A review of 2008

Right. As my friends illegally break into the random abandoned house marked for demolition in order to have a “cool” venue for New Yearly celebrations, I shall mark the coming of a new period of depressing pish by assessing last year’s disheartening memories.

This task would be aided if I could remember beyond last night, but I shall do my best. In fact, I think my earliest memory is breaking that nice glass in a bar last week.

January started with the usual numbing miseries. The two mega-sides of international cricket, Australia and India, were deciding that there was, actually, only one mega-side. We also worked out that not only Australian players are complete twats.

January also saw a brief feature where I related the performances of certain test teams to the dead animals that I found on the street. As well as the start of the viddy-blog.

In February, things become a little lewd,if philosophical.

March saw the coming of the Great Bum. And the dawning of Age of China.

April, AYALAC got close with Wisden, and even expressed some opinions on its totally sane list of Top Five Cricketers. Let us not forget that some cricket happened too, the incredibly exciting IPL started in April.

In May, the IPL reached new levels of joy known only to a select few of herion wombles. AYALAC also celebrated the great romances playing behind the blog scenes. I was surprisingly accurate with some. My mum also did some reporting for me in Antigua.

June saw the arrival of Alan Twatford, and AYALAC always backed this iniative and felt a bit annoyed that it didn't bleat about it endlessly thus missing out on some serious "I told you sos" come the actual tournament. The summer mouth also witnessed an experimental combination of cricket and horror. And, to my personal horror, I was actually spotted by a fan, on the street...

England continued in their usual style in July. But, I tried not to pay attention, as I was in India, at the time. Plus, much to the delight of all, Robocop started to play for England.

August saw more Wisden action. August had it all, trains, cricket reporting and firings.

The second coming came again in September, as Captain Fantastic showed the way with his magic man milk.

Things got a little creative, too - perhaps a bit too much? And AYALAC was sent to Berlin.

More complaing about Ausies in October. I found out how to enjoy the Twatford League.

November saw some bitterness towards the media, and hilarity and critical changes in the rules of the game.

December, brought lots of chocolates and Gluhwein, as well as more irritation at cricket journalists. The journalists responded by cutting off my access to cricket.

Right, so that's my year. I'm going to head off now. Hopefully, the Germans won't kill me tonight. Judging by the noise out there, I think they're using more gunpower than the Red Army needed to take Berlin.

Australia needs a new scapegoat

As any England fan will tell you, a loss can be attributed to one, or several if they’re feeling particularly brutal, players. Ablate these tumorous influences, and the team’s balance restores to perfection.

Until the next match.

Australia, once again, are on the wrong side of a series rolling-pin attack. (Although, interestingly, the Baggy Green’s decline started at the same time as the Credit Crunch. A bit too much of a coincidence, methinks.)

So, instead of addressing the problems like a rational agent of reason, the Australians now look upon their side’s line-up with the frenzied revisionism known only to deranged lumberjacks.

Matthew Haydon is top of the axe-wielders' list. Mainly because he’s a complete git (I use “complete” deliberately here – he’s a god-bothering, squeaky-clean moron. Every element of his personality offends.)

Somehow Simon Katich and Michael Clarke are still in the Australian team, despite the dawning of the Age of Aquarious. Obviously, they’re useless; but as they’re Australian, that doesn’t seem to effect their performance as much as human beings.

The problem, actually, is the bowling. Specifically Brett Lee. Not his gammy foot, but his general over-rated abilities. He’s pants.

I can hear the shrieks already, like the shrill OMGs shouted out in St. Rodger’s Catholic School for Girls, as the Headmistress finally blocks access to facebook.

As a strike bowler, the leader of the attack, the spear-point’s edge, the rolling-pins round bit, he’s a bit rubbish really. Sure, his record is superior to that of Andy Caddick, but I ask you, in all honesty, does he have the ears for the job?

