Australia choke

It was there for them. It was so close. But, once again, Australia CHOKE and FAIL to win another Twenty20 competition. This is perhaps due to their status as biggest chokers in the game.

Although, this, of course, isn’t true. AYALC's experimenting with real reporting, by making things up, and ensuring those things are wrong.

Australia were outplayed in all three disciplines in the game, plus the crucial fourth discipline of bribing the umpires to give you wildly generous decisions.

England’s early wickets bowlers contained Australia to a reasonable low score, with more than a hint of mental disintegration during the first Power Play. Some lower order big-hitting at the end lifted the score from carpet-level to crud-that-sits-on-the-carpet-level.

The fireworks at the back-side of the innings came too late. Only the bowlers could save them the Australians.

Only they couldn’t. Because they are shit.

Happily, the inexperienced flappers failed to take crucial early wickets, allowing England’s finest passport-dodgers to take them over the line.

Does this mean that Australia choked?

I have no idea. I honestly have no clue what ‘choking’ means. My theory is that choking is losing to Australia in any important match. This especially applies to South Africa. If South Africa lose to Australia, in any manner, this automatically becomes choking.

So, as Australia lost to the better team, they failed themselves. They choked themselves.

Much like Stephen Milligan.

England’s success is proof of T20’s randomness

Sorry for the delay in getting back to, but I was preparing my excuse for you.

So I AYALC returns. Various stuff happened to me; various other, more glamorous things, did not.

Prior to the tournament Stuart Broad, no longer the virginal Bambi figure when I started blogging, busied himself by lowering our expectations over the result of the tournament: total England victory.

This shagged out old pro has been around long enough now to recognise a winner, and England’s formula of tedious seamers and buying in foreigners has proven a surprising success. Notwithstanding a rather anomalous loss against the West Indies, which owed more to Duckworth-Lewis peculiarities than superior opposition, England have stormed the competition.

So have Australia, mind you, but we like to be parochial in AYALAC’s dusty, dilapidated towers.

There are some clichés that we can draw out of the hack’s bollocks box of tricks:

• Have England peaked too soon?
• Will the mercurial Pakistan emerge into unexpected success?
• Will England choke in the final?

I offer to you, the traditional AYALAC line, that none of these factors, nor any others relating to skills or confidence, obtain. It’s T20. And therefore we are well into the realm of randomness.

To decide the result, I have thrown my house mate’s stupid little pot plant at the wall. The pathetic carcass of an ex-Bonsai tree is pointing towards the toilet. Chance has spoken: England will win the tournament.

Shahid Afridi wins World Cup

People wonder why Pakistan don’t normally succeed in these sorts of tournaments. It’s usually because they’re not good enough. However, this time, Shahid Afridi (cometh the hour, cometh the nutcase) revealed their secret to success: "The guys were really motivated." Not that it mattered. The guys may have well spent their time practicing their Risk, because they weren’t needed.

Whereas the Indians have their eye in on the strategy board game. They’ll wipe the floor with them.

Cliché artists always trot out the line that the “truly great” perform on the big occasions. Well, big occasions are much like other occasions, were the person that “performs” is much to due to luck as anything else. In any case, Afridi was awarded the Man of Match award in both semi-final and full final.

The tournament’s other great player, Tillakaratne Dilshan, got a duck in this game. Which we can only conclude to mean that he is rubbish. Or, at least, akin to Alec Stewart in the all time levels of greatness.

If Shahid Afridi was a stripped to the waist Roman gladiator, he’d probably stand at a Margaret Thatcher/Heman level of hardness.

Geoff Boycott was remarked that, as a batsman, Afridi had everything, except for brains.

Yet, Afridi is in the top five in terms of wicket taking and run getting. His economy rate is better than any other bowler in the tournament. His fielding can border on the spectacular.

But his hair could use some work.

Afridi could have won the tournament for Bangladesh, or even Australia, such was his form. And Pakistan would not have won without him.

Here’s to madness.

Learning to tolerate T20

The difference between test matches and twenty20 cricket is much like the difference between meaningful sex with a partner you love, and casual, lusting encounters. Test cricket, although enjoyed with a person for whom you feel a deep affection, can be a little predictable. Whereas twenty20 gives you short, sharp, satisfying excitement, plus the added thrill that comes with the possibility of contracting a STD.

