England waylaid by cobras

England continue to be attacked by the wild-life of Sri Lanka. In their last tour, which, I understand, was about five minutes ago, I reported that England were badgered by gangs of feral dogs and hounded by killer pythons.

England’s return has heralded the re-emergence of Sri Lanka’s secret weapon: terrify the crap out of the touring opposition with beasties.

This is a tactic that Australia have successfully employed for many years. Most people erroneously believe that the Ausslers win at home because they are “better” or have wider bats. This is untrue.

Preceding every game, the touring party is harassed by a specialised animal team, which places scorpions into slippers, black widows in coffee and rare Australian Death Eels down the pyjama bottoms of sleeping tourists.

This campaign of using Australia’s weirdly dangerous fauna effectively destroys the nerves of the overseas squad and ensures test victories every time.

The ECB attempted this strategy in 1997, but the tourists got all excited at the “really cute” invading squirrels in the hotel rooms and increased the frequency of barbeques. It was later argued that this gave unnatural strength to touring squad and the mistake was never repeated.

Anyway, TMS, as ever keen to distract themselves from the cricket, took great pains to report in detail the “snake incident”. Apparently, there was a split within the party; Graeme Swann was convinced they were anacondas, whereas Matthew Hoggard was certain that they were just heavy drinking worms.

Here’s a TMS picture so you can judge for yourself:
Personally, I think it's a Plasticus Bottalias, which can be dangerous if you stand on them.

100 6s

In collating 67 effortless runs in Australia’s current test against Sri Babwe, Adam Gilchrist broke a record. He has he more sixes in test cricket than anyone else. Ever.

In fact, he has scored one hundred. Daniel Vettori has received the most biffing, having 17 sixes biffed off him.

Striking one hundred sixes is amazing. Reflect on the one four scored in Geoffrey Boycott’s entire career, in all forms of the game.

In those one hundred balls, Gilchrist has whacked 600 runs. That’s a run rate of 600. I don’t think I have scored that many funs whilst buggering about in the garden over the course of my entire childhood.

To add some context to this incredible achievement, he’s playing against one of the bestest sides in the world, with arguably the best bowler of all time.

The Lankans are struggling to make a come-back in the series (read: England-like desperate clawing for a draw). Kumar Chokshanada Sangakkara hit a valiant century in a brave rear-guard. But we all know that they are doomed.

Doomed.

Bloody Australians. I wish they would get a biffing.

Yawn: Australia are winning

This is like watching your dad playing rugby against your three year old brother. You hope that he’ll eventually stop pounding your sibling into the ground. But he won’t. He just keeps pounding and pounding. Eventually little Jimmy stops moving, and then you have to talk to the police for a bit.

Sri Lanka is just like little Jimmy. Except, there is no coroner’s inquiry or judicial cover-up; Sri Lanka’s defeated corpse is getting relentlessly battered and not even Social Services will intervene.

Again, the Australians eased into hegemony. With two Ausslers notching centuries. One, Mr Boring, scoring 101* overnight – taking his average to 432 for this year. The other, Phil Jacques, not satisfied with a perfect 100 in the previous match, opted for an exact 150. Presumably, Jacques is a mathematician, and likes to score in binary numbers only. Heck, if you’re an Australian, you can do that.

You can do anything you want.

Meanwhile, the impudent Sri Lankans, toil like lobotomised Lions that are too stupified with sun-stroke to grab even a blind quadriplegic goat. Even Lasith Malinga, the supposed savour of the Lankan cause – so badly missed in Brisbane – looked a member of Twickenham’s second eleven.

This is really rubbish. Australia is really rubbish. Please stop battering us Australians. You can’t really enjoy it. Look at the picture, even Mr Chimney finds this dull. Think of your forbearers. You don’t want to make their record like insignificant, do you? Think of you heritage…such as it is.

Ninety's plenty

I love watching India play Pakistan. It isn’t as fun as seal clubbing, but still a good laugh nonetheless.

India polished off Pakistan by six wickets, to take the series by 17-12. Two players nearly got centuries, but couldn’t be arsed with those last few runs. Predictably, Yuvraj Singh scored a fifty.

It was a strange old knock by Pakistan, which seemed to be always behind par and building “recovering partnerships”. India, conversely, seemed comfortably ahead of the rate, and built lots of “this is a piece of easy cricket” partnerships.

It’s nice to see someone other than Yuvraj score the runs for India. Sachin Tendulkar played imperiously and didn’t appear to be “winging it” as was his impression in England. Maybe he’s going to stick around for another few years to beat Murali’s record. But, it really shows you have scary the Indian ODI line-up has become.

Being English, I backed Pakistan as the underdogs, and when the third Indian wicket fell I thought “oh good, perhaps we’re in for a chance”. And then Yuvraj strolled in like a batting bastard from hell. It was all over within a twinkling of paedophile’s newly polished glass eye.