The rest of the Australian attack, Mr Monkey-Wrench and Mr Spanner, are similarly useless. These tools don’t have the guile or the round-bit to make even the opposition’s number ten go “crickey, I’d rather not face him in a dark alley”

In stead, the tail-enders are thinking, “I hope I meet him in a dark alley, so I take his sweets and maybe force some hair-care secrets out of him.”

In any case, the Australians have found their scapegoat. Once identified, they didn’t mess about, they got down to business and attacked his feet with hammers. Now Lee is removed, the ACB can begin building a new era of Aussie bowling.

Again.

Articles about Monty lack variety

When Luton’s Champion, Monty Panesar, burst onto the international cricket scene, commentators praised the young genius as the saviour of English spinning.

“No more boring, defensive Ashly Giles to “hold up an end”, now we have a proper aggressive bowler.”

There was much rejoicing. Everyone prefers an offensive spinner. Just look at Shane Warne.

Then, nothing changed.

This, for the writers, was sin. Pieces began to suggest that Monty was boring. That he lacked personality. Some insinuated that he was just a dull git that the rest of the team hated.

The journalists looked at their construct of Monty – the people’s lovable hero, capable of winning any match armed with only a reasonably aged ball and a pearl of close fielders – and then they compared this to the reality.

The reality of Monty is just this sort of bloke, you know. In the media world, “normal” means “mind-numbingly, suicidally, OMG BORING!!!1!”

Monty was nothing like his media image. The journalists had sweated greatly in pubs during their conspiracy to “make cricket more interesting” and this effort was unravelled by the Real World.

And they hated him for it.

“Damn you Panesar”, they said

Starting with the removal of his charismatic name, the hacks began to denude Monty of his charm. This allows them to attack the hell out of him without looking like total bastards.

“A bloke called Monty should be more interesting. Dear reader, I demand that you completely change you mind about him. He has not lived up to the potential that his name suggests. You must loathe him now. Do it! Do it because I say!”

Now, the journalists have decided, en masse and without exception, that Monty “lacks variety” this means that he bowls at the same pace. All of a sudden, the world of cricket is gripped by the spinners pace. “Too fast” is the gospel truth of Monty’s bowling speed.

The only variable that affects a spinner’s ability to take a wicket is pace. Fizz, dip, bounce, strategy, or, god forbid, spin are now irrelevant factors in a spin bowlers armoury. If you bowl at 55 mph you go 27 overs without a wicket, if you bowl at 50 mph you will take nine wickets whilst conceding only seven runs.

This seems easy. But, leading on to our next point, they tell us that Monty “lacks guile”. This means that he’s a thicko. Every ball, apparently, is the same as the last. Duh.

Of course, this is the standard’s English spinner’s tactic: bore them out. It worked for Giles and the Great E’s, but, for some reason, when Monty deploys this time-worn approach, we decide that he’s a complete bastard.

So now, the press has decided, en masse and without exception that Monty is boring, predictable and stupid.

With a discipline as subtle and diverse as spin bowling, you think that opinion would vary regarding current exponents. Perhaps they’d be some alternative suggestions: Monty is bowling too slow, for instance?

But no. Everyone knows exactly what the problem is. The journalists know all. Shame they are shit at cricket, really.

(“…but hell, it ain't over till the slim man zings.” Ahem.)

Oh my deary god

Admit it. The only thing you were looking forward to was gloating over Aussies. That’s all you wanted, some small, pathetic slice of Schadenfreude.

You were going to laugh and laugh, and tell the Aussies what feeble worms they were, and that England was the mighty Crow which was going to devour them up come next Ashes.

But all we can do is crow now. Remember, England are a lame, useless, indecisive, unconvincing, dull, predictable, mediocre, ordinary, borderline incompetent bunch of disabled earth grubs who are incapable of rolling down a hill.

England is a small country. But somehow, there is so much to be angry about.

Of course, this is a total disaster, akin to Black Monday, the Battle of Balaklava and the birth of Russell Brand.

The problem England have, at the moment, is that their opponents are better than them. Looking at India’s line up, if you roll them over in the first innings, the law of averages dictate that they’re going to compensate with a legendary effort in the second.