I used to hate twenty20. Well, not hate it. It’s the sort of generalised hatred you feel for those who sit next to you on the train. Untargeted and malicious perhaps, but not personal.

But, any format for which Australia are patently useless is a format of mine.

Plus, Ireland are better than Australia. England beat Ireland all the time, so, using the laws of transitivity, England are aches better than the convicts – the Australian ones, I mean.

In any other sport, “the favourites” would denote the team that were best at it, but the Indians are also singularly useless at twenty20. Although they tried to frighten England yesterday by wearing Dutch pyjamas, they failed dispatch an obviously rubbish side, in a surprisingly spectacular stand-off between ineffectuals.

Whereas, the South Africans have continued to deploy their controversial strategy of having a good team. Although he has a face that looks like Jack Russell’s kitbag, Graeme Smith has proved a quietly efficient dispatcher of the opposition. Annoyingly, it seems that quality does sign through is correctly used in this format.

Anyway, I’m off to watch the England game today. If anyone fancies a few bevies with a cynical, embittered blogger, look out for the most handsome man in the stadium. Then give him a slap. It would make me happier.

Middlesex, despite their wives, win

Middlesex, seat of ancient Twickeneese power, won the twenty20 championship.

When I was growing up, I am ashamed to admit, I mocked my Middlesex heritage. Being a strong Somerset fan through and through, me and my learned school associates laughed at the London county’s last three letters.

Oh how we laughed.

But now, I can feel proud that the county that provided me with a mediocre education and high office as local paper boy can produce players of such quality.

Players such as Murali Kartik, who learnt his cricket as a young lad on Twickenham Green. Players like Tyron Henderson: born and bred in Isleworth Estate. And players like Dirk Nannes: conceived in the Prince Blücher pub.

Their victory will ensure spiritual and perhaps some financial happiness with their playing of a series of Stanford matches in the Caribbean (including a game against England) and their inclusion into the Champions League, where they will play against Real Madrid and Bayern Munich.

Although, these plans may be stymied by Ed Joyce’s wife-to-be, who has “put a spanner in the works” by agreeing to marry the stand-in Middlesex captain.

He wasn’t the only one with trouble with ‘er indoors, as Shaun Udal revealed that “the wife has probably spent [the prize money] already.”

It is a testament to the strong team ethos that the Middlesexians can triumph even though they are married to an inconsiderate gaggle of bastards. It brings a tear to the eye.

Well done boys. We’ll celebrate hard in the Blücher tonight.

England don’t know what they’re doing

Peter Moores has admitted that the $100 million England team need practice.

Their value, which can only be recorded in dollars, came from Donald Trump and his continued attempts to buy cricket.

Moores, the England coach and chief blokie, stated that England’s players were a little rusty when it came to twenty20.

“Frankly, they’re only good at boring cricket. But that doesn’t earn any money, so we’ll have to start taking limited overs seriously.”

The West Indies will fancy their chances of making huge amounts of money in this competition (especially when you facture in PPP – high five to the economists out there!) And, to be quite honest, I think the Windies players need the money more than the likes of KP.

There was a programme on the radio just now. The presenters were discussing the role of the Church of England – possibly the meekest, most mild-mannered religion going. It is polite and is embarrassed and focuses heavily on things like flower arranging and cucumber sandwiches. In short, the perfect religion. An English religion.

Cricket is a lot like that. People shamble about on a village green for a while, and then nip of to the pub. No one really knows why, and are too self-conscious to discuss it, it’s just part of life and people get on with it.

So, I don’t have a fucking massive problem with cricket being a shameless money-seeking enterprise that sucks all that is good out country in what remains of this plastic, atomised world.

Oh, due to some miracle that, once again, makes me question my theological position, I didn’t lose my job today. I survived! Ryan Hairybottom did his bit for me today, he really did. Here’s for six more weeks of gay and paid working life!

Right! I’m off to the pub now, to celebrate employment! Cheerio!

Indian premier yawn

I’ll try not to be too smug, but isn’t the IPL boring?

Does anyone care any more? What’s more interesting: the IPL or the English county championship?

