Pietersen: down and out in Middlesex and Surrey

England’s best batsman is homeless. Not only is this hilarious, but the entire process is ludicrously managed.

The first role of handing in your notice is: (1) make sure you have another job to go to.

What does Pietersen do? Well. He suddenly downs tools in Hampshire, mid-season and without warning, and declares his intention to play for a London side.

The reason for this is that he lives in Chelsea – a fashionable barrio of London’s oligarch belt – and can’t be bothered to commute to Southampton. Which is a hole.

Perfectly understandable, of course, but, what we management gurus know, it’s all about the process. More or less every process KP has in life tends to cock up. Except batting of course, but even that is subject to some dubious decision-making. Yet, his genius is only qualified by his raging stupidity in other areas in life. And KP’s range of savant idiocy appears wider than most.

Now, the London clubs are fighting feverously to avoid picking him. Undoubtedly, the ECB is leaning heavily on both teams behind the scenes to pick up their wonder-moron. Pity the county that is left with the short straw.

Pietersen’s gift to the cricket community is not his excellent batting, but his celebrity gossip potential. Much like pre-pubescent girls, cricket fans paw over the former England captain’s failings in microscopic detail. Each hairy shot is magnified, dissected and derided.

That our own figures are woefully inadequate is irrelevant. KP’s gifts the world with repeated blunders. Under the cutting scrutiny of an unloving audience, nearly every non-covering driving activity is a slip-up.

And we wouldn’t have him any other way.

How to let Jonny Foreigner in

Over my long sabbatical, I have been considering how a civilised society should treat Kevin Pietersen. In the olden days, he would have been flayed and broken by a humiliating ordeal of public punishments. But sadly, we are far removed from these genteel and enlightened times.

Our problem isn’t his flashy, perma-tanned smugness – qualities that deeply rile the vast mass of under-achieving, poorly co-ordinated, socially inept English males. No. The main issue with Pietersen is that he exists at all.

Along with food and the relative merits of women, sport is the last legitimate home of petty tribalism. We want our team to beat your team to affirm our innate superiority over you. If your team beats our team, is only due to the limited structuring of your domestic game, reducing the number of matches, so, it doesn’t really tell us anything about whose better. In fact, we probably still better people than you, because we are so hamstrung by incompetent administrators.

These sorts of unfounded, baseless and generally wrong arguments, as fun as they are, are increasingly difficult to enjoy enthusiastic expression; “your” team is mostly constituted by “them” – the foreign, the alien, and the strange. We now find ourselves support a squad of Saffers.

Long ago, the British domestic football scene went down this route. Where it led them, I am unsure, but I am certain that some of the joy has been lost from watching your chums from down ‘pit doing their best against the mysterious freaks from yonder valley.

Then, fast-footed wee Jimmy is replaced by Finn Mürdermann from East Germany, who flattens the opposition with his greater knowledge of aerial bombardments. Wee Jimmy is left crushed, unemployed and slumps to an inevitable drug-induced demise.

It’s arguable that this adds to the overall standard of the game, improving the quality for the spectators, but where’s the heart? Where can fans see themselves in their heroes?

This is how I feel about the England cricket team. Foreigners have been gnawing away at our hearts in order to earn the ECB more money, using a naturalisation mechanism that is as divorced from the sporting world as is Kim Jong Il is from reality.

So, here’s AYALAC’s new system:

1. Scrap the four year qualification rule. Adopting a new nationality is not the equivalent as re-locating. I would include a provision that would allow people to qualify for the England cricket team, if they moved to the UK and acquired British citizenship for non-cricketing reasons. At the moment, the system has a loophole the size of a Giles Clarke-sized noose, and cricketers are making a mockery of the system by exploiting it.

2. If you want to play for England, become English. Essentially, this means becoming rubbish at everything except moaning. Kevin Pietersen has shown great promise in this area.

