither New Zealand or Sri Lanka were good enough for test cricket and should merge. Given recent developments, perhaps England are in the same boat – they should merge with Bangladesh maybe?)

So who to support? Obviously all the test playing nations are taken. I would support Sluggo, but I have too much love to give for just one man. I would pick a Pimmy, but they're worse than England. I need a team with a future; a team with a plan; a team that intends to take over the world.

That team is China.

In 2005 the Chinese Ministry of Sport decided that it would be a major force in world cricket by 2020 in qualifying as a test nation. Apparently, there are 115 teams in China, giving, roughly, 1725 players a game. In 2004 there were none. At this rate of development they will have 22 thousand players by 2020. That is more than the population of Twickenham. Frightening, isn’t it?

With their almost cruel training regimes and crushing political pressure, they are sure to perform at an international level. I would even fancy their chances against Australia. Although, I am a little worried about coping with their names. That might be awkward.

Perhaps not, though, we have handled Ko Ling Wud and Mon Tee Pan Sar without difficultly.

70 Chinese having taken a course in cricket coaching. It has taken on, it seems, to quote one Zhang Yufei, 15, from Beijing Zhichunli High School,

“I’m crazy about cricket. I train three times a week at school. My greatest wish is to play against foreign teams and defeat them.”

Which, funnily enough, the aim of many other Chinese institutions.

Once the Red Army comes steaming across the English Channel, I think I'm pretty safe. "Look at my blog," I'll say, "I'm nice to Chinamen there. Look at its name." And they shall say, "ah so" and I'll get a cushy position as Commissar for Cricket.

My first act will be to execute the readers of my blog. They're a lazy, unproductive bunch. I'll say "they lack ideological integrity, comrades". Then I'll be laughing. HA HA HA.

England waylaid by bees

First the dogs attacked. Then the snakes. Now England are swarmed by killer bees.

Good.

Pakistan DON'T earn moral victory, but do pretty well anyway, I suppose. It could have been worse

No. I don’t want to talk about England. I pretty much summed it all up yesterday and, as Tim pointed out, it has just got worse since then.

Today we’re going to look at India and Pakistan – sides that know how to play cricket. Their recent test match in Kolkata had everything. Huge scores, squash-buckling innings, defiant stands and a spin bowling taking the new ball – all that we want to see. Others didn't appreciate the subtler sides of this match - but, then again, I am a purist.

What I liked most about this match is that you had a winning and losing team throughout the course of the game, both trying to pursue divergent objectives. From day one, India were never going to lose, and Pakistan had to fight hard to earn a draw. This was the story of the whole match: one attempting a ruthless victory another belligerently standing their own.

Pakistan pulled together some unlikely partnerships (heck, even Kamran Akmal got some runs) and defied Indian pressure as a team. It is a wonder that the Pakistan line-up don’t do this every match and wipe the floor with everyone.

India played handsomely and were probably denied their victory by the uncooperative pitch. Anil Kumble captained like James Tiberius Kirk and showed his inferior colleagues the way forward. He even inspired the will-he-won’t-he Harbhajan Singh into a five-for in the first innings. Impressive.

There is nothing to question in Kumble’s timing of the declaration, and he was very magnanimous in scoffing at the idea of Pakistan’s moral victory in their brave rear-guard in the face of relentless attack:

"I don't believe in moral victories. It's really crazy; I don't know why people talk about moral victories. When you struggle to pick up five wickets in both innings, that's no moral victory to me. To me what matters is the result and I think overall we dominated the match over the five days."

Anil Kumble: he may be angry, but he’s still GOD. Watch out in the next test, he’ll be wrathful then.

England: is there no relief?

No. No there isn't. After clawing ourselves into a decent lead, England have thrown it all away by allowing Sanath Jayasuriya to catapult Sri Lanka into a defendable position. It is the same old depressing story for England fans. It is the dependable endurance of those following these well-meaning goons, we’re used to dealing with this now. We have coping strategies.

For a brief, reckless moment I thought that England could perhaps win this match. And then, before you could say “Oh fucking marvellous, it’s Christmas again” the tourists generously forwent any vestige of advantage.

In his last test match (unless the King of Ceylon calls recalls him from Columbo's Home For The Old and Passed It), Jayasriya has moved the Lankans from a first innings deficit to a second innings surplus. What a guy.

This is not the first time that Jayasuriya has battered my boyish hopes into oblivion. I remember in 1998, England totalled an unusually large score: 445. This was exciting to me; I was used to reading about massive scorecards in the sub-continent, but following the England team leaves you accustomed to undignified slumps.

But a score of over 400 gave the heart a flutter. Perhaps we could win? In strolled Jayasuriya, who promptly smote 213. Smashing England’s cream and dreams to all corners. We lost in that familiarly English fashion of pathetic.

Nonetheless, that match was very interesting. Notice Darren Gough’s 133-ball 15. Oh, and Muralitharan got some wickets, too.

Anyway, back to this century, with Matthew Hoggard looking injured and Monty Panesar lacking threat, England's attack has wilted in the sun. To this, Sri Lanka say "ha" adding "you're rubbish" before whacking us around the park. For an England fan, it is easy to confuse heat-stroke with déjà vu.

Who is better: Warne or Murali?

The answer, of course, is Matthew Hoggard. In blasting away four Sri Lankan batsman in their over-whelmed first innings attempt, Hoggy has proven his quality and me right. In the second innings, he has taken a wicket, despite losing the use of a leg and his right eye.