An obvious trick question. However, if you are a) a cricket blogger; b) not well disposed to twenty20; c) obsessed with international test cricket; d) me, then you were always going to struggle for consciousness whilst watching this marketing spectacle

A great many people who satisfy none of the above criteria but are still reaching for their remote controls and hitting the “Big Brother” button. Or a film. Whatever floats your boat. Personally, I’m a news 24 man. Except when there’s no news. Then news 24 is pretty much the least informative thing outside of a White House press conference.

With 59 games scheduled in total, you don’t have to be Malcolm Speed to work out why interest is waning. Indeed, television audiences have been dropping steadily as the novelty of this event begins to fade.

I’ll chuck in my usual self-congratulatory anti-twenty20 rantings here: perhaps people are recognising the shallowness, the artificiality and the limited possibilities that twenty20 offers as compared to even a 50 over match.

The subtle nuances, the competition of bat versus ball and the developing strategies are all removed from this format of the game. Once you watch a bloke smack a ball 70 yards you have exhausted the game’s entertainment possibilities. It’s just more of the same.

I’d like to think that viewers are assessing these weaknesses and are deliberately boycotting an impoverished version of the game. However, the fact is that they’re just getting bored by it. No one really cares about the teams, the play is predictable and the results unrelated to skill. They’d rather watch reality television.

Heck, I'd rather watch reality television.

People make a big deal of twenty20’s potential to pull in cricket-haters into the fold. But, judging by this league, twenty20 might result in putting people off from the game.

Take that establishment!

What can’t Stanford bugger off and save snooker or something?

Snooker is similar to cricket. It is considered, by those outside the game, a boring and pointless activity. To this sentiment, I generally concur.

Clearly, snooker needs a helping hand.

That is why the new Tell All Texans To Bugger Off And Start Messing About With Snooker starts here.

There’s an obsequious turd of a piece by Simon Wilde in today’s Sunday Times heralding Allen “Sir” Stanford's immanent messianic saving of English cricket.

In the words of a fine and ineffective ex-Prime Minister: “crisis, what crisis?” Forgive me if I’m fucking stupid in the brain, but hasn’t cricket been ticking over quite nicely without the interference of a moneyed yank who finds test cricket “boring”?

Oh wait. I idealistically forgot about cash. That’s the most important thing in cricket, right? I mean, that’s what it’s all about: making some former investment banker who used to keep wicket for Harrow Second XI as a light distraction from his bullying by the older boys and sexual harassment by the teachers, who now fancies a spot of cricket administration when he isn’t crunching on our hard-earned credit like a hungry, hungry hippo through adventerous German tourists.

But, the bankers say, if we set up a super-rich twenty20 competition, then Kevin Pietersen won’t leave us. And if he leaves us, we won’t have that stylised tart poncing about over the celebrity magazines, too concerned with highlighting and brain pedicures to mess about with getting runs for England. Heaven forefend the possibility of allowing in an English player who actually wants to play and try hard for his country.

I MEAN HEAVEN FOREFEND!

The future of the English Premier League is still under debate. We don’t know whether we’re going to get a two division system, or some artificial “regional” structure. Frankly, I don’t care. These discussions are rather like mulling over the fate of the battle’s survivors: should we bayonet them or squish them in a juice press?

Bastards. The lot of them. Why does cricket have to endure this whilst snooker is unmolested? What did we do to deserve this? Is it because we don’t wear snazzy waistcoats?

Sehwag Smash!

Once again, AYALAC inspires great feats of near super-human achievements.

After watching my latest viddy-blog, Virender Sehwag was overheard to have said,

“The video quality is a bit shaky, but by crickey, that has inspired me!”

He went on to biff an unbeaten 94 from 41 balls. This is not normally the sort of cricket I approve of; I prefer it when those figures are reversed. Better still if they are reversed, debited, credited and multiplied by the residual value,

Now there’s some spanking cricket.

But, for Sehwag, I make exceptions. You can mercilessly biff anyone like, Viru, even England (but not Somerset). And he accepted my offer, and used the opportunity to single-handedly win the match.

There seems to be a developing pattern to these IPL games. Each match has had some bloke go mental. The side with the mental bloke wins, it seems. Rather like rolling the dice, you might think… I know the truth.

By the way, you may, or may not have heard that the IPL, in a bid to extend public affection for them further, has banned the publishing of images taken at the matches onto the internet.