I wish the underdogs were less rubbish. But they always are. Just look at New Zealand.

It’s a good job that this serious is so reasonably short, otherwise the remaining matches would just be a meaningless bore.

Harmison: how quickly we forget

Now that Steve Harmison is away from test cricket, safe in South Africa to be molly-coddled and loved, he seems to be doing alright. He is playing for the Cape Cobras which is some sort of reptilian cricket team, or something.

Hillariously, he said he suffered from rustiness when he opened up with a series of wides and no-balls. Upon witnessing this, most Harmison watchers were pleased to see him back to normal.

Let’s be honest. Steve Harmison is a bit rubbish. Ok – he’s tall. Ok – he’s quick. But, if we were to be frank with ourselves and our mums, he is rubbish. But this glaringly obvious fact aside, Peter Moores, the England coach, has backed him, brushing blatant failure under the carpet:

"He had a tough last season. He struggled for form early on, then started to find some form, then got injured and missed the rest of the season, which was obviously disappointing for him.”

By "tough" Moores means "useless"; "got injured" means "increased in uselessness".

Ages ago, I accused him of being a Harmsprakash – some sort of hyper-talented beast that falls to pieces at international level. I stick by that. Especially when we have committed and performing bowlers like Ryan Hairybottom and Champion of the Nation, the People’s Captain, MATTHEW HOGGARD, it becomes harder to justify the self-obssessed Geordie’s spot in the side.

Let Harmison play for his snake team and let him slither out of international responsibility with Warne-like dignity.

In other news, the ECB has stopped responding to my emails regarding Matthew Hoggard. Their last one mentioned something about “harassment” and “lawyers”, but I think they must have been typos. They probably meant “Hoggy” and “is ace”.

Cricket: it’s not for girls

Well, apparently, I would be wrong. The MCC, not content in letting in female members, it now allows them to make non-tea-related decisions. The girls, proving that they are not useless stereotypes, took this opportunity to turn cricket balls pink.

This may, or may not, be a crime. I’m not sure how exactly I feel about this one, but I have a vague desire to break into the offices of Heat magazine and transform the back-pages into a nag-hoping form guide for up-and-coming horse races.

Cricket in the UK has experimented with orange balls, blue ones and most recently white balls. None of them really worked. People don’t stop complaining about balls. Especially girls.

Even the traditional red one has come in for some stick. Hundreds of years of successful battering; now batsmen are moaning that they can’t see them. Frankly, I see this as a bonus. It would be a great game if the batsman couldn’t actually see the ball (maybe we could paint it green or overcast grey). Seeing batsman getting hit is a major attraction for spectators.

But I suppose bowlers have it all their own way anyway. It’s only fair.

Mike Gatting, who is expert on talking balls (although, not as much as this bloke), has stated,

“This is a very interesting and a very wise development."

Being a cricket fan I naturally fear change. I oppose this move. Given that the number of runs scored in international matches is greater than ever, I can’t really see a need.

Other than another pointless marketing gimmick than brings in so much…stuff. Yeah, the ECB, great at brining in the stuff.

Cricket averages: a rebuttal

Andrew Mosey has written a response into my own analysis into the validity of cricketing statistics. In an overview of Michael Atherton’s test career, I argued that his average of just under 40 didn’t adequately reflect his likely performance on the day.

I rather regretted this conclusion, as Athers was one of my all time favourites, and mused on the possibly devastating effects this method would have on an Australian invincible of old. Indeed, Andrew rose to the challenge and analysed the test career of Don Bradman.

Annoyingly, Sir Don didn’t look as useless as I hoped. His median score was 167. This is, unfortunately, still pretty good. Most interestingly, the standard deviation is 87, which we could argue seriously damages the validity of his research. Especially when we compare it to the former England captain’s standard deviation of 37.

However, there is a more mature criticism we can offer. When looking at Athers’ glorious years I was surprised at his success to failure ratio. Indeed, I found that three quarter’s of his innings resulted in what we would term “a failure”.

Similarly, Andrew found:

“Looking at the number of 50+ scores achieved by the Don, you'll find this occurred in 42 of his 80 innings; an incredible 52.5% of times he walked out to bat he was soon raising it to the crowd.”

OK – this record is better than our Michael's. Obviously, Atherton was a superior to Bradman in many ways, and these petty statistics only detract from that fact.

However, what they do show up is the astonishingly high number of batting failures. If, say, I cocked up five times out of ten at work (you know, I spilled the tea whilst on my way to brown-nose my boss) my office test career would be of Zimbabwean proportions. And yet, this half-present batsman is considered the greatest player of all time.

If Pete Sampras lost half his matches we would assume he was English. If every other Shakespearean play was shit we would assume the Bard was American.