After a six months absence, you would have expected him to be a bit Harmisony, but not a bit of it.

The wonder of Hoggard’s consistent amazingness is inexplicable to me as my television’s constant demands that I press some mysterious red button.

Effortlessly blowing the opposition away like the smell of fresh summer roses being expunged by the clattering arrival of the refuse collectors is impressive in itself. But given the unfriendly conditions and limited swing, it provides mathematical proof that Hoggard is some sort of fluffy Yorkshire swing-bowling god.

I’m starting to doubt my Hoggard for Captain Campaign, as this will probably mean that he couldn’t be Prime Minister. Although, I don’t know. There is no law against holding both positions simultaneously; PMQ’s are held on Wednesday and test matches don’t start until Thursday. It sounds like a perfect job-share.

Sohail Tanvir sees the error of his ways

In a prudent mood, Pakistan’s Sohail Tanvir decided to defect from the dark side and become a spinner.

Usually, as an “alright” left-arm fast-medium pacer, he opens the bowling and concedes lots of runs. But as a spinner, he’s dynamite. (Unfortunately, he didn’t bowl Chinamen, otherwise I would have given birth on the spot.)

Briefing escaping ennui at work, I have analysed his bowling stats:

Bowling boring fast: 21-3-99-1
Bowling amazing spin: 3-0-19-0

If they are not incredible figures, I don’t know what are. Just look at his mighty success as a twirler. This is proof that all bowlers should specialise in spin immediately.

Sadly, for the cricket community, Sohail turned back to the dark side to take the new ball as a quick. Frankly, he got battered once when he attempted pace once again. A lesson to us all.

Prior makes bald claims

Some of you may remember that I don’t like Matt Prior. It’s not really, a bitter, obsessive loathing, more a generalised hatred. It’s akin to the feelings you have for the person who has just taken up that seat next to you on the train. Nothing personal; you just find their presence insufferable.

Here’s what he has to say for himself, in a recent BBC column:

“It's been two weeks now since we arrived in Sri Lanka and, so far, pretty much everything has been going according to plan.”

If England planned to lose their best bowler’s boots and the use of his spine; if they planned for James Anderson receiving an injury; if they planned to have no idea who was going to fill the number six spot; if they planned to get humiliated in the first warm-up game then everything has gone splendidly.

He then proffers the usual cricketers’ line of “playing too much” and being over-worked. Then he goes on to say that he is addicted to a non-cricket related computer game. (For shame!) But re-assures us that “[t]he work ethic of this squad is second to none.”

Second to perhaps more devoted people? Perhaps to me, even, who have never been addicted to a computer game involving football.

It’s at this point that my hatred moves from the generalised, to the specific: when the over-adjacent passenger pulls out her mobile telephone and relates to the carriage the romantic failings of her “over half”, Darren.

I imagine we all expect Prior to disappoint on some level. But we’re used to a shambles in the number seven department. And no matter how strongly you argue that there is an obvious replacement in the form of [insert name of mediocre county trudger here] you know that we’re just going to have to put up with nonsense for some years to come.

It’s like the Northern Line all over again.

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.

Angry Cook prepares meal of rage

It is important to keep a healthy level of bubbling hatred within you topped up at all times to maintain a balanced lifestyle. I get mine from walking home over Tower Bridge every evening, and thinking evil thoughts about the tourists who inexplicably stop in my path.

Yes - it’s the London skyline. Brilliant. If you don’t take a picture of it now, it might disappear.

This is the kind of internal bitter ranting that keeps me breathing. And now Alastair Cook, proving his divinity beyond mortal doubt, is starting to adopt these principles.

In a recent interview, he said that he wanted to be “more aggressive”. That’s the stuff, Alastair, being an angry, red-faced, fight-starter is the only way to succeed in life. This is what got me to where I am today.

"Obviously we don't know what these wickets will be like, but we saw how aggressively [Australia] played, and we know that you've got to be positive and look to score. On those wickets you could probably hit through the ball more, but if you just look to survive there will be a ball that gets you out."

Reading between the standard sportsman’s spiel lines, this essentially means: RRRRAARRR! I’M GUNNA POUND ME SOME MURALI! I think he ripped off his shirt at this point.

You may have thought that Cook was a mild-mannered Essex muppet, not any more! He’s going to attack without mercy.

Although, I found this a little surprising, given his interviews some time ago saying that, because of his conversations with veteran Sri Lankan tourists, he’s going to play more conservatively. Preserving his wicket and scoring slowly was the name of game in Sri Lanka. Perhaps I misheard him?

It is almost as though the England team is desperately swinging from one extreme to the next on some forlorn mission for “a plan”. But, what do I know? I push American photographers into the Thames; the ECB have the tour all sorted. It’ll be fine.

Anderson or Broad?

After the weekend’s embarrassing antics, I felt that some worthy and boring pieces about selection policy should redress the balance. So bear with me whilst I indulgence my ego.

Mercifully, the England management broke into Steve Harmison’s room at night, and attacked his spine with hammers. This injury should keep him well clear from temptation and ensure that we should have proper bowlers in the set-up. For a while, at least.

The remaining places should go to Matthew Hoggard (who’s great), Ryan Hairybottom (who has Done Enough) and Monty Panesar (who is like whelks to the gulls). There is one more spot, but two bowlers: James Anderson and Stuart Broad.

Who should take it?