This is where AYALAC comes into its own. Not only do I paint you an original artwork straight from my creative consciousness to your puny, underpowered computer, but this is the only source on the internet where you can see, nay feel, the unfolding action of the IPL.

You are certainly lucky. Luckier than most. The rest don’t have AYALAC, and oh how they suffer.

IPL starts: Hoo-fucking-ray

Well, I suppose I should something about the inaugural IPL match.

Not that I want to.

As you no doubt already know, Brendan McCullum broke the twenty20 world record, providing the crowd of thousands of rabid football fans with what has become known as “entertainment”. He scored 158 not out, from bugger all balls.

After that innings, the Bastradly Bangalore Badgers melted away like the Wicked Witch of the West, giving the Kolkata Squires an easy victory in an ultimately predictable and drab match.

In fairness, the IPL is breaking down my protective wall of curmudgeonliness, McCullum’s innings was awesome. “Whack! Wollop! Wazzam!” went his innings.

“Oh! Whoops! No!” went the bowlers.

What strikes me, more than anything, about this tournament is the weirdness of the players’ juxtaposition. There, before me on the telly, is Ricky Ponting hugging Sourav Ganguly. Australians, Kiwis and Indians alike are frolicking gayly in front of my disbelieving eyes.

To capture any similar sites in the future, it might be worth watching a few more games.

Official AYALAC line on those Indian leagues

Be warned, this post is angry.

Right, the Indian Premier League (IPL) is rubbish. Let’s get that cleared out of the way. I have kept quiet on these twenty20 competitions because I don’t like twenty20. But now is the time for the noisy minority to speak out.

First came the Indian Cricket League - a rubbishy enterprise that sought to make lots of money from has-been or never-will-be cricketers. “Oh! That’s a terrible idea!” moaned the BCCI, “You’ll ruin cricket.”

But then they saw how much money could be made, and then they thought, “Bugger cricket! Let’s go for the money.”

Of course, this is a perfectly reasonable thought, if you are in a position to realise it, selling out for cash is always a good idea. However, I am not, so I think it’s a rubbish thought.

Now, the BCCI has decided that its raison d'etre is to make money, it is acting like any monopolistic firm would: it is clamping down on its competitors to maximise profits.

You might argue that the world cricket boards are behaving in an oligopolistic fashion – a small number of firms acting as a cartel to control the market. But you would be wrong; damn wrong.

The BCCI is the Big Daddy of the cricketing world, if Daddy wants other boards to ban players for playing in an unsanctioned league, then Daddy gets.

It is at this point that the analogy of sensible mechanisms of a free markets break down. Players are workers (bear with me) just like us; they sell their labour for money. Nothing wrong with that.

In any normal market, you apply to different firms, see who can offer you the most. Oh no, not in the BCCI’s market. The Daddy doesn’t want players to chose. Daddy wants them to be his bitches. AND WHAT DADDY WANTS, DADDY GETS.

Because Daddy wants a piece of the action, the other boards are struggling to pussy-foot their domestic schedules around Daddy. The IPL, generally, does not impact upon many other leagues – all except England’s, of course.

The early season of the English county championship overlaps with the IPL, so some of our more exciting players will be tempted away to the sub-continent. Even touring Kiwis are requesting permission to bugger off.

What that’s, little one-legged, orphan-boy, Jimmy? You want to watch your favourite, Dimitri Mascarenhas play at Hampshire this season? You’ll be saving up for ages for that ticket?

Well tough totty. DADDY WANTS DIMITRI MASCARENHAS.

The worst thing about this whole endeavour is that no-one knows why they are doing it.

The IPL bases itself around English football’s Premier League – the most soulless of all the football leagues. People come from all over the world to play in places like Middlesborough. Adoring fan attempt to scream unprenouceable names as if the centre forward from Burkina Faso was actually their mate Pete who works in the chip shop.

They don’t care they. As long as “their” side wins. They recognise money is necessary for this – everyone else has money, right?

Ah. That’s why we’re doing this. Money. Of course. How incredibly stupid of me. Money is important to have in the game, isn’t it?

Just look at England, historically loaded with government grant after government grant, and look how wisely they have spent it. Look how good our team is.