3. No Kevin Pietersens.

KP violence sends boy to hospital

With an aggressive, fierce whirl of a large, blunt instrument and his bat, Kevin Pietersen, disgraced former England captain, brought young Reece Topley to his knees with a stinging blow to the temple in a net session yesterday.

Little Reece was known as “Tiny Topley” by his few friends (by which we mean those who are yet to betray him), because of his abnormally stunted growth – due to malnutrition and years of neglect.

Standing at a mere 6ft6in, this sickly youth was forced into brutalising schedule of unpaid labour for the benefit of oversexed England stars.

Yesterday, the dedicated lad, fresh from a spell of sweeping out Andrew Flintoff’s voluminous chimney, Rickets-blighted Reece was bowling his little heart out for England’s Kolpack player.

Dizzy with overwork and disease, Thrush-riddled Topley failed to detect KP’s evil stinger as it speed directly at its target: a mal-shaped head. Proffering only a mis-directed, stumpy hand to shield the fearful blow, his myopic eyes failed to co-ordinate any real defence.

The badly beaten boy fell to the ground like a sack of dead rodents, to the cheers of the surrounding Englanders.

As the stretchered boy was gently helped into the neighbouring bin, KP was compassionately remarked,

“That’s another one. Maybe we should start feeding them?”

England’s revolutionary move to appoint a Zimbabwean coach

Breaking into entirely new territory, the ECB have installed a former Zimbabwean player as their glorious leader. Known for his nonplussed demeanour and frog-like appearance, the former Zimbabwean captain promises to bring new steel to the floppy England line-up that has been struggling against even weakened opposition.

His name is Andy Flower. Prepare yourself for a new era of truly unbearable sub-editing.

Asked on his relationship with captain Andrew Strauss, Flower said,

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He later added.

“He gets back from his holiday soon.”

Obviously, the team’s captain leaving the country in protest of the Zimbabwean’s elevation to the highest coaching position in the universe isn’t the best of starts. But, he has more demanding problems ahead: Kevin Pietersen.

That a relationship between a Saffer and a bloke from Zim should be a factor in the future of the England cricket team show’s you just how far we have all come.

From over there, to over here.

The grass always looks greener on the other side; although the flowers always look crap.

Bollocks to who? BOLLOCKS TO YOU!

This sites has been a bit overly sophisticated as late, so I need to dumb down and connect to the bland morass that is my readership.

So, today, I shall denounce certain cricketers that deserve to have a huge hairy Hungarian screaming “BOLLOCKS TO YOU MATEY” in their face.

So. Lets start.

Kevin Pietersen.



Pratty Mire

Darrel Hair.

Shoaib Akhtar.

The ICC in their entirety.

Although we are above drawing crude penises on top of players heads at the moment. We make no promises about the future.

Being a moron isn’t my fault

So, KP doesn’t understand why he was sacked. Eschewing the dignity afforded to him by the ECB’s acceptance of his resignation, he is now doing what he loves best: bleating about nonsense in the press.

That he has been leaking to the press is not the issue. Although it is regrettable that this spat became public and personal rather quickly it is not decisive in his leaving.

The ECB is a public institution that principally operates in the media. Like any open, high-profile body, it is subject to leaks, rumours and press speculation. That anyone has been using this to their advantage to play their own game is hardly surprising, in fact, I would be shocked if it didn’t happen at all.

No. What did for KP was his ridiculous and frankly childish behaviour. To issue an ultimatum to your boss, five months into your contract is ludicrous, belying a deep unprofessionalism that is impossible to manage, or, at least, develop a meaningful working relationship with.

Or, as one ECB apparatchik put it (whilst anonymously briefing the press): “Anyone who offers to resign, clearly doesn’t want the job that much.”

Pietersen seems as though he didn’t want to give that impression, but that makes him all the more naïve. Behaving in and, more importantly, getting your own way in a professional context, is considerably more nuanced that a quick-fire fifty on a flat track.