This is an awkward one, because, unlike the Shah/Bopara debate it’s not a simple matter of old vs. young. They are both young players, and we should hope that they’ll both be in the side when the two old swing bowlers retire to the big swingers’ party in the sky.

So, as bowlers, what do they offer? So far this season, Anderson has taken 14 wickets in three matches (averaging just under five wickets a match), although in 2006/07 he was less impressive: averaging nearly ninety runs per wicket. Plus, he’s yet to take a wicket during this tour.

Broad, on the other hand, extracted wickets and some bounce from the slow Lankan pitches. Although, the difference isn’t great; both offer a similar package. At test level, it seems sensible to assume that Anderson is the incumbent and, as he has not performed terribly, should retain his place in the interests of stability and fair-treatment.

The issue may be decided, however, not by bowling, but by this “three dimensional cricketer” nonsense. As you can see from the picture, but Anderson is not a natural batsman.

If Anderson was picked, Hairybottom would have to come in at eight – leaving a very long and vulnerable tail. If you are picking Owais Shah at six, as a specialist batsman, and Matt Prior as batsman-wicket keeper at seven, you might consider this ample protection for a weak tail.

I’m not convinced by this line.

This may be negative, but in Sri Lanka you must look to extract the maximum from your squad. Furthermore, given that neither bowler offers an obvious edge over the other, then it is reasonable to bring in this additional factor, and consequently, we must side with Broad.

Pick Broad I say.

Shah or Bopara?

According to Peter Moores, the England coach, there is one batting space available in their up-and-coming Test series against Sri Lanka. There are two candidates for the spot: Owais Shah and Ravi Bopara.

As always with this sort of decision, it is not easy. Shah is an established international batsman, and has a strong track record against Sri Lankans in Sri Lanka. Bopara is packed with talent, and famously took England to the brink of victory against them during the World Cup.

Bopara is certainly one to watch. Scoring heavily when so young augers for a successful international future. Also, he has an old head and a proven performer in pressure situations. He also can wobble up with some “handy” medium pacers.

Shah seems to be on form. Having scored a handsome century in the home ODI series against India, and single-handedly saved one one-day match in the recent games in Sri Lanka. His test record is harder to read. He started with a bang, scoring 88 in his first match, and then falling to pieces in his return this summer.

Also, unlike Bopara, he doesn’t have time on his side – at 28 he’s no spring chicken. Whereas Bopara is young, full of potential and certain to have a long England career ahead of him. But, I do not feel that age is a good indicator for selection.

Look at Australia: they have been picking geezers for years and have consistently been wiping the floor with the world. Perhaps English selection policy should re-adjust to reflect the fact that cricketers take a little longer to mature, and most batsman peak during their early thirties. As such, Shah’s best years are still ahead of him, and we’re about to get the best out of him now.

So, on balance, I would back Shah. He is a stylish batsman and an excellent player of spin. Bopara’s record, although superb, is not quite so accomplished as Shah’s and, to be honest, in terms of a test future, it is now or never for Shah.

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.

Inzy cocks up

WOW! I can do videos! OK. Lets do another!

Here is poor Inzy losing his wicket. I thought this was hilarious when I first saw it.




But now I see it again. It is strangely sad. It’s like the loss of your favourite teddy bear’s dignity. I want to cuddle him when I see him rub his tummy. Oh Inzy. Let me protect you from the cruel world! Come and live on my window sill

Misbah cocks up

Spectacularly, I first heard of this hilarious incident from the kindly commenters from the previous post. So cheers you lot. You get a Special Ayalac nob, I mean nod. I mean thumbs up.

We’re trying an experiment today. POSTING A VIDEO. I’m not really sure how to do it. So it might take me all evening, but, damnit, I don’t have work tomorrow or a girlfriend, so I can fiddle with implements as much as I want – all night long if necessary.

HERE. WE. GO!



Wow. Wasn’t that amazing. It was definitely worth the five hours of fiddling. Especially for the “India must be jumping for joy pun”. Pure Gold.

Pakistan hang on

The one thing I like better than a gritty forward defensive played to a rank half-volley is seeing a team play for draw on day one. Like watching Michael Atherton hang on against Allen Donald, I enjoy seeing batsman sweat it out and fight for priceless runs.

This is what Misbah-ul-Haq, ably supported by Mohammad Sami, is doing in his excellent rear-guard against India. With his 71 off 204 balls, Misbuh showed immense mental strength and stature in moving Pakistan from certain disaster to probable defeat. And, to be honest, losing like an Englishman, is all I expect from an international cricketer.

The Indian dominance is due to one factor: the simply out-standing captaincy of Anil Kumble. Understanding the innate genius of spin bowlers, he quickly brought himself on as first-change bowler. After 15 overs of Pakistani ascendancy, and powerfully positioned on 45/2 it was clear that something needed to be done.

Sure enough, after four overs, the man delivered. Overall he returned figures of 3-38 off his 20 overs. Excellent work Anil.

He also brought the best out of the usually hopeless Munaf Patel. This is the sort of radical turn-around that only a bowler-captain can achieve. Whereas under Rahul Dravid he was told to “take some bloody wickets and stop bowling wides, what’s the matter with you?” Whereas Kumble simply gave him the ball, a steely nod and told “I want to get back in for some tea. Take a wicket you muppet.” And so he did.

Anyway, Anil Kumble is great, even if Ramiz Raja thought he was “prosaic”.