What! Am I suggesting that there is no evidence that shows that money has improved the game? Surely not! The administrators tell us without money the game would die. If the kiddies playing in the street weren’t sponsored by Arse Ltd., they would literally put down their bats and play golf. Literally.

It’s odd to think how India won the World Cup in 1983, when its Board wasn’t nearly as rich as it is now. Must have been a fluke. Cricket wasn’t as good as it is now. That’s FACT. Just look at the money involved.

Bollocks to you IPL. Bollocks to you twenty20. Bollocks to you BCCI. Bollocks to the cricket administrators. Bollocks to the lot of you.

Right. Well, lets lighten the mood, shall we? (Well done on getting this far.) On a happier note, King Cricket has grown up, and put into print. That’s right, paper!

When you thinking you’re doing OK as a blogger, someone like JRod comes along, and blogs his way into the annuals of legendary bloggers overnight. His excellent site has just started a new podcast series. Well worth a listen to.

Those blogs are happy places.

Super Tuesday

Today isn’t a normal Tuesday. No. It’s Super Tuesday.

Today we find out how tolerant the USA is. And whether a young Irishman named Bearach O’Bama can reach the highest levels of American politics.

I am distracting you, of course, from one of the many limited overs matches in the England-New Zealand series. England begun their campaign today, on Super Tuesday, in Auckland in the first twenty-20 match.

I’m trying not to sound bored by the whole thing, I really am.

England managed a hearty 184 for eight in their twenty overs and, at the moment, the Kiwis are 94 for seven and destined for near-certain defeat. KP whacked 43 off 23; Ryan Hairybottom has taken 2-12, including the wickets of captain-keeper Brenda McCullum and LRPL Taylor.

But England are making it so hard to care these days. Or perhaps it’s the ICC. This is the first of two twenty-20 matches, which are part of limited overs series spanning seven matches.

I can sort of understand this excessive number against a proper side, like India, but New Zealand? The land where sheep out-number people 16 to one? What are they thinking?

So, I’ll be doing my usual thing of keeping a vague eye on the one-dayers, but saving up my hopeful praying to the English gods of Desperate Draws and Barrel-Scraping Wins.

Compare this to the recently started Six Nations rugby union championship. We haven’t seen England lose since months ago, but watching them lose again this weekend was a nostalgic and rewarding experience. It was fun, if depressing. Why? Because international rugby matches are rare, and that makes them special.

I know King Cricket has made the same point before, and I know I have referred to that fact before. There are just as many “too much cricket – moan moan moan” posts as one-day internationals.

Guest blog: This article contains disturbing imagery.

Here's a special blog, from Our Man in Durham:

Being an arm chair cricket fan, having an appreciation for wit and awful at making puns, I have long intended to write a comment on this illustrious website. However, a lack of confidence in my intellectual cricket brain, passing out after consumption of too much cider and working long hours for a high street bank that will remain nameless, have contrived to delay my debut. Not any more. The focusing that being alone in a flat in the north east for two days can only achieve, I present my thoughts on the current state of cricket.

twenty20. I must admit I only realised that we were near the end of the twenty20 world cup when I returned from a week in Spain on Tuesday. You see cricket especially twenty20 doesn’t get much or no coverage on CNN. The one time I remember it being mentioned in a week of watching this godforsaken channel was in the context of England losing. No surprise there and I suppose the mentioning of England losing at cricket is so unsurprising it just gets lost in the background.

My fondest memory of the twenty20 world cup will be the old ginger one’s antics. He will be pleased to know that Durham’s first ever strip club is opening next week. It begs the question that irrespective of playing cricket, is everyone who plays for England, barring Michael Vaughan who I am sure is a true gentleman, a complete Muppet? No wonder Marcus Trescothick is depressed, the thought of spending a week let alone the majority of the year with these people is enough to make anyone ring the Samaritans.

You’re probably thinking what a prude; it was only a strip club? But my argument is that if that had been the England football or rugby captain it would have been front page news for a week. No because it is cricket and everyone knows we are crap and with the fredalo incident cricket has become a bit of a laughing stock. It’s so bad it would even make front page of the News of the World.