And, KP didn’t seem to understand that he couldn’t act the same way off the field. He appears quite open about bringing his “do or die” mentality to the board room:

“I risked it all because it was my duty to say this was how we should move forward."

Risked all? What are you jabbering about? This isn’t Tarzan of the Bloody Jungle rescuing Jane from the improbably large jaws of some non-indigenous carnivore, it’s just office politics. Play the game, you muppet, it’s not the end of the world.

I wonder how much of this sort of non-sensical and embarrassing clap-track the England management has had to endure over these last months. Perhaps they got bored of his tedious cliques and platitudinal designs and thought one day, “sod it, I’ve had enough of this, let’s sack the bugger.”

So, here’s to ennui-induced regicide! Here!

Viva la revolution! Viva la Banana Republic!

Ding dong the witch is dead! Viva la presidente!

Well it’s been a rollercoaster 24 hours, hasn’t it?

I’ve been trying to explain to the various Europeans in my company the enormity of the events surrounding the Pietersen affair, and none of them quite get it.

So, I will explain it to you. I can’t see your eyes glazing over.

First off, this is probably the best thing to have happened in English cricket for a while. Not just because we sacked an absolute bastard, but because we did so in such a hilarious fashion.

Sure, the ECB didn’t want to be pushed around by some jumped up, over-hyped, over-sexed, David Beckhamesque Saffer – we all have egos, don’t we? And without self-respect what are we? Well, we’re English, but not much more, I tell ya. Not much more at all.

Secondly, the press’ response to this has been excellent. For instance, take this yesterday’s cricinfo headline:

“Breaking News: ECB yet to clarify situation.”

Breaking news indeed.

Anyway, this whole debacle couldn’t have come at a worse time for England, notwithstanding impending Ashes doom, but they have already gone through all their senior players, and the leadership cupboard is looking a bit bare at the moment.


So, the only plausible candidate got the job: Andrew Strauss. But for some, he looks a bit flat. Allen Lambchops said that,

"Unfortunately, I don't think Strauss will play in all three dimensions so that will create a problem. That is why they picked Pietersen - he can play all three dimensions."

That Strauss is struggling to enter the third dimension, is problematic for him and the rest of the England team in general. It is said that he need a fag to get him down the stairs in the morning.

It didn’t take long for KP’s magic man milk to go sour. Probably because everyone hated him. Andrew Flintoff supposedly lead a rebellion against him. Even Harmison decided to actually express an opinion.

I wonder what KP is doing right now. Feeling a moron, no doubt. Although, it won’t be all touchy feely in the Pietersen camp

Before this ridiculous mess, Pietersen was considered a world-class batsman, in all forms of the game, a feared presence at the wicket and a widely respected player. Now, he’s just a moron who bungled his way out of the job that he coveted for so long. For a man with limitless ambition, he is now constrained from developing any further.

Apparently, he doesn’t have the nowse to act as captain, to play the game and didn’t even have the respect of his own team-members. There is no where else for him to go. He’s just a batsman, and can go no further.

Undoubtedly he’ll make a big show of swaggering back onto the international stage (surely these IPL’s murmurings are not a realistic option for KP; besides, he’s already stated his intention to stay with England) but some of the aura of the man has drained away.

Most cutting is the public exposure of his weaknesses, and of his status as a perennial outsider - a foreigner who finds it hard to get along with others, arrogant yet, almost endearingly, desperately seeking acceptance. There is a tragedy about the man, a dichotomy. His success is brings a form of acceptance, yet this success is brought about by his uncompromising self-assuredness, the very quality that drives others away.

You could write a play about the anguish of the Pietersen soul: A Comedy of Twattishness.

Australia fluke a win

Much like in England, once South Africa won the series, they magnanimously gave the opposition a test match. So, clearly there are some nice South Africans out there.

In any case, no one cares about the trouncing of minnows.

What we really want to know is all the juicy details of the England dressing room: what Moores really thinks of Captain Fantastic; who betrayed who; who’s bitching about who; and who’s shagging who.