Don’t get Hairy on me

I wish that headline made sense. I really do.

Anyway, Darrell Hair has come out to defend his bonkerness. Not only did he single-handedly ruin a test match, but when the ICC questioned his seriously questionable judgement, he decided to sue them. He lost that.

He also called Murali a chucker. He has frequently been nasty to sub-continental sides. To the point that sub-continental types began calling him racist. Although, every is racist these days. Even Nelson Mandela. Wait, especially Nelson Mandela.

Anyway, Hair is hated by all. And he’s fat.

To amend this ogre’s image, he has said in a recent interview,

"It's easy to say, look, if I'd known how to deal with that sort of issue, the communication and management issues then, if I knew then what I know now I may have done things differently.

But I don't believe so because there's a certain limit to what the umpire needs to do under those circumstances and I believe that both the umpires fulfilled those obligations both with the ball tampering and the refusal to play.”

He did come to a deal with the ICC to go to “man management” courses, and it is clear that he’s still open to learn and took on board a lot of things from attending.

Hilariously, he went on to contend:

"A lot of people have said to me you must be really annoyed with cricket and the fact is I'm not annoyed with cricket. It's just a couple of people made a strange decision to remove me from umpiring."

By “a lot of people” he, of course, means David Forester, his Basset Hound and his demented octogenarian neighbour Phyllis.

Darrell Hair is mad.

England waylaid by cobras

England continue to be attacked by the wild-life of Sri Lanka. In their last tour, which, I understand, was about five minutes ago, I reported that England were badgered by gangs of feral dogs and hounded by killer pythons.

England’s return has heralded the re-emergence of Sri Lanka’s secret weapon: terrify the crap out of the touring opposition with beasties.

This is a tactic that Australia have successfully employed for many years. Most people erroneously believe that the Ausslers win at home because they are “better” or have wider bats. This is untrue.

Preceding every game, the touring party is harassed by a specialised animal team, which places scorpions into slippers, black widows in coffee and rare Australian Death Eels down the pyjama bottoms of sleeping tourists.

This campaign of using Australia’s weirdly dangerous fauna effectively destroys the nerves of the overseas squad and ensures test victories every time.

The ECB attempted this strategy in 1997, but the tourists got all excited at the “really cute” invading squirrels in the hotel rooms and increased the frequency of barbeques. It was later argued that this gave unnatural strength to touring squad and the mistake was never repeated.

Anyway, TMS, as ever keen to distract themselves from the cricket, took great pains to report in detail the “snake incident”. Apparently, there was a split within the party; Graeme Swann was convinced they were anacondas, whereas Matthew Hoggard was certain that they were just heavy drinking worms.

Here’s a TMS picture so you can judge for yourself:
Personally, I think it's a Plasticus Bottalias, which can be dangerous if you stand on them.

100 6s

In collating 67 effortless runs in Australia’s current test against Sri Babwe, Adam Gilchrist broke a record. He has he more sixes in test cricket than anyone else. Ever.

In fact, he has scored one hundred. Daniel Vettori has received the most biffing, having 17 sixes biffed off him.

Striking one hundred sixes is amazing. Reflect on the one four scored in Geoffrey Boycott’s entire career, in all forms of the game.

In those one hundred balls, Gilchrist has whacked 600 runs. That’s a run rate of 600. I don’t think I have scored that many funs whilst buggering about in the garden over the course of my entire childhood.

To add some context to this incredible achievement, he’s playing against one of the bestest sides in the world, with arguably the best bowler of all time.

The Lankans are struggling to make a come-back in the series (read: England-like desperate clawing for a draw). Kumar Chokshanada Sangakkara hit a valiant century in a brave rear-guard. But we all know that they are doomed.

Doomed.

Bloody Australians. I wish they would get a biffing.

Yawn: Australia are winning

This is like watching your dad playing rugby against your three year old brother. You hope that he’ll eventually stop pounding your sibling into the ground. But he won’t. He just keeps pounding and pounding. Eventually little Jimmy stops moving, and then you have to talk to the police for a bit.

Sri Lanka is just like little Jimmy. Except, there is no coroner’s inquiry or judicial cover-up; Sri Lanka’s defeated corpse is getting relentlessly battered and not even Social Services will intervene.

Again, the Australians eased into hegemony. With two Ausslers notching centuries. One, Mr Boring, scoring 101* overnight – taking his average to 432 for this year. The other, Phil Jacques, not satisfied with a perfect 100 in the previous match, opted for an exact 150. Presumably, Jacques is a mathematician, and likes to score in binary numbers only. Heck, if you’re an Australian, you can do that.

You can do anything you want.

Meanwhile, the impudent Sri Lankans, toil like lobotomised Lions that are too stupified with sun-stroke to grab even a blind quadriplegic goat. Even Lasith Malinga, the supposed savour of the Lankan cause – so badly missed in Brisbane – looked a member of Twickenham’s second eleven.

This is really rubbish. Australia is really rubbish. Please stop battering us Australians. You can’t really enjoy it. Look at the picture, even Mr Chimney finds this dull. Think of your forbearers. You don’t want to make their record like insignificant, do you? Think of you heritage…such as it is.

Ninety's plenty

I love watching India play Pakistan. It isn’t as fun as seal clubbing, but still a good laugh nonetheless.

India polished off Pakistan by six wickets, to take the series by 17-12. Two players nearly got centuries, but couldn’t be arsed with those last few runs. Predictably, Yuvraj Singh scored a fifty.