So what do we want our crickets to be? There has been much comment, including on this illustrious site that we need to be more tough/Australian/bastard. I think that this new found strategy illustrated by our disgraceful behaviour when playing India is shocking. We just look like a nation of cheap chavs, which I suppose we are. Australia can get away with it. They win. No one minds who warnie is texting. If we started to get the results on the pitch I would fully support ginger getting down and dirty with those strippers in a pedlo and half a bag of coke. A small price to pay.

ICL says "talk to the hand"

If you, like me, have just finished watching an assortment of Welsh cartoons and old episodes of the Krypton Factor whilst munching over a bowl of cereal pondering on the day ahead, and after firing up your computer to read a huge email sent by a South African which discusses a rich variety of pointless subjects, you start to wonder whether this Indian Cricket League is worth the effort.

To those of you not obsessed with cricket news, the ICL is a breakaway Indian twenty20 tournament that exists to make a number of unknown capitalists a little bit richer. It has lots of big names like Shreyas Khanolkar and Sumit Kalia.

There are some other people playing too:

Nathan Astle, Nicky Boje, Chris Cairns, Chris Harris, Imran Farhat, Inzamam-ul Haq, Lance Klusener, Brian Lara, Abdul Razzaq and Mohammad Yousuf.

Apparently Stephen Fleming, Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath have been approached by the ICL. They are said to be “thinking about it”.

Obviously, comparisons to the Kerry Packer Rebels are never far away. But, the Packer World Series had a non-financial impact and changed the game for ever. This ICL thing just seems like another way to make money. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. People often think it is. But those people usually don’t have much of it anyway. There is a reason for that.

The BCCI could have easily dealt with this issue before it arose by starting a twenty20 competition of its own. Heck, they could have made money out of it. But instead of acting sensibly, and nipping the whole thing in the bud, the emotive unprofessionalism of the Indian administrators have turned the off-the-cuff idea into an international conflict.

Now, we are stuck in the usual position of pathetic tit-for-tat actions: Kapil Dev, chairman of the ICL board, has been removed from his ICL position; ICL organises have mocked the BCCI; and even the PCB and Sri Lanka Board is threatening to ban participating players.

Why isn’t there a single, sane person involved in this to say something common sensical like: “why doesn’t the BCCI absorb the ICL and then everyone’s happy?” No, it’s Indian cricket, so people prefer to say “NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAARRRRRR!!!!!!”

Do you see how dangerous twenty20 cricket is? Do you see?

If you think, whilst crunching another spoonful of your muesli, that cricket is just a game, played with a bat and a ball, then you would be wrong.

It is an industry. So why can’t I make money out of it? Maybe it’s a sated market? Perhaps a break-away darts league is needed? What am I talking about again?

England’s World Twenty20 Squad

I seem to talk about twenty20 a lot even though I profess to hate the format.

It’s a slow news day in the cricketing world (the crumbling of the Indian domestic league and virtual collapse of the BCCI aside) so it’s all I have to go on.

England, out of feeble-minded desperation, have called some “specialists” into the fold. Those of note being: James Kirtley (Sussex), Darren Maddy (Warwickshire), Chris Schofield (Surrey), Jeremy Snape (Leicestershire), Vikram Solanki (Worcestershire) and Luke Wright (Sussex). (See the full team here.)

Weirdly, Ian Bell, Alastair Cook, Dimitri Mascarenhas and Monty Panesar has been selected for the NatWest series (50 overs) against India but not the World Cup. Who knows why?

The sad thing is, the selectors seem totally unaware that selection is an irrelevant factor in twenty20 matches. Random chance is the chief determinant of the outcome, so doesn’t matter who you pick.

The format is so devoid of skill, that England could have picked an entirely different side, and it still wouldn’t have made a difference. These “specialists” would swing the bat, as anyone would, and their success is subject to the same laws of probability. All we can hope for is a favourable statistical blip.

No. Best not take the format too seriously, and use it to give some young’uns a go. Such as Luke Wright (in the picture). He's only 22 and has made an impression. May as well stick him into the twenty20 format, and let the proper batsmen take a rest.

Twenty bloody 20

So Kent (Kent?!) won the Twenty20 Cup.

Kent?! I’ve bloody been to Kent, and it’s bloody rubbish. You know, the chav was invented in Kent. That tells you all you need to know. (For international readers, "chavs" are teenagers that aimless roam the streets in a threatening manner. They also drink a lot of cider. Do not confuse them with farmers from Somerset.)

