Daddy or Chips? Country or Money?

Andrew Flintoff has rejected the entire English nation. He said, in a statement recently,

"To be honest, like, I don't really like the lot o'yous. So, if it's ok, I'm gunna take the money and you can all piss off, alright?"

This is part of his bid to become the first freelance cricketer since F.R.O.OP. "Blinkers" Staple-Gunn in the 1840s, who was famed for bowling for sex and the theft of two-man, peddle-powered boats.

The English nation rejoiced in the impoverished Flintoff's move. Little Emily from Clacton, aged eight, remarked,

"Fweddie Flintoff has also been my hero. Now that he has ripped out my heart for a quick buck, he has taught me the value of never trusting anyone ever again. I now want to become a management consultant."

In a quote that I didn't make up, Flintoff has had said:

"I said when I retired from Test cricket my ambition was to become the best one-day and Twenty20 player in the world," the 31-year-old said. Playing in all these different countries can only help."

One less country though, mind.

Who’s worse: Australians or Frenchies?

I’ve just been offered a dream job, so I’ll try not to let my good mood affect my usual misanthropic moaning.

Today, I’d like to point out how hard our boys in white are making it to like them. Compare, if you will, with the England rugby team.

I normally hate it when blogs talk about non-cricketing issues, it’s like going to the pub and finding that they’re only selling fairy cakes, alright in themselves, but not the main reason you went there. But please humour me for the moment.

My problem is this: who should I like more? England’s cricket team, or England’s rugby team?

This is surprisingly difficult to answer, notwithstanding cricket’s obvious superiority. But the problem is this: there is no cricketing equivalent of beating France at home. Perhaps beating the Ausslers in their patch, but when all’s said and done, I’d happily share a drink with an Australian and we’d get on fine. But, with the Frenchies, there’s something deeply inbuilt into English hearts that has something against The French.

Recent history and onset of civilisation aside, The French are still the enemy. And at least the Australian’s don’t make their bread into ridiculous shapes.

Add into this already confused situation the fact that England’s cricket team is absolutely bloody useless at the moment, and you’ll understand my position. Conceding a140 run deficit to bunch of blokes who can only be called Random New Zealanders, is pretty poor. But then for the bowlers to fritter away perfect conditions by pitching it too short is like watching the Fijian rugby team attempt a snowball fight.

Even the mighty Hoggler, who was built for miserable Kiwian climes failed to polish off the obscure seat-fillers as his amazing talents should allow.

Useless.

Perhaps the presence of someone named Richard Wigglesworth might tip the balance in the rugby team’s favour. In any case, I’ll give Michael Vaughan’s lads this last test series to redeem themselves from my embittered contempt.

Ah, that's better: the old magic's back again. Bah humbug.