It was a strange old knock by Pakistan, which seemed to be always behind par and building “recovering partnerships”. India, conversely, seemed comfortably ahead of the rate, and built lots of “this is a piece of easy cricket” partnerships.

It’s nice to see someone other than Yuvraj score the runs for India. Sachin Tendulkar played imperiously and didn’t appear to be “winging it” as was his impression in England. Maybe he’s going to stick around for another few years to beat Murali’s record. But, it really shows you have scary the Indian ODI line-up has become.

Being English, I backed Pakistan as the underdogs, and when the third Indian wicket fell I thought “oh good, perhaps we’re in for a chance”. And then Yuvraj strolled in like a batting bastard from hell. It was all over within a twinkling of paedophile’s newly polished glass eye.

I wish the underdogs were less rubbish. But they always are. Just look at New Zealand.

It’s a good job that this serious is so reasonably short, otherwise the remaining matches would just be a meaningless bore.

Harmison: how quickly we forget

Now that Steve Harmison is away from test cricket, safe in South Africa to be molly-coddled and loved, he seems to be doing alright. He is playing for the Cape Cobras which is some sort of reptilian cricket team, or something.

Hillariously, he said he suffered from rustiness when he opened up with a series of wides and no-balls. Upon witnessing this, most Harmison watchers were pleased to see him back to normal.

Let’s be honest. Steve Harmison is a bit rubbish. Ok – he’s tall. Ok – he’s quick. But, if we were to be frank with ourselves and our mums, he is rubbish. But this glaringly obvious fact aside, Peter Moores, the England coach, has backed him, brushing blatant failure under the carpet:

"He had a tough last season. He struggled for form early on, then started to find some form, then got injured and missed the rest of the season, which was obviously disappointing for him.”

By "tough" Moores means "useless"; "got injured" means "increased in uselessness".

Ages ago, I accused him of being a Harmsprakash – some sort of hyper-talented beast that falls to pieces at international level. I stick by that. Especially when we have committed and performing bowlers like Ryan Hairybottom and Champion of the Nation, the People’s Captain, MATTHEW HOGGARD, it becomes harder to justify the self-obssessed Geordie’s spot in the side.

Let Harmison play for his snake team and let him slither out of international responsibility with Warne-like dignity.

In other news, the ECB has stopped responding to my emails regarding Matthew Hoggard. Their last one mentioned something about “harassment” and “lawyers”, but I think they must have been typos. They probably meant “Hoggy” and “is ace”.

Cricket: it’s not for girls

Well, apparently, I would be wrong. The MCC, not content in letting in female members, it now allows them to make non-tea-related decisions. The girls, proving that they are not useless stereotypes, took this opportunity to turn cricket balls pink.

This may, or may not, be a crime. I’m not sure how exactly I feel about this one, but I have a vague desire to break into the offices of Heat magazine and transform the back-pages into a nag-hoping form guide for up-and-coming horse races.

Cricket in the UK has experimented with orange balls, blue ones and most recently white balls. None of them really worked. People don’t stop complaining about balls. Especially girls.

Even the traditional red one has come in for some stick. Hundreds of years of successful battering; now batsmen are moaning that they can’t see them. Frankly, I see this as a bonus. It would be a great game if the batsman couldn’t actually see the ball (maybe we could paint it green or overcast grey). Seeing batsman getting hit is a major attraction for spectators.

But I suppose bowlers have it all their own way anyway. It’s only fair.

Mike Gatting, who is expert on talking balls (although, not as much as this bloke), has stated,

“This is a very interesting and a very wise development."

Being a cricket fan I naturally fear change. I oppose this move. Given that the number of runs scored in international matches is greater than ever, I can’t really see a need.

Other than another pointless marketing gimmick than brings in so much…stuff. Yeah, the ECB, great at brining in the stuff.

Cricket averages: a rebuttal

Andrew Mosey has written a response into my own analysis into the validity of cricketing statistics. In an overview of Michael Atherton’s test career, I argued that his average of just under 40 didn’t adequately reflect his likely performance on the day.

I rather regretted this conclusion, as Athers was one of my all time favourites, and mused on the possibly devastating effects this method would have on an Australian invincible of old. Indeed, Andrew rose to the challenge and analysed the test career of Don Bradman.

Annoyingly, Sir Don didn’t look as useless as I hoped. His median score was 167. This is, unfortunately, still pretty good. Most interestingly, the standard deviation is 87, which we could argue seriously damages the validity of his research. Especially when we compare it to the former England captain’s standard deviation of 37.

However, there is a more mature criticism we can offer. When looking at Athers’ glorious years I was surprised at his success to failure ratio. Indeed, I found that three quarter’s of his innings resulted in what we would term “a failure”.

Similarly, Andrew found:

“Looking at the number of 50+ scores achieved by the Don, you'll find this occurred in 42 of his 80 innings; an incredible 52.5% of times he walked out to bat he was soon raising it to the crowd.”

OK – this record is better than our Michael's. Obviously, Atherton was a superior to Bradman in many ways, and these petty statistics only detract from that fact.

However, what they do show up is the astonishingly high number of batting failures. If, say, I cocked up five times out of ten at work (you know, I spilled the tea whilst on my way to brown-nose my boss) my office test career would be of Zimbabwean proportions. And yet, this half-present batsman is considered the greatest player of all time.

If Pete Sampras lost half his matches we would assume he was English. If every other Shakespearean play was shit we would assume the Bard was American.