And that they did. Fourth highest run-chase in Asian history, and with six wickets to spare. That old geriatric whose eyes have gone, Old Farther Sachin, fluked a century.

It is important to remind yourself how good this was. Not only were records broken in the fourth innings, but on the last day of a wearing pitch that had shown as much consistency as the German Ministry of Finance.

The bowling of Andrew Flintoff and Monty Panesar is class. And, with England’s new super-weapon, Greame Swanpy, the Indians looked doomed.

But this mega-line-up of nearly, but not quite, dead one-man myths breezed through England’s cream as if it were spread across a thick layer of easy jam upon the Scone of Effortlessness.

Although, that’s not to take anything away from England.

They’re still nothing to me. How can so much anger, by so many, owed to so few?

On happier times, I walked out of my Berlin apartment on Saturday. This is what I saw:

Wronged Radio

Right. First things first. Who turned the cricket off?

Us Englanders in Germany used to follow live cricket over the radio. TMS, it seemed, was available to the entire world.

This was the case yesterday, when I woke up and, as is my want, listened to cricket in bed whilst breakfasting of muesli. A German AND English experience. The cultures are compatible.

Today, these simple pleasures in life, that all of us enjoy, were taken from me as cruelly an abruptly as a Bolivian grabs a child’s hamster to prepare in their dastardly Rodent Gravy.

Instead, I had to listen to BBC “We Don’t Do Adverts, We Only Constantly Spam The Airwaves With Trailers To Programmes You’ll All Probably Hate Anyway” rubbish.

Rubbish.

So, now I’m at work, and, consequently, in my usual angry mood (the Finance Department is being a right pain – but you know how finance people are, right?) following the OBO coverage, but without the usual colour and romance that TMS adds to my mornings.

Oh bastards in the BBC. If you were here, I’d give you a right going over with this pile of invoices and reimbursements claims, I would. Then, and only then, would you realise the wrong you have done.

Next item on the agenda: Graeme Swann, another player who hails from Burkina Faso or wherever, shoved in an England kit, given a few “patriotic” tattoos and thrown into the team. Why oh why, I have no idea. He is not one of my favourites. He, along with KP, Pratty Prior forms England’s Axis of Evil.

I mean, we know all foreigners are terrorists, so why are we letting them in the England side? To ease surveillance?

Anyway, just to cap off my bad mood, he’s only gone and bloody fluked two wickets in his first over of test cricket. Not only does this mean that he’s probably pushed Monty out of the spinner slot for about a year, but apparently, no other decent cricketer has ever done this before.

Why don’t the amazing blokes do amazing things, whereas the dreary, rubbishy geezers breeze through test cricket without a hitch. This explains a lot about the powers of Finance.

Bring Warney home

There’s another hilarious unlikely musical out at the moment. It’s about Shane Warne. How unlikely is that? Hilarious! Ironic musicals. What will they think of next? Deary me.

In any case, there was a report on the BBC this morning about a new musical launching in Melbourne today. The actor, writer and Warneo look-a-like, said he spent three years gathering material.

He didn’t want to make any “cheap shots”. He needed strong, original material that stood on its own; not petty, easy passé jokes at Warne’s expense.

The first song I heard was an aghast chorus proclaiming their shock at the site of Warne jogging.

In any case, as we all know, the Blond Bamboozler is first and foremost a committed German. Germany, and German, culture is very dear to him, especially the food and beer.

So, in honour these profoundly felt roots, I, of AYALAC, call for the musical to be brought before the people of Berlin, so that they, too, might partake in his glory. The glory of the greater German people, still lives on, deep within the gut of one of their most loyal children.

Moores steps bravely into action by lowering expectations

Peter Moores, chief England goon, has stated that England’s preparation to the will-they-won’t-they test series against India has been “less than ideal”.

This is the sort of British understatement that I’m missing in the Land of Chocolate. But, it’s also the sort of ridiculous, parochial drivel that happily assails me no more.