I’ve included of a picture of some chavs that I shot whilst driving through Dover. That’s the thing about Kent: you drive through it to get to France. And the thing about France is: you drive through it to get any where else. Just one big motorway to Italy, as far as I’m concerned.

As you can see, the chavs and "larking about" in a intimidating manner. They also wear the hats and helmets and things that they find on the street. They are mostly skinny because their parents can't afford much food, and they are addicted to heroine.

So anyway, the matches on Finals Day were brilliant and exciting and fun and all that rubbish that people usually trot about Twenty20. I once revealed the truth about the format, but the EC-bloody-B chose to ignore me. And not for the first time. It’s no coincidence that the county scene is a shambles and England are losing.

I boycotted the whole tournament. Twenty20 is just too exciting. It should be banned; it’s just not cricket.

I mean look at them. How could you possibly take any sporting team seriously when they waltz about in trackies. Honestly.

Any other cricket news? No. No I don’t think so. Oh wait, apparently, we’ll be “surprised” tomorrow when the selectors announce England’s Twenty20 squad. Expect Jade Goody to be picked.

Revealed: the truth behind twenty20

It's rubbish. No, really.

It is.

Sussex vs Surrey: A bloody farce

It seems hard to write about something which is neither tennis or a Tour de France. *sigh*

But I suppose I must.

Another twenty20 match reached “frankly stupid” status last night. Rain and fanny around caused a match at the Oval to be reduced to five overs each.

The match decided who was to go forward into the Twenty20 Cup quarter-finals. Sussex managed to beat Surrey by five whole runs.

Chris Adams, Sussex captain, described the conditions as “diabolical”.The rain fell, the light was atrocious, but the cricket continued. Adams again:

"It was the right decision to go out and play cricket. We have created this game, the public love it and we have to give them something to see."

I’m not sure I would have “loved it” if I were in the 10’000 crowd. Seeing 10 bloody overs and a bit of drizzle does not make for an over-exuberance evening. It’s crap. That’s what it is.

I have a lot to say about twenty20. You may have heard it all before. But I think that episodes like this don’t do many favours for the game. Administrative cock-ups, desperately piss-poor and unsatisfactory games are not sustainable in the long term, and do not improve the reputation of cricket. They're just a shambles.

Ah well.

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.

Windy20

I tried to make “West Indies” into a “twenty20” pun. Like most of my efforts, it died like a shrew in a barn owl factory.

My point is this: West Indies cricket is perfectly suited to twenty20. They demonstrated their natural warming to the game yesterday by beating England by 15 runs.

The wofty, quick-fire 40s and 50s, which were criticised throughout the test series, are the ideal bed-rock for any 20-over score. And this was what the Windies’ top-order provided: Shivnarine Chanderpaul (41 off 26), Marlon Samuels (51 from 26) and Devon Smith (61 off 34) all played perfect innings to put their team in the chair behind the steering wheel – the “driving seat” if you will.

Twenty20 does not require a prolonged, grafting innings that the Windies' seem incapable of producing (Chanders aside). No endurance; not much thought; just swing the bat and wahay. Bloody fantastic.

However, the most noticeable change was in the fielding. They were a transformed team. Jonathan Agnew reckons the fielding was “a hundred times better.” I could not believe my eyes when I saw out-fielders attack the ball, competently collect it and send back a sharp return. They even managed two run-outs. Moreover, the final overs bowling of Ravi Rampaul and Dwayne Bravo showed forethought, control and discipline.

Chris Gayle reckons that the administrative mess over the last few days may have been responsible in pulling the team together. This is certainly nonsense. But, there you are.

If they keep this up then Ayalac may consider them a winner for the twenty20 World Cup.

From an England perspective, it is interesting to note that the new brooms (Dimitri Mascarenhas, Owais Shah, Ryan Sidebottom and Jonathan Trott) failed. Whereas England had to rely on “non-specialists” (Paul Collingwood and Jimmy Anderson) to buttress the assault. I’m not sure about this picking 20twenty “experts” business. I think that quality tends to shine through in most forms of the game, and sticking to the same core of players promotes a good team spirit. Like Casper.