Well, I suppose the new Doctor is a bit young and keen.

(See, despite my life spent cowering under the blankets in a cold, dark and unbelievably cold country, I can still make topical jokes. Even though I can’t feel my toes at nights, I am still wiv it, yeah.)

Now. Not only do human beings universally loath Kevin Bloody Pietersen, but it seems like the England team are in on the act. The Old Batsman made a very interesting point yesterday, by suggesting that the whole affair was an elaborately conducted plot to weasel the politically brilliant Steven Harmison into the captaincy.

If true, this darkly executed scheme, not only lacking in any moral reference or empathy, but it would instantly result in Steveo’s elevation to GOD and win a life time’s devotion from me.

However, outside the nihilistic pleadings of my cold-shrivelled soul, Andrew Strauss’ name is once again being mentioned. Within the power struggle of the England dressing room, and I’m not talking about who puts Monty in Andrew Flintoff’s coffin…

...hang on a minute...

NEWS JUST IN

Just read that KP has been sacked. According to the den of lies, the BBC, Pietersen, in his infinite wisdom, Pieterprat issued the ECB with an ultimatum: either I go or Moors does.

Seeing as the season of expanding debt, the ECB decided to go for a two-for-one deal, and sacked the both of them.

The rest of the world was heard to make the following remarks:

“AH HA HA HA HA HA”

What makes this resignation interesting, as well as hilarious, is Pietersen’s reason. He’s not going because he’s useless and has a terrible track record. Oh no. He’s going because he couldn’t get along with some apparently alright bloke.

Napoleon had the same problem. But don’t worry, he came back on fine form.

Anyway,

AH HAH AH AH AH AHAHAHAHAHA

Harmison intervenes with tact and diplomacy

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter Moores was heard to say,

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

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

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

England follow the path of foreignness

By winning. England are winning. They actually played a game of cricket and won it. By winning.

I’m not sure how I feel about this. Usually, I have some pretty strong feelings on this issue. But, today, I feel confused.

England is led by a Saffer. We have foreign keepers. We have foreign players. There is a pretty strong correlation between their foreignness and their success. Which is a surprisingly deep reflection of the British economy in the post-war period.

But, I don’t really care about losing. An international sport is essentially a tribal activity. We jeer at those over there; and celebrate those over here. Regardless how amazing They are and how totally rubbish We are, we fill the room with hate and love in equal measure.

I enjoy the ownership I feel over the team. The irrational companionship I feel with those holding similar accents when we watch a group of other similarly accented people go and try to do something.

Look at the Scottish football team. Their supporters pride themselves on a fanatic, ceaseless following of a relentlessly awful team. It’s almost stubborn. Would they trade this for the relative success an all-Britain football team could offer? Would they buggery.

So, it’s with England’s crushing, impressive yet strangely unstirring win over South Africa rather confuses me.

Notwithstanding the Saffers’ obvious fatigue after a committed test series effort, the Englanders performance was hearty.

But it was inspired by some geezer who wears ear-rings and is generally regarded by those who don’t know him best, as a twat. He is does not sound like me.

So, was this my England winning?

I don’t know.

I know I might feel happier if Twickenham won the World Cup. But would I feel so elated if we drafted in a load of three armed mega-aliens to do the job?

Yeah. Probably. That would wipe the smile of those evil Teddington folk.

Bastards.

England look strong, but only they care

Sorry for the long delay in posting, my life has sort of been turned upside down. Not like that of my mate, whose dad he thought was dead for the passed twenty years, popped over for tea one day. Mine's more of a “oh my god, I’ve not got a job” scenario.

Anyway, on to the important things. Kevin Pietersen is still England captain. Oddly enough, the ECB apparatchiks did not see the glaring idiocy of their ways. Now he’s making a total pig’s ear of it by winning a match.

Very un-English.

Hopefully, things seems to be preparing themselves nicely for a feeble collapse on the last day. I can’t wait.