Contrary to England, the Indian team have had a marvellous build-up to the series. Oh wait, we can’t think about people other than ourselves. They don’t have feelings. They’re just cricket-playing machines. Sometimes they go to the toilet. Although, no them has actually publically announced this as fact.

Well, not everyone is an Australian, you know.

Although, you have to commend his “Us/The Foreign” mentality. Tidily bisecting the world into nice, if ineffective Englishman, and dangerous, unpredictable if good at making curries, Foreigners. Or, as they say here, Auslanderen.

(See? I’m learning. I am beginning to understand how people abuse me in bars.)

England are going to lose these series. They’ll play it. Because they’re muppets. (Peer pressure is helping, here, too.) But they’ll lose it, for sure. It’s not because they haven’t prepared well, but because they’re an incompetent horde of melons.

Which has been England’s problem for some years now.

Even their management is struggling to find their line. The team’s security will be fine. Of course, the England team are going to be guarded like a chocolate biscuit in a secretary pool. They still shouldn’t go, mind.

But, they’ve decided to let the individuals, with no expertise or perspective on the matter, to access their own security on the matter. This is a sensible move. We all know how good laypeople are at evaluating their own personal safety.

Why is everything so deeply, deeply awful?

ECB shafts players. Again.

I’m quoting cricinfo, here:

“England's cricketers will not be forced to return to India for the two-Test series, Hugh Morris, the ECB's managing director for England cricket, said as the squad arrived back in London on Saturday evening.”

I am considering putting in a Freedom of Information Request to see which tours players are forced to attend. But, although it seems sensible, the response is a typically spineless, confusing and probably the worst possible announcement for the England players.

I strongly suspect that this position was borne out of Captain Fantastic’s recent comments:

“On a cricket field I might ask people to do things in a certain way but I will never tell people to do anything. A man is a man and he can make his own decisions.”

Which is all very good, but leads to a curious overall position. Presumably, if a player wished to withdraw a normal tour, then the ECB would penalise him in some way. Perhaps drop him from consideration from future tours.

But we must assume that if players’ personal perception of the security situation India is unfavourable, then they do not face this penalty.

But, if a player on the margins takes this opportunity to play for his country, then would the established, backer-outter feel obliged to stay on? Oh, I don’t know. But by shifting the responsibility on to the players, the ECB is buggering up with the careers of its most valuable assets.

It’s a mess. The whole thing is a mess.

In fact, just cancel the tour. I, for one, haven’t enjoyed one moment of it. Well, except for its crushing the will of KP. That’s been fantastic.

But generally, this tour has left me numb.

It’s like the emptiness that you’re left with after you’ve failed, for the second year running, to get into Jenny from Account’s pants at work’s Christmas Party, despite the fact that you managed to get her completely plastic.

Isn’t life great?

England so bad that, even when they scored more runs than the opposition, they lost

As many animal torturers have noted, cricket is a funny game. It’s hard to explain its rules to muggles.

You might say something like: “They idea is to score more runs that your opponent. Then you get pissed.”

Then, along comes the latest England game. England and India both faced 22 overs. India scored 166, England scored 178. Obviously India won.

It’s the unpredictability of the game that makes it so interesting.

However, to their credit, the one quality that England have displayed for many years has been predictability. I lauded the ECB management for its parsimonious approach to altering the team management.

Keeping with the same useless team for the sake of stability was a courageous move. But, then they turned out to be as brave as Ishant Sharma’s moustache.

Then they bugger about with every aspect of the team make-up and lose repeatedly in humiliating fashion.

It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so wrist-cuttingly depressing.

Normally, as a fan, you believe you know more than most sages. And more especially more than team selectors. If push came to shove, however, most people would defer to the “experts”, and let Patrick Moores get his way. “Sure Pete, me ol’ mucker, you’ve won a few Championships. What have I done? Memorised the entire script of 24? That’s nothing. You, mate, are a god.”

But now we know. We all know.

I now know that I am better than them. THIS IS KNOWLEDGE. In fact, the drunken, jobless German that harassed me on my way home yesterday would exhibit greater team-selecting skills than England. And he only had one eye.