Yet these are the appalling standards that international cricketers expect us to accept. Why are their standards so shoddy? Why do we tolerate these failures without question?

Frankly, I have had enough of it. No more excuses you lot. Pull your socks up.

Spin bowlers: Their hour cometh

There aren’t too my successes in my life. There was that one time the cat sat down on my command. But no one else saw that. And I suspect he was just messing with my mind.

But, on this occasion, we can safely say without doubt that Anil Kumble’s elevation to captain of India is solely down to my tireless campaigning. Don’t worry, I don’t expect any thanks. The smile on your face is my reward, Anil.

Anyway, now that Daniel Vettori is captain of all of New New Safferdom, perhaps it is time that the world finally acknowledges the limitless genius of spin bowlers. It is surprising that the world didn’t realise this before, but a mixture of short-sightedness and stupidity had kept spinners away from their rightful spot: The Top.

Now, we can hope that all international sides appreciate the experience that their twirlers provide and appoint them captains.

There are so many obvious candidates for these positions. England has Monty, Bermuda has Sluggo and Sri Lanka has the enormously experienced Malinga Bandara.

The next stage of this take over would faze medium pacers out of the game. Next would follow the unnecessary and showy fast bowlers. Followed by the specialist batman and finally we would axe the wicket-keepers. Only then would cricket be played as it should be.

Should New Zealand exist?

I have given my advice to New Zealand’s Cricket Board, Embassy in London and Prime Minister. All of whom were too proud to take it. Now, their pigheadedness is reaping that which it sewed.

South Africa wiped New Zealand from the face of the planet, in a fashion that reminded the world of the Roman invasion of Dacia. In fact, an emergency session of the UN Security Council has been called to discuss a motion to rename New Zealand “New New Safferdom”.

To be honest, it was an embarrassing performance. With the Proteas doing as they promised, by obliterating the Black Cap’s batting line-up with an awesome display of aggressive bowling.

I used to like New Zealand. They are rather like Sri Lanka – small, plucky and occasionally good in a conspicuous un-Australian manner – that deserved a sort of absent minded, distant encouragement.

Then a Kiwi started commenting here. This required immediate New Zealand bashing. Eventually, he tired of arguing with me, and my relentless Kiwi-bating that he, and all his kin, never returned to this blog.

This means it’s safe to say I like them again. New Zealand, I like you. You deserve to exist. But please try to lose less. I get enough of that at home.

Oh, what's the point?

Putting in the opposition, rather like farting in the shower whilst not alone, is rarely advisable. This is the schoolboy error that Sri Lanka made in the first match in their series against Australia.

Australians being the predictable buggers that they are, set about crushing the Lankans for their naivety, with Phil “I’m not as shit as you hoped” Jacques scoring exactly 100 runs. Which, frankly, is just showing off.

Another error was dropping Lasith Malinga for some useless goon who reckons bowling with leather pants on constitutes good swinging. No, people of Sri Lanka, Malinga is great. He bowls really fast and gets wickets. This is a good reason to select him. Really.

God, it’s so depressing when Australia win. Sri Lanka are such a good side, they don’t deserve to be crushed like this. Oh Jesus, give me some mercy from this endless drudgery of bastardly hegemony! Just break one, tiny little leg somewhere please. Just one more rogue ball…

In other news, Muttiah Muralitharan bowled well. Which is great because Australians hate him. I know, that’s like hating Jimmy, your nephew’s adorable hamster, but that’s what they’re like over there. However, the Ausslers employed the tried and tested strategy of blocking the good bowler, whilst murdering the rest. Thankfully, they treat the weird-eyed wizard with respect these days.

In another hilarious development, all the people that take photographs of people playing cricket in Australia have been banned. Why this is, I have no idea, but it makes life difficult for us bloggers who rely on innocent internet theft for pictures to liven up an otherwise dreary entry. So I decided to go for this one. It almost looks genuine. It is, in fact, Graeme Hick celebrating his 16 at the Wanderers in 1995.

Yeah: Kumble for King

The man for the moment. The achiever. The doer. The manically-eyed spinner. The obsessive weirdo. Anil Kumble, hero to billions, has stepped forward to offer his services as Indian captain.

Surely, no one can better this king prawn amongst lower, peasant prawns. His record speaks for itself. Well, actually, it doesn’t. It just sits their placidly on cricinfo, but when you’re reading it in your head you think “blimey, all this and he’s an invertebrate?”

Not only that, but at 118 test appearances, his experience could prove decisive. It’s not just Mark Ramprakash turn up for a few decades here and there experience, it’s consistent “I’m going to win now, ok?” experience.

Not only that, he’s so cool.

"I would certainly do the job if asked to. I don't know what the big deal is, why so much is being made of this. I have said this before also."

I’ll tell you what the fuss is, Anil, you’re a god, and you have offered your services to the feeble underlings below you at their hour of greatest need. It’s like Jesus coming down to heaven and talking sense about which horse was going to win the 3:15 at York, instead of whining at you about being nice to ungrateful bastards all the time. It’s like daddy coming home from work bringing chocolates instead of violent beatings.

Some Ayalac research has discovered that I apparently predicted Kumble’s promotion in February – that shows you the true quality of this blog. To quote myself:

I think bowlers are better people than batsman, and they are routinely and unfairly over-looked in the captaincy. They need some support.

All this is still true, and more. Further investigation has uncovered a mad picture of him.

