English weather shows Antipodean climes how it should be done

Here’s a picture of the Thames Estuary, close to where I live. It was taken about half an hour ago. It’s just a normal perfect, Caribbean day in my little part of London.

Meanwhile, in a continent where the climate is so awful, the insects evolved new forms of incredibly dangerous poison just to ease suicide, the rain continues to pour and pour and pour.

And pour and pour.

There really isn’t much more to this post that pathetic gloating. I could allude to England’s feeble performance against wonder bums, New Zealand. Apparently, we conspired to lose by 13 wickets. That’s how bad we were.

As bad as the current weather over Australia.

The Englishers simple-minded capitulation was pretty low. About as the hearts of all the little Ausslers and Kiwis, as they hear the persistent precipitation pound down on their under-maintained corrugated iron roofs. “Oh please stop,” think they, “just for a little sleep.”

In other news, five members of the Australian team went, and I’m not making this up, totally mad. Honest to god, I got this from Cricket Australia’s official website. So weather-depressed were the Australian first team players that they spontaneously began to run about trouserless, shrieking about how they wished they changed nationality in order to enjoy the wonderful sunshine on the Essex Riviera.

Maybe Tim Ambrose was smarter than we though?

Dead frog down

Here is a picture of a flattened frog on my road - I have come to know her as “Squashy” . She reminds of the West Indies cricket team. Not only is this frog dead, but it has been completely crushed.

Unaware of the forces that removed is from the third dimension, it has accepted its fate by laying back and submitting itself to devastating rolling over.

As you can see, the parallels between Squashy and the Windies’ current performance are stark. As noted previously, the West Indies were bowled out for just 139 and allowed South Africa to rack up 556 for four – with three Saffers notching centuries.

In reply, the Windies have just managed to scrape together a hundred runs for their three wickets. Two words: Pah thetic.

The team is welcome to use the deranged drivers on my road to help dispatch them in a dignified manner. They are useless. So at least they could transform themselves into street art. They could learn a few things from Squashy.

Lets type something about the test match and see what happens

Before the series started, I thought that India were going to win it. Then I saw the seamers, and changed my mind. Although they had a good series in South Africa, they mostly bowled rubbish. England racked up a solid foundation, and looked like getting well over 400.

Then everything went to poop. The Indian quicks remembered how to be good, and bowled us out for bugger all. We lost eight wickets for about a fiver. I feared another England thrashing.

Devine Pity intervened, and the ball beginth to swing. The “Let’s Just Pick Swing Bowlers” strategy paid off and England are picking up millions of wickets for bugger all.

And what about that Chris Tremlett, eh? I thought he bowled very impressively. Nothing like the Sri Lanka fodder he has a few years back. Now he's "Centre fo(l)dder". Ho ho.

Although, he does look like a serial killer. There is definitely something of the Christopher Walken about him. Scarier still: he shaves his body hair. Or so I'm told.

Owais Shah Relief

After yesterday’s bitter words, Owais Shah showed us that he can bat after all and won England a game. As you can see from the above photograph image of above mentioned individual, this performance was rewarded with a "man of the match" copy of the bible. This is so he can never be alone in England hotel room in the future. He'll always have a lovely stor- book to read. I think that's the pop-up version, too.

I missed the actual game, so I can’t pass much in the way of comment.

I can, however, note that there were only seven leg byes conceded in the entire match and only one run out. Interesting, that.

In another match that I missed, India beat South Africa. Why? Mainly because they’re better, but also because they wore a marginally more attractive kit. The best looking side in the field always wins.

It’s raining where I live. Matthew Hoggard is still not captain, so it’s raining in my soul too.

The new England captain in profile

This is the face of the new England one-day captain. He’s the one that looks like a sports physiotherapist. Let us analyse the image of Paul Collingwood.

The first thing you will notice about Collingwood is that he looks alarmingly like my dad. The first give away is the skin. It has two colours: white and red. Notice its total inability to deal with sweltering temperatures above 10 degrees. When it’s warm, his entire body turns bright red. When it’s a moderate, it returns to it’s usual Durham pale.

Despite this, he always complains about the cold. And how he wished he lived in a really hot country, like Denmark or Luxembourg. There’s just no winning with these people.







The next similarity is the hair. Like an orange flame, it gives him super-human powers. He achieves things that you would think are beyond a man of his age. I’ve chucked in a picture of my dad playing football here to show you the uncanny similarity.




Of course, sometimes they can over-estimate their ability. Here’s Collingwood flat-out after running into a lamp-post. It’s a familiar sight to The Atheist’s Christmas celebrations. Happy days.







Lastly, the most striking thing you will notice about the newly-appointed England captain is that he doesn’t look anything like this man. Which, I think, is a major weakness in any leader.



Here’s another shot from The Atheist’s last Christmas. We might have got the “beached whale” section of charades. Either that or the Queen’s Speech is on.

Yorkshire: where men are mums

Do you remember when you mum used to kiss you as a kid? You’d pull away and say “Mu-um!” Of course, this is all just a memory for me now. My mum has now replaced affection with criticism and abuse, as with all loving parents, I suppose.