Don’t worry though. It’ll all be fine next time. They’re having a Team Meeting.

And we all know from our respective workplaces how productive and motivating Team Meetings are.

It's happening again

Remember the World Cup? Remember how we all enjoyed this vibrant international spectacle, and didn’t complain at all. From the very first, hesitant moment, to crescendo of well-organised joy at the tournament’s climax. Let me take you back to those times.

It was the heady days of 2007. Anything seemed possible. Religious fanatics controlled a superpower. An ex-superpower was killing spies on the street. And sub-prime mortgages were worth more than a stapler.

Throughout the course of the cricket World Cup, I spent my time talking about England (and dancing cricketers). I repeatedly made one point about their approach: OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE PLAYING AT?

Their approach was this: “See off the first few dangerous twenty overs, and then we’ll consolidate for the next twenty. Perhaps we’ll see where we are after that.”

Against South Africa, we scored four runs in ten overs.

Remember Jamie Dalrymple? Do you remember opening with Ed Joyce? ED JOYCE!

Not even the person that Ed Joyce murdered with an Ed Joyce name badge would remember who Ed Joyce is.*

But, poor old whathisface was subject to the ECB’s wonder strategy of playing for time. Obviously, we got completely humiliated. That goes without saying. We’re English. But there are degrees of loss.

And the inept, spineless, moronic, self-inflicted, thick-headed losses of the World Cup were particularly hard to endure. And now, once again, familiar concerns are returning. You look at the Englanders, and they look at you, blinking and red-skinned, clueless. Utterly clueless. There are, quite literally, without clue. Well, they might have one clue between them, but that’s a rubbish clue that erroneously leads them to Professor Plum.

AKA: Grauieame Swann.

*On further reflection, this victim might struggle to remember quite a few things.

(For those economists, stats geeks, and other bored people, check out the OECD’s new data mapping tool. It’s surprisingly fun. Now I know that New Zealand’s North Island is richer (in per capita terms) than all Australian states, whereas, the South Island is poorer than the lot of them. Interesting that. The IMF one is also worth a check out – although no where near as fun.)

(As another aside, I went to watch the football last night. I don’t normally do this, but England was playing Germany in Berlin, and I felt I should make an effort. So, off I went, with German in tow, to an “Irish” “pub” in central Berlin.

There, I found England.

England in all its glimmering glory. A mirror to the world’s best parts. The parts that sing about wars long since past, about enemies now crippled with anxiety. Parts that try to chat up German women with the worlds Spatch-chen zie Anglaise? Parts that, when you are amused by the loud sweary scousers and huge St. George’s Cross emblazoned with the words like “Darlington” will challenge you with a sharp “Wot yaw smilin’ at?” It’s astonishing how I could live without this cultural assurance, without these people that make us all feel so proud.)

We’re back in business baby

Some of you may have noticed a drop in post frequency recently. To those that did, please consider yourselves a proud owner of a gold star. To those that didn’t, consider yourself official Enemies Of The Glorious AYALAC Peoples.

You see, I now have the internet at home again. This, of course, is excellent because, despite having internet access at work, and despite being paid less than my previous position, I am still manically busy and unable to blog at the office.

So! Now, a new era of AYALAC-rest of the world relations begins. Rejoicing breaks out. Women swoon. Parrots die.

Much has changed since we spoke last.

England lost the rugby. England lost the cricket once. And then once more. An Irish fellah bought an election in the New World. And England will probably lose the football tonight. So, as we can see, the world continues to move as normal.

It’s really great having internet at home. I listened to Today Programme for the first time in ages this morning. I was surprised at the amount of slang British English they used. Shocking, really. But, I was also buoyed by hearing the dulcet tones of Nick Griffin, leader of the British National Party, and also Nick Clegg, leader of some other party. I forget which.

So! Yes. Cricket.

Well, it’s the usual depressing stock for us Englanders. You know that things are bad when you see headlines end in the word “again”. However, to make a series point about actual cricket, I will say this:

For ages, the test side has shown that stability in selection has resulted in improved results. Of course, illness and injury can and have taken their toll, but overall, it seems that England do better when England know who England is. Yet, conversely, the ODI side has been all over the shop.