When I think about this further, I think that Anil Kumble is the best thing in the world. And maybe my sole reason for existence is to worship in His Greatness. Perhaps he was the only one who could have stopped twenty20?

I love you Anil Kumble.

Tendulkar: I’m just a temp

Weirdly reminiscent of the Ukes of Hazzard’s “Just a Temp” classic, Sachin Tendulkar has refused the imposition of further responsibility and said NO to the captaincy. Most people would say YES if they were offered the captaincy of their country. But, then again, most people aren’t Indians.

Niranjan Shah, the BCCI secretary, said in a statement.

"He [Tendulkar] was of the view that presently the Indian team was doing extremely well and the Board must think of appointing a younger person as the captain, looking at the future of the team."

Clearly, this is a weird thing to say, which obviously leads to the conclusion that Tendulkar is only in it for the free pens. A hero to cricket fanatics and work-shy temporary staff alike.

Now the BCCI has a bit of a problem. Rahul Dravid’s natural successor would be MS Dhoni, but most people that he needs another year’s test cricket before he can lead in the longer format. Once again, Indian cricket reels in chaos. Which, to be frank, is their standard way of managing things.

Throughout all this, there is an obvious solution, but concealed to all eyes. All but, of course, mine. Appoint Anil Kumble as captain.

“Wait! That’s crazy! You can’t appoint a bowler as captain. If you did that, the slip fielders would revolt.”

No, this wouldn’t happen you crazy, prejudice, ranting world. He’s the next most experienced player. He knows loads. He’s a spinner. And he’s been Official God here for ages. I have said before (sorry, can’t be bothered to link) that bowlers should be captains. But this time, I actually mean and I'm not just trying to pad out another blog.

Appoint Kumble. Really.

I would consider MS Dhoni, but, like Shane Watson, I think he has other unattractive features which are not suggestive of captaincy material.

Cricketers: hard as frostbite

In an article I’m gratefully stealing from the BBC, I note that a group of cricketers are planning to play cricket on Mount Everest. For those of you who don’t know, cricket is a game played with a bat and ball which takes forever.

This is a standard textbook definition of the game. However, every single cricketing guide neglects to point out one key feature: the presence of oxygen.

Kids, try this at home: attempt to play cricket in a low oxygen atmosphere. You’ll find that your lead bowler swiftly collapses to plead for a quick mercy. It’s next to impossible score many runs – even when you force your disabled aunty to act as a runner. It’s funny how the MCC missed something so rudimentary from their supposedly authoritative literature.

Anyway, three teams from the Professional Cricketers' Association will play six-a-side matches of five overs each. When you look at the picture of the flat terrain and the predictable weather conditions you wonder why no one thought of this before.

Andrew Baud, spokesman for the Professional Cricketers' Association said,

"They are taking 40 spare balls up there - I can imagine they will need them."

I doubt it. Your seam bowlers will expire in the first three strides. Your leggie’s fingers will snap in the cold. Forget slog-sweeps into cow’s crevice; imagine the effect on the digits when a ball rears off a length. Appendages will fall to the ground like dollies in the Indian field.

It is for this reason that I am praying to my absent god for video footage from the surviving stragglers. It’s always the fat blokes that last. Here’s hoping that Darren Lehman will do his bit for his country and malicious sadists everywhere.

The climb starts Monday.

Guest blog: Clinical Addiction

Another from my guest columnist. Remember, lawyers, I didn't write this:

It’s a funny thing although the general consensus is that’s its not good. Many careers have been ruined as a result: George Best, Keith Moon and dictators who general got too big for their boots and were taught a good lesson. Then there are those who seemed to have been made by their addition: Crack Doherty, Charlie Kennedy and Bill Clinton. So where does Freddie “I’m named after a Flintstone” fit into this?

Well ignoring turn up to training pissed off your head in the middle of an Ashes tour the first point of contact in answering this question is our beloved NHS. If you see a doctor, maybe you have fallen off a pedalo in the middle of a world cup, then the first thing they will do is run two tests two to assess you. The first is CAGE:

Alcohol dependence is likely if the patient gives 2 or more positive answers:

- Have you ever felt you should CUT down your drinking?
- Have people ANNOYED you by criticising your drinking?
- Have you ever felt bad or GUILTY about your drinking?
- Have you ever had a drink first think in the morning to steady your nerves or get rid of a hangover (EYE- opener)?

Taking into account I scored three and I also have the additional affliction of starting to sing Duran Duran songs when drunk, lets move on the more comprehensive assessment, MAST.

Alcohol dependence is likely if the patient has a total score of 6 or more:

- Do you feel you are a normal drinker? Yes No(2pts)
- Do relatives or friends think you are a normal drinker? Yes No(2pts)
- Have you ever attended a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous? Yes(5pts) No
- Have you ever lost friends because of drinking? Yes(2pts) No
- Have you ever got into trouble at work because of drink? Yes(2pts) No
- Have you ever neglected obligations, your family, or your work for 2 or more days in a row through drink? Yes(2pts) No
- Have you ever had delirium tremens (DTs), severe shaking, heard voices, or seen things that were not there after heavy drinking? Yes (5pts) No
- Have you ever gone to anyone for help about your drinking? Yes(5pts) No
- Have you ever been in hospital because of your drinking? Yes(5pts) No
- Have you ever been arrested for drunken driving? Yes(2pts) No

Now thankfully I only score 7 on this scale and that’s because I got a whopping 5 pointer which is defiantly in the past. So where does Fred stand….