Anyway, this Adil Rashid receiving a motherly kiss from his captain, Darren Gough. From the expression on Adil’s face – he feels about five.

Now, I would have liked to see Ray Illingworth kiss his team-mates. One by one. Maybe he’d hold their hand a little. Give them a flower.

Anyway, if the heavy petting route works, which it seems to for Yorkshire, then I’m not the one to stand in the way of consenting cricketers expressing themselves in public.

Frolicking Australians

During this World Cup, there has been a steady photographic stream of cricketers on the beach looking smug.

“Yes, I play a game for a living, and, if that isn’t bad enough, I think I fancy a frolic by the sea. Oh? Another cocktail? If you must.”

The worst pictures have come from the Australians.

The Australians are the best at everything. Even enjoying themselves.

Whether it's a team romp in the sand…

…feeling a long rod between their thighs….

…or showing off their man-boobs, the Australians do it best.

Bastards.

In fact, look at Haydos face. It doesn't look like he's enjoying himself. He looks like me on holiday, and I'm bloody rubbish at having fun.

Look like me and test match cricketers have yet another thing in common.

Here. Have some unprofessional looking space. On me.



[BLANK SPACE]

World Cup Final starts! (ish)

This is not soggy London. It is Barbados. A sunny, warm Caribbean island. Just before Sri Lanka play Australia in the final.

It is 15:32 GMT and it is, according to the bloke on Test Match Special, it’s “hosing it down”.

So, the Final has been delayed. The Ozzies, up to their usual cheating tricks, “won” the toss and elected to bat.

Everyone is very worried about this match. Partly because 95% of the population of the cricketing public want the Australians to lose. But also, they’re concerned that they’ll see another “steam-rolling” - Sri Lanka sinking in the Barbadian damp without a trace.

Seeing as the cricket hasn’t started yet, I’ll have a bit of a ramble. Please bear with me.

Now, some of you may have noticed my name. This denotes a philosophical position. I justify this stance by pointing to the Australian Cricket Team. These players have been dominant in international cricket for over a decade, maybe even two decades.

They have probably played a form of cricket most opposed to the original spirit of the game (with the exception of Douglas Jardine 1932 touring side). They have bullied opponents, intimidated them and sledged heavily. They are, in short, bastards. Yet they have won.

Why does God reward bastards?

If I was the All-Mighty, I’d make a team of decent, good-natured chaps win. Like Bangladesh. Now, although they are young, they are a nice set of blokes it seems. I’d let them win. They would grind the Australians into the dust. Every time. Every. Time. Divine Justice, is that.

Surely, the Australian nation is the greatest proof that atheism must be true?

Anyway, it’s still raining. Maybe God is softening up the pitch and slowing the outfield…?

Oh dear. Such is the rain that there’s talk of this match turning into a twenty-twenty. That would be a truly terrible end to a rather disappointing World Cup.

Here’s a final thought or a rather rambling blog: of the six matches played in the Kensington Oval so far, four have been won by the side batting second. Perhaps this and this post might have the final word in this World Cup. I hope so.

Last Tango in Antigua

So the Irish have finally exited the World Cup. They didn’t leave us empty handed though. They left us with two great gifts: The Ferret and The Chicken. A splendid addition to my list of World Cup Dances.

Apparently, the Irish players have been practicing their celebrations. Which is understandable, if you sneak Lara’s wicket, you better have some dynamic moves prepared otherwise you’ll look a bit daft. If I got a wicket in the World Cup I’d run about like a maddy, swinging my arms about and giggling like a lunatic. Not cool.

But Ireland have practiced hard, and are now the polished image of suave. The captain, Trent Johnston has led from the front. I previously gave you a glimpse of his stlye, but here's the chicken in its full glory:

The captain explains his epiphany when creating these elaborate moves:

"The chicken dance came out of when I am out on the dance-floor, the guys say I look like a chicken so that's just a celebratory dance I've given to the guys."

Not just the team, a gift to the world, Trent. The world. Why aren't there more dedicated cricketers like this?

The true star of Irish celebration, however, has been Dave Langford-Smith. Legends have it that Dave was hopeless at dancing, but needed something for his wedding. Thus, in a panic, he invented The Ferret (see right).

The Ferret differs slightly from the Chicken. Instead of the rhythmic flapping of “wings” the arms are stationary in the shape of a heart in an appreciative nod to the beauty of the Riverdance. The dancer also emphasises his Grove by an awe-inspiring hop from one foot to the other.

As beautiful as the Gap of Dunloe.

He’s an Ayalac reconstruction of the wedding disco, where the magic began.

The coolest thing to come out of Ireland since Michael O'Leary's heart.

Tossing

Here is Graeme Smith tossing the coin before he lost to New Zealand. Observe his technique:

• Strong base, with feet a shoulder's width apart.


• Feet also athletic, allowing the body to stretch and extend.


• The tossing arm is raised and bent to maximise spinnage in the coin.


• Thumb erect for more accurate placement.


• Left arm shielding the eyes, in case of unexpected "spin back".

Poetry in motion. This man is an expert.