Although he’s still GOD in my eyes, it looks like England have quietly forgotten Ryan Hairybottom. Now that Steve Harmison has decided that he’s no longer a flailing lank-a-tonk, the services of the left-arm seamer are no longer required.

That’s life in England cricket, toast of the table one day, and burnt toast in the bin the next. It’s good that we have departed from the bad old days. The days when players were handed single caps. The day’s where selectors had favourites, and kept picking them, no matter how many long-hops they bowled. We have come so far.

Tim Ambrose looks like he’s for the chop. I don’t really see why. His keeping still seems competent enough, but the fact that he’s no longer playing New Zealand has wrecked havoc with his average.

Who is going to replace him and does it really matter?

AYALAC says: no.

AYALAC does it again

Do you remember last year? I was struggling with HTML tables and the problem of England’s next captain. Before my Hoggard Epiphany, I worked out who was going to be the new captain.

Actually, you probably don’t remember. You’ve taken way too many drugs since then.

I decided that England’s next captain was going to be Kevin Pietersen.

Unfortunately, I lost the use of my tongue and typing fingers for about month after I made this heretical pronouncement. Promotion of dodgy Saffers isn’t good for the street cred.

But now, he has been elevated through default, I’ll take full credit: I am responsible for this; I have a direct line to the ECB. I am their guru.

Before I continue bragging, it’s worth highlighting KP’s enormous powers of captaincy in England’s latest triumph against New Zealand.

His choice of relying heavily on Owais Shah’s unplayable off-spin and sticking on a frightening Graeme Swann at the death was genius. To restrict the Kiwis to just 266 after England’s bowlers had them at 124-4 after thirty overs was an indication of mighty captaincy skills for years to come.

England’s batters were equally as impressive.

I’m not at all incredibly pissed off at their feeble efforts today. It’s not like they throw away a lead every week.

It’s not like I want to burn down Lords at all.

Shah: Pietersen is a “freak”

Owais Shah labelled England’s best batsman as a mutant today in a surprise hostile bid to enter the national team.

Shah unearthed the old MCC rule of “No Ungodly Abominations” rule of 1913, after an experimental nuclear research institute at the Nursery Ground accidentally produced the strains that would later lead to Paul Adams. He got through on a retrospective law defence.

Shad argued strongly against Pietersen’s freakish weirdness. And a cricketing court heard a detailed account of Pietersen’s stroke,

“The batsman dislocated his left armed, removed it entirely and re-attached it to his right ear. This had the effect of turning the entire ground behind the batsmen into the off side. It also put the fielding team off their game, as they had to spend the next three minutes vomiting.

“It also made the pitch slippery.”

The MCC’s greatest legal minds were put to use, but they eventually ruled in favour of Money.

Pietersen later spoke to the assembled press.

“Look at me. I’m fantastic.”

Here's another weird shot that Pietersen played in New Zealand. Weird, isn't it?

Guest Blog: Defending the Indefensible

Another word from my Northern correspondent:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Video 9: The Empire Strikes back

We're back in business!

England, forward!

Yes, it’s an exclamation mark post.

The England have managed to overturn the flabby beetle that is New Zealand. With their legs dangling helplessly in the air, Ryan Hairybottom stuck the boot in and finished them off with 5-105.

However, as angry George pointed out, the main reason for England’s win, was their fortunate choice of useless opponents. The Kiwian batting simply disintegrated when faced with the moving ball.

The New Zealand top-order showed a woeful technique when James Anderson began to swing the ball both ways. Perhaps it’s because swing bowling is so rare these days, but they didn’t appear to have the basics right. They were thrusting at the ball as if was an armed pirate – “en garde!” said the Kiwis. “Touché,” said Jimmy. “AAAAAIIII!”

The England batsmen showed a little more application, although their main amusement was getting out for 40 after a “promising start”. Except for that young Australian keeper, Tim Ambrose, who cut his way to a century. Come on Tim!