Pick a player here. Pick a player there. Stick him in as an opener. Pick a team with three batsman. Put him at eight. Kill all the spinners. It has been a progressive, morphing chaos for years now. So, it seems eminently sensible to me that now, the ECB has decided to draw the line and let the “current” team settle for a bit. Enough, say they, is enough.

And you know what? Bugger me, if I don’t agree with the England management. Heck, give them all medals, say I. Nay, OBEs!

To all this talk of “Bell and Prior aren’t working” and “drop Collingwood, pick Smode” and the “let’s drop him to 10 and promote him to 5” and all the rest of it, to this I say this: Stop it. Just leave them alone. It’s the best of all possible worlds. It’s time to start pretending that we’re New Zealand.

We’re not in Kansas any more.

We're in Berlin. Where we're about to launch an attack on allied German-English hooligans. Come on you rioters!

Sweeping generalisations affect cricket teams everywhere

In a surprising development, all the cricket teams in the world have began to generalise about everything.

Tony Sporkington, captain of the Upper Schleswig-Holstein XI, and therefore representative of the entire cricketing community stated,

“I woke up one morning, and had a strong urge to project my nonsensical values onto the entire world. I rolled over, to consult my wicket-keeper, stumpers have a special perspective on these things, and, blow me! He had the same problem!”

Australians, Belgians, Bhutans, Bolivians, Bosnians, Bulgarians, Burkinans, Indians, Romanians and even Americans all felt the same thing. On the same morning. At the same time.

Peter Mandyson, a surprisingly well-informed journalist from Venezuela stated,

“Look. The future is, like, always like the past, right? So, we can expect India to dominant for at least eleven years in international cricket. Despite the fact that all their players are about to retire or riddled with arthritis, they’re going to be the new Australia. Yeah?”

His moderately attractive wife, John, added:

“Yes. Australia will become the new England: annoying and whiney. Whereas England are set to the new Bermuda: rubbish, but trusting all in their largest player.”

The global community concurred.

Australia: HA!

I would say I was sorry for the long silence. But I’m not. I’m glad.

So. First thing’s first: Australia are unbelievably useless. We always knew it, but only today has it become a tangible truth.

Nevertheless, this is a special moment for all peoples everywhere

It is wonderful. Truly fantastical and delightful and perfect.

You know why?

I bet you don’t. You look a bit thick in the brain department, so I’ll tell you.

This is a wonderful moment not just because the Australians lost in such a comprehensive, feeble, weak, humiliating fashion. Oh no. It’s because they whinged all the way down the plug hole.

There is much talk of the Indians being “unsporting” by ensuring that Australia couldn’t win. What these means in English exactly, I’m not entirely sure. I can only assume that Australians are now “playing fair” and, presumably, beginning to play by the spirit of the game.

Although a match fine for a slow over rate undermines this claim slightly, Ricky Bunter claimed that he acted in the best interests of test cricket. How we can translate this from the incomprehensible logic that prevails in the Australian captain’s mind to common reason, is known only to a select group of ACB mind melons.

One can only assume that, in Bunting’s head, he is a knight in shining leather, defending the ancient institutions from evil (and Indian) onslaught. Only Australians truly understand the game. They are good, if simple, people.

All this guff, coupled with the bleating, makes this defeat especially sweet. Obviously, 2005 was good. But the Australians deluded themselves believing their loss resulted from bad luck. But, in this series, their rank incompetence is public and undeniable.

So, how do they respond?

By insinuating that the Indians cheated! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

This is one of the best moments of my life. We are witnessing the breaking of a test team. AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

England beaten by huge margin at the hands of stars

According to AYALAC’s refined methodology of re-weighting a team’s score by using irrelevant criteria, England lost to the star-peppered Trinidad and Tobago yesterday.

And by buggery did they lose big.