- Do you feel you are a normal drinker? Yes
- Do relatives or friends think you are a normal drinker? Yes (he is northern)
- Have you ever attended a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous? No comment for legal reasons
- Have you ever lost friends because of drinking? Yes (Duncan)
- Have you ever got into trouble at work because of drink? Yes
- Have you ever neglected obligations, your family, or your work for 2 or more days in a row through drink? Yes
- Have you ever had delirium tremens (DTs), severe shaking, heard voices, or seen things that were not there after heavy drinking? No
- Have you ever gone to anyone for help about your drinking? No
- Have you ever been in hospital because of your drinking? No
- Have you ever been arrested for drunken driving? No

So it can be pretty well assumed that Fred scores at least 6 which makes him an alcoholic although less than me; lightweight. Obviously this test is a load of bollacks and Andrew does have a serious problem. Personally the fact that this is news is like saying that it has recently been discovered that David Cameron is in fact a man of principle. For goodness sacks his nick name is Fred Flintstone.

So where does this leave Andrew? Obviously in need for some personal reflection and help. Have ever much the nation hates Duncan he does have a point that turning up to practice pissed off your head is not on. By writing what he did was best for him (money money money) but also best for English cricket and Andrew. Alcoholism is a terrible disease and hopefully Andrew can get back to what he does best, being happy and playing fantastic cricket.

New Australians: They’re coming to get us

Those relentlessly competent Antipodeans have produced the next generation of names that you will smite in those violent dreams you have about blowing people up with guns and stuff.

This is their squad against the Sri Lankans:

Ricky Ponting (captain), Adam Gilchrist, Stuart Clark, Michael Clarke, Matthew Hayden, Brad Hogg, Michael Hussey, Phil Jaques, Mitchell Johnson, Brett Lee, Stuart MacGill, Andrew Symonds, Shaun Tait.

New faces worth noting are Phil Jacques, who’s like Don Bradman, only more reliable; Vlad Hogg, who is, as far as I can tell, useless; Shaun Tait, who might be good; Stuart MacGill, who is not Shane Warne.

Interesting, Australians exciting young generation of players are probably older than the current lot. The baggy brains have been picking old blokes for a while now. We all laughed at Stuart Clark and Michael Hussey and the rest of them. “Ha ha ha” we said, “you’re old.”

But we forgot the times when our dad would beat us again and again at everything. He was old. He was ancient. He was unbeatable.

This is Australia's tactic. Pretend to be the opposition’s dad, and the younger side is cowed into deference and defeat.

There is one way of beating your dad though. That is by moving him into the proximity of a young female. He’ll immediately make a prat of himself and thereby fall to pieces. Therefore, we need to pack our sides with attractive young women.

Seeing as this against the rules, we need to encourage our boys to grow long golden locks and large pink breasts. That’ll distract the Ausslers and ensure trans-sexual dominance in international cricket for years to come. Boys with breast: it’s the only way to beat the Australians.

Literature and cricket

Cricking, much like farting in a swimming pool, is all about timing.

As with writing a book. You have to wait a sufficient time before unleashing a self-indulgent attack on the universe.

After some recent dodgy comments, the rugby union community is considering a “cooling off period”, which would ban media statements by players until a certain time after an event. It may be worth thinking about for the cricket world, but one wonders whether any period of time would be enough to prevent Duncan Fletcher making a fool of himself.

The problem, here, as far as I can see, is that cricketers lack creativity. Sure, there are loads of dubious books out there with titles like “Playing a straight bat”, “Time to Declare” and Phil Tufnell’s new book “Bowling into the Rough”. But lets face, these are like chess books. You feel you should read them, but you never will. In fact, they’re nothing like chess books. No one should read those bastards.

These titles are all self-obsessing autobiographies, or stating-the-obvious books on cricket tactics. They never try their hand at poetry. Which may explain why cricketers seems to hate each other.

The point is this: cricketers should use literature to defuse their repressed selves. Fletcher should have turned his experiences into a spy novel or something. Look, it’s easy, I’ll do it:

James Fletcher stalked through the corridors of the enemy’s lair with a careful, but deliberate tread. Who would have guess, Fletcher thought to himself, that the baddies would base their HQ here at Fleet Street. Suddenly, but not entirely unexpectantly, Fletcher heard the tedious grating of a Yorkshire accent, and was seized by the need to hunt down the source of this racket and beat to death its producer.

Thereupon, a behatted bloke in a ridiculous suit appeared, and continued with its Northern moan,
“Oh no. You’re bloody useless you”
“Ha. Cotboyc. We meet again.”
“Ei. Not that it’s much good.”
“It’s time for you to retire hurt.” Fletcher raised his trusty PP-class Grey Nichols aloft and dispatched his interlocutor with a well-timed hook shot. Before the head had chance to hit the ground, it had time to emit one last whine, “Oh no, lad, you’re technique’s all wrong.”
“You’ve dropped your last dolly.”

The path was now clear for Fletcher to penetrate into the heart of Fleet Street, and finish off the head honcho. He burst through the doors of the Media’s most powerful mogul. The most feared, mighty and ancient of commentators. Fletcher, whilst trying to catch his wheezing breath, confronted his old enemy,
“So, Blofeld we…”
“Fuck off.”
“Er well, actually I…”
“Fuck off.”
“Right you are then.”