Perhaps the most worrying development for England is Kevin Pietersen. At the moment, he’s like the shopping at the back of the car. You’re pleased you have the shopping, you bought nice things. But, every time you go around the corner, you can hear chaos unleash itself in the boot: liberated wine bottles roll heavily over bread; livid cans rampage over fresh fruit. You really should stop and sort the mess about, but you keep going anyway.

England should find the nearest disabled parking bay, and take a look at how damaged their bought-in Saffer is.

Some people are angsting over Monty Panesar. I’m not. He’s more like the dog at the back of the car. He always stands up and looks at the window, only to be flattened by inertia when you career around a bend. “Just sit down, you daft mutt,” you think to yourself. But he gets back up again for more treatment.

Soon, we’ll get to the park and then it will be doggy time. Monty time is coming.

Ah, Humiliation, my old friend.

Well. Just when you thought that the viscous, pulsating flow of faeces that constitutes life couldn’t get any thicker, the England cricket team thicken the mix by collapsing to 21 all out.

It looked really shaky, at one point. We lost six wickets for only three runs. But we recovered to a stronger position when Ulbator Choobleton worked his magic on the skies. But lo! Even England Chief Raining Coach was having a shocker, and we were dismissed in short time.

For those of us waking up to the news that the country of our birth is incapable of producing (or importing) a single decent cricketer are familiar with the bad mood that pertains.

It’s not just a little annoyed disposition. By way of constrast, say you’ve hit “back” on a site, but, because it has some infuriating ad thing you remain on the page. So you have to launch a frenzied attack upon the back button to get anywhere. And then you usually end up on your home page. (I mean really people, how could that possibly constitute effective marketing? You aren’t even directed to another site. You just sit there. What? What are you thinking?)

No. After that you remain annoyed for about two seconds, before you realise that the little “back” button has a drop-down, that could have effortless obviated this problem. Of course, you’ll always forget this convenient fact, and the frustration will return.

But the point is this: the annoyance is temporal. Whereas England’s river of poo is permanent. Occasionally, it empties into a clear, clean lake. But it won’t be long before the pristine waters are contaminated by sewage.

Observe Pratty Prior’s technique here. Just look at him. He’s a broken man. I heard that he has dropped six catches off Ryan Hairybottom alone during this tour. Prior isn’t a bad player. At least, he wasn’t before he joined the England team.

Another is Kevin Pietersen. When he burst onto the scene he openly declared his ambition to be the best batsman in the world. Some applauded his motivation, others thought him a twat, some of us even believed him.

But how long has it taken for the grinding drudgery of all things English to crush his aspiration and obliterate his spirits? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the answer to the question.

No time.

Pietersen is not sick

Once again, England have proven their toughness, by fielding Kevin Pietersen in tomorrow’s test match. KP could not get of bed yesterday. But never mind, we’ll stick him in anyway. He’ll cough it off.

I like the way that England risk their players’ careers and health to squeeze another match out of them. It feels as if I’m getting value for all that tax money that goes to the ECB.

If, say, Ian Bell, fell ill in this manner, he would probably still be in the infirmary come Thursday. However, KP has become a key part of England’s sledging attack, and they have really come to depend on his abusive qualities since his debut in 2005.

Assuming Pietersen is well enough to see the ball, England’s chances are winning improve considerably just with his presence. I have, as usual, no actual evidence to support that, but I’ll just say that he’s really, really good.

I was not the only concerned person when I heard the news. Michael Vaughan:

"It was slightly worrying when I heard he'd got a virus but the doctor said straight away that as long as he got his tablets down him he'd be okay."

As long as he has his tablets? Jesus Christ, doesn’t he just sound ready for the ultimate test in cricketing prowess. Just wait for Pietersen to cease chasing a ball to the boundary, only to pop a few uppers and resume the dash.

Also look out for rogue drugs hanging around on a length outside the off stump.