D. Charlton asked a cutting question recently (it was, I admit, hard to find sense in a fog of misguided comments). He asked:

“How many runs to England need to score to beat T&T tonight - before a ball is bowled?”

Well, let’s see. T&T’s land area is 1,980 square miles, and, as we saw yesterday, England is 50,351 square miles.

So, by my reckoning, the first ball of the match needed to be a no-ball, from which, England would proceed to run a relative modest 3,335 over-throws.

After achieving this, only then could England consider winning.

But, once again, our boys in whatever colour it is their advertisers have chosen for them these days, have failed us. And failed us bad.

By my recalibrated understanding of “the rules” England lost by 3,499 runs. Once again, not only did the opposition manage to chase down England’s total of 141 after just two balls, but they proceeded to put on a sensational show of hitting just to entertain the crowd and certain deluded parts of my mind.

What a victory by the young men from two islands whose names both begin with the letter “T” – what are the chances of that! After such a strurpling win under their belts, success, wealth and many, many women will surely come their way.

For England (and a small, rubbishy part of South Africa) this day will live in infamy. INFAMY.

Bit of England beaten by the rest of England

The Allen Twatford league has started recently.

The “All-stars” (containing, by my count, exactly two stars) beat Trinidad and Tobago (who have three stars).

Middlesex, spurred on by its greatest member, Twickenham, only just lost to the bullying efforts of all the rest of England combined. You might say that it was unfair. So, being the failed statistician that I am, I would like to correct the imbalance using mathematics.

Middlesex is 282 square miles and its population totals 1,576,636, of whom 738,904 are males.

England, on the other hand, is 50,351 square miles, with a population of 49,138,831 (let’s say 49% of them are male: 24,078,027).

England is 179 times bigger than Middlesex, and 32 times more populace (in terms of males).

So, using high level statistical theory that none of you would understand, we can adjust for this difference, to reveal the actual result:

England (122) lost to Middlesex (19,511) by 19,389 runs.

Not only did the London side surpass the England score with ease, but that added nearly twenty thousand more runs just for good measure.

This, I think we’ll all agree, is a much more accurate way of measuring the relative disparities in sides, and should be rolled out to all real statisticians forthwith.

Bangladesh robbed by bad luck (and skill)

I know I’m preaching to the converted, but do you see? DO YOU SEE?

Do you see why test cricket is the best form of the game?

Bangladesh aren’t great, but they are improving. And they have some players that might even get into a Twickenham eleven. Given a few injuries.

Occasionally, they are capable of some Steve Tikolo-like efforts. Mohammad Ashraful has put in some impressive knocks, and some of their fans have strong opinions.

Now, Shakib Al Hasan, has burst onto the scene like a meaty porn star, and made a complete mess of the New Zealand boys. Those caps don’t look so black now.

Shakib scronked nine wickets in the match. Which, by most people standard’s, is pretty good. By Australian standard’s, that’s amazing-incredible-do-you-want-a-passport-mate?

Yet, AND YET, New Zealand are nevertheless, the better side. Look at them. Alright, they’re a scruffy bunch of Oasis-wannabes, but they have been playing cricket for a while now.

And, lead by their spin bowling captain genius Mr Trousers, the Kiwis absorbed the fright, recovered and forced an unflustered victory.

If this was a one-dayer, we’d be heralding an unexpected, if unsatisfying upset. If it was a twenty20, we’d be staring at the ceiling whilst our partner snored away.

Yet, the ups and downs, the interplay of luck and, ultimately, the skill were all allowed to entertain us.

“Yeah.” You might be thinking, “So what? I know this, and you always go on about tests.”

Ha. But, you’ll notice the gratuitous Steve Tikolo mention. Clever that.

Why Warne should come back

Because it would be flipping hilarious.

Flipping hilarious say I!

Australia worse than England?

Australia’s spineless defeat to someone else reminded other island folk of England’s own feckless folding facilities.

Allow the opposition batsman to batter you to Scotland and back? No problem. The cream of your line-up intimidated by the scariness/weirdness of the opposition’s bowlers. Be my guest. Fill your covers with immobile old men? After you, old bean.