Compare with Michael Vaughan against Bangladesh.

This is a much more flamboyant technique.

Notice his left leg is slightly cocked, to allow maximum reach towards the stars. Moreover, you will observe that, unlike Smith, Vaughan's arm is not bent, it is erect. This is to ensure a greater elevation of the coin. Spinnage is sacrificed for height.

Furthermore, you will see that Vaughan does not use the "thumb" technique, but he extends the index finger, to pinpoint the exact trajectory of the coin.

Lastly, as opposed to Smith steady gaze at trained on the horizon, Vaughan is ascendant, glaring directly at the heavens. Indeed, his entire body is moving, urging him in an upwards. This is to make him look more like a fairy.

The "Irish" jig

Here’s a picture of another dancing cricketer to add to my collection.

It’s Trent Johnson, after dismissing Andrew Flintoff. When I saw this on the telly, I was impressed with his moves. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find a picture of it online – all I could get was this one. It looks more like an air punch than a jig, but I promise you he IS dancing.

Maybe I should watch the cricket with a Polaroid camera at hand? I wouldn't want you to miss any more magic moments.

I’m hoping to see a few more Irish jigs before the tournament is out. However, maybe from people who are actually from Ireland. Like Ed Joyce. Ed Joyce doesn't have a bald patch. I bet his hair is his own, too.

Dancing in the World Cup

There have been many jolly jigs performed by successful bowlers in this World Cup. Some have the moves, and some are embarrassing. This post tries to sort the groovy from the graceless and presents a definitive list of the World Cup’s Best Dancers.

The qualification procedure for this honour is difficult and complicated. We must define “dancing” as distinct from “jubilant celebrations” or “happy uncoordinated jiggling”. There is a clear difference between a jig and a jiggle. Air-punching, wild running, high-fiving and arm-raising do not count as dancing. What I am looking for is The Groove – the intentional, rhythmic wriggling that makes you, apparently, “cool”.

Here’s a good starter, on the right. This is Zimbabwe’s Tawanda Mupariwa celebrating a wicket in style. He is overjoyed by taking a scalp, but he is also intensely serious when it comes to the dance. This is a solemn art, and much practice goes into perfecting his piece.

Next, on the left, we have a couple dancing the Sluggonese waltz. This is performed by members of the Bermudan team. Notice the unbalanced nature of the moves. This one-side whirl, followed by an eventual collapse, is particular popular from these regions of the cricketing world.




Now, the winners for team co-ordination: Bangladesh.

Observe the rhythmic pumping of arms, and the stamping of feet. I think I will call this the “Tiger Tango”, or the “Bangladesh Bop” I’m not sure. But seeing as they go through this routine nearly every time they take a wicket, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of further opportunities to mull over possible names. Here’s the whole team at it.

Nutters.

Lastly, the prize for outstanding individual performance, especially in the category of stamina and balance goes to the former England captain, Andrew Flintoff of the Northern Lands. Congratulations Fred:

Cricketers at leisure

Here is a picture of Pakistan Coach Bob Woolmer and fast bowler Mohammad Sami I saw last week.

These two naked men seem to getting very close. And by the look on Bob’s face, things might get a little closer.

Actually, what is going on with his face? What is he about to do? Maybe he’s about to “dunk” Sami? I’m not sure he’d look that keen, though. Sami’s knee seems to be moving across. Perhaps he is trying to ward Bob off? “Keep off!” he says through a feigned smile. “Not in front of the cameras.”

It shows you the changing times of cricket. You certainly wouldn’t have seen Devon Malcolm and Raymond Illingworth caught in a similarly semi-nude embrace. Saucy cricketers: it’s the way forward

Pot. Kettle. Black.

Do you remember the summer of 1998? In that summer, a new bloke started playing for England. He seemed promising. The only problem was his fatness. Despite being only 20, this weight problem persisted. It even started to give him back problems. The ECB issued an ultimatum: shape up, or sod off.

Now that bloke is super-fit, and is one of the best players in the world. Although, he’ll never forget his roots. His heart is with the fat people. He feels for them, he empathises with them. He knows their pain like no other.

Hang on. This picture doesn’t seem to be saying these things. The picture says: “Betrayal.” It says, “Ex-Fatty is being mean to my new hero, Sluggo.” Well I won’t stand for that Andrew Flintoff of Lancashire! You leave the teddy bear of Bermuda alone! He is my hero. This is a warning: blogging can turn nasty.

Lets all by nice to Sluggo. I’ll start: he has the best hair-do of all the world’s cricketers.

How England can win the World Cup

Assuming he doesn’t catch diphtheria in the next week, the England and Wales Cricket Board should enrol young Jonny Wilkinson.

Occasionally, he plays a spot for his local village team. Here’s a photograph I took of him on Twickenham Green. I think that you will agree, he has a fine cover drive. Obviously, his technique is rather unorthodox. But we found strapping a bat to his leg was more effective for big hitting required at the death.

This man is a god. He single-handedly won one World Cup; he can easily win another. Furthermore, in cricket, people won’t deliberately try to remove his shins. A doddle!