KP and England look ok

I’m loathed to appoint Kevin Pietersen as God - mainly because I had a go at him for whining the other day. Nevertheless, the bloke is amazing. I’m talking Alistair Cook amazing.

He dug England out of another awkward situation, by firing off 134 against India today. Only Matt Prior gave him serious support, contributing 42 to a partnership of 119.

But of course, you know all this. You also know that KP is an incredibly talented chap, if a little annoying.

I was going to start the next sentence with “but what you don’t know is”. But then I released that you probably did know it.

Anyway. KP played well, but I think that he’s batting with the tail needs a little more thought. He had a very incoherent strategy: refusing to run a three on the fifth ball, and yet taking a single on the fourth.

So what’s the key with batting with the tail? Common sense would back “farming the strike”. This involves the proper batsman whacking it around for the first half of the over, and picking up a single towards the end, thus minimising the tail-ender’s exposure.

Steve Waugh developed another approach, in which he played a single off the first ball, showing confidence in the rabbit, and hoping enhancing his pluck. However, this does increase the chances of another wicket.

Which is best? Well, I think it depends on the situation. If you are on the end of a rubbishy, low-scoring innings, with days left in the game, I would elect the former. But in a context where time is an issue, and you need to score quickly, then Waugh’s approach is probably more appropriate.

In all honesty, KP made a mess of batting with the tail – mixing the two approaches with no real end. On the other hand, he made a mess of the bowlers’ figures.

How to fix Kevin Pietersen

Once again, an English cricket player makes life harder for pommies everywhere by uttering a long, sinewy whine.

This time, not even a real Englander emitted the moaning noises. It was Kevin Pietersen. He’s about as English as good food. For interest’s sake, I will display all his considered comments:

"I’m mentally fatigued - really, really tired. It was a long winter of Champions Trophy, then the Ashes, then the World Cup.

"I rattled into the West Indies series but got progressively worse, more and more tired.

"That’s why I have to make the most of these little windows of opportunity for a proper rest.

"So we’re going out of this country, I’m going to turn my mobile off and enjoy waking up knowing I don’t have to play cricket or do a gym session."

After saying this, he went to the South of France.

First he’s saying that he’s “mentally fatigued” then he complains about doing a gym session. I went to a gym once. The only time my mind became tired was worrying about the big bloke laughing at my puny arms. Mercifully, he didn’t; but boy was I fatigued.

Anyway, old county warhorses (and England rejects) Chris Adams and Dominic Cork laid into him, saying something about playing international cricket being a privilege. Not sure exactly what they said, because they’re has-beens, and who listens to them?

Anyway, what I was going to say was this: I work with people in the City who regularly enjoy 12-14 hour days. One person I know once started work at 8am and finished at 6am the next day. They have highly-stressed jobs, in which their bosses, clients and the sheer scope of the deals piles the pressure higher and higher.

They’re fatigued as hell. But, a few coffees and a sneaky sniff of coke later, and they’re away. That’s solution A for KP.

Solution B is this: A while ago I remember the British Army running an experiment on pressure. They organised a war game between two teams. Team 1 was constituted from professional officers; Team 2 was brokers and traders working in the financial markets.

The set-up heaped the pressure on the decision-makers, with tight deadlines and conflicting information creating further stress for the “generals”. Team 2 won hands down.

Not that they were better soldiers, but because they could handle pressure. The knowledge of the professional soldiers was lost in anxiety.

Cricket is a game, and the individuals that it produces are not hardened to what us workers like to call “the real world”. So, what does KP need? A quick bit of training in options, futures and other derivatives and a placement at a merchant bank in between tests, then he’ll be fine.

This will provide him with some techniques with dealing with pressure, and also allow him to over-come “fatigue”. Weirdly enough, I think that KP would quite suit being a City Boy: big car, expensive pink shirts and spending all day talking bollocks and telling everyone how “shit hot” you are.

As you can see, this won’t result in a change of character, but may keep him out of my life for a while.