The Australian defeat will be treated by the more generous and open minded of us with even-handed hoots of laughter. By to those of us who are partisan, and embittered by years of pain and humiliation at the hand of the Ozzie Boomerang of Nastiness, it is cause for a three-day sicky and national celebration.

The only problem with that last part, is that the nation I currently find myself has no idea what I’m talking about. (They have language difficulties over here.)

A lot was written after the 2005 Ashes. Most of it was wrong. People said that the series defeat marked a return of normalisation in international cricket, a resurrection in parity and possibly, just possibly, the homecoming of interesting cricket.

If you thought that the Ozzlers were bastards before 2005, you had no idea of the meaning of the word after the Australians unleashed a furious attack on the world and common decency. All hell broke loose. And they won a lot of games.

So, after the Aussies impending doom in the sub-continent, one wonders what next for the world?

There are two possibilities: one, the Aussies get even nastier. Two, their slide continues, and stop playing Bangladesh as things are “getting a bit embarrassing.”

Actually, there are about a jillion possibilities. The entire team could turn into purple umbrellas and form a boy band that “rocks for peace”.

Anyway, the central point remains:

AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Dr No beats up that nasty witch from Sleeping Beauty

India are doing quite well against Australia. Theoretically, this shouldn´t be surprising. Australia are pretty useless at the moment. But, as we all know, that fact rarely results in their losing.

Nevertheless, the two evil sides of world cricket are slugging it out. The Ozzlers are evil because they just are. And India are evil because they are trying to take over the world. At least all the Aussies wanted to do was piss all over it.

That, I could take.

The fact that in every “Irish” bar in Europe, there are at least three Australian males complaining about people “back home” is as bad as the Ozzy Offensive got. But, if the Indians get their way, every visit to a bar will result in serious food poisoning.

Seeing as cricket is “scripted” now, we can assume that the baddies are battling it out for a final, epic face-off against the goodies. In this case, this is England.

It´s irrevelant that the goodies are a useless sack of disabled potatoes right now. Just look at Rocky. My Aunty Derrida´s cat boxes better than Rocky, and she´s been dead for twelve (both my relative and her cat – it was a tragic, if surreal accident).

The point being, rubbishness does not prevent glory. So, if the Hollywood rules of drama apply, we can expect England to eventually overcome the victors in this show-down, through a tense, if unlikely series of events.

Then England will get to Rodger the girl. Who, in this case, will be Keira Knightley.

(You may be interested to hear that I went to school with above film bint. Apparently, she had a thing for me. But I had to say no. We simply don´t share the same tastes in skirts.)

Weird Food

Whilst some people might be distracted by juvenile competitions between minnow pretenders, the real title for the international cricketing crown is being decided in the Western hemisphere – commonly known as the “right, if left a bit” hemisphere.

That’s right, Zimbabwe and Canada, the two titans of the global stage, are slugging it out like steroid fuelled baddies on a particular gruesome episode of Power Rangers.

It’s a pretty ugly fight. Such is its scale, innocent bystanders such as Sri Lanka and Pakistan are feeling the inexorable pull of the awesome combat. It’s the Second Second World War.

Many foolish people, thought that India was the evil Dr No of the cricket world. They’re after money; they’re after your money. Watch them. They’ve become the new Australians, in that respect.

Oh, but this is beguilement. North America is where we should direct our paranoia. Canada is trying to cash in on our little game. Not only by holding pointless tournaments to crack open a market already cold and sated with cheap, homebrew maple syrup, but by bringing in cash cow Zimbabwe.

Zimbabwe’s money-making potential is limitless given that almost all Zimbabweans are trillionaires. Except those that hold their assets in Swiss bank accounts, those fellows aren’t doing nearly as well.

So yes, Canada, in a moneyed axis with Zimbabwe are up to something. And if we don’t stop them, and stop them hard, they’ll take over without us even noticing.

Just heard this quote on the radio: “English is the natural language of the human being.” Germans, take note.