Yet these are the appalling standards that international cricketers expect us to accept. Why are their standards so shoddy? Why do we tolerate these failures without question?

Frankly, I have had enough of it. No more excuses you lot. Pull your socks up.

Spin bowlers: Their hour cometh

There aren’t too my successes in my life. There was that one time the cat sat down on my command. But no one else saw that. And I suspect he was just messing with my mind.

But, on this occasion, we can safely say without doubt that Anil Kumble’s elevation to captain of India is solely down to my tireless campaigning. Don’t worry, I don’t expect any thanks. The smile on your face is my reward, Anil.

Anyway, now that Daniel Vettori is captain of all of New New Safferdom, perhaps it is time that the world finally acknowledges the limitless genius of spin bowlers. It is surprising that the world didn’t realise this before, but a mixture of short-sightedness and stupidity had kept spinners away from their rightful spot: The Top.

Now, we can hope that all international sides appreciate the experience that their twirlers provide and appoint them captains.

There are so many obvious candidates for these positions. England has Monty, Bermuda has Sluggo and Sri Lanka has the enormously experienced Malinga Bandara.

The next stage of this take over would faze medium pacers out of the game. Next would follow the unnecessary and showy fast bowlers. Followed by the specialist batman and finally we would axe the wicket-keepers. Only then would cricket be played as it should be.

Should New Zealand exist?

I have given my advice to New Zealand’s Cricket Board, Embassy in London and Prime Minister. All of whom were too proud to take it. Now, their pigheadedness is reaping that which it sewed.

South Africa wiped New Zealand from the face of the planet, in a fashion that reminded the world of the Roman invasion of Dacia. In fact, an emergency session of the UN Security Council has been called to discuss a motion to rename New Zealand “New New Safferdom”.

To be honest, it was an embarrassing performance. With the Proteas doing as they promised, by obliterating the Black Cap’s batting line-up with an awesome display of aggressive bowling.

I used to like New Zealand. They are rather like Sri Lanka – small, plucky and occasionally good in a conspicuous un-Australian manner – that deserved a sort of absent minded, distant encouragement.

Then a Kiwi started commenting here. This required immediate New Zealand bashing. Eventually, he tired of arguing with me, and my relentless Kiwi-bating that he, and all his kin, never returned to this blog.

This means it’s safe to say I like them again. New Zealand, I like you. You deserve to exist. But please try to lose less. I get enough of that at home.

Oh, what's the point?

Putting in the opposition, rather like farting in the shower whilst not alone, is rarely advisable. This is the schoolboy error that Sri Lanka made in the first match in their series against Australia.

Australians being the predictable buggers that they are, set about crushing the Lankans for their naivety, with Phil “I’m not as shit as you hoped” Jacques scoring exactly 100 runs. Which, frankly, is just showing off.

Another error was dropping Lasith Malinga for some useless goon who reckons bowling with leather pants on constitutes good swinging. No, people of Sri Lanka, Malinga is great. He bowls really fast and gets wickets. This is a good reason to select him. Really.

God, it’s so depressing when Australia win. Sri Lanka are such a good side, they don’t deserve to be crushed like this. Oh Jesus, give me some mercy from this endless drudgery of bastardly hegemony! Just break one, tiny little leg somewhere please. Just one more rogue ball…

In other news, Muttiah Muralitharan bowled well. Which is great because Australians hate him. I know, that’s like hating Jimmy, your nephew’s adorable hamster, but that’s what they’re like over there. However, the Ausslers employed the tried and tested strategy of blocking the good bowler, whilst murdering the rest. Thankfully, they treat the weird-eyed wizard with respect these days.

In another hilarious development, all the people that take photographs of people playing cricket in Australia have been banned. Why this is, I have no idea, but it makes life difficult for us bloggers who rely on innocent internet theft for pictures to liven up an otherwise dreary entry. So I decided to go for this one. It almost looks genuine. It is, in fact, Graeme Hick celebrating his 16 at the Wanderers in 1995.

Yeah: Kumble for King

The man for the moment. The achiever. The doer. The manically-eyed spinner. The obsessive weirdo. Anil Kumble, hero to billions, has stepped forward to offer his services as Indian captain.

Surely, no one can better this king prawn amongst lower, peasant prawns. His record speaks for itself. Well, actually, it doesn’t. It just sits their placidly on cricinfo, but when you’re reading it in your head you think “blimey, all this and he’s an invertebrate?”

Not only that, but at 118 test appearances, his experience could prove decisive. It’s not just Mark Ramprakash turn up for a few decades here and there experience, it’s consistent “I’m going to win now, ok?” experience.

Not only that, he’s so cool.

"I would certainly do the job if asked to. I don't know what the big deal is, why so much is being made of this. I have said this before also."

I’ll tell you what the fuss is, Anil, you’re a god, and you have offered your services to the feeble underlings below you at their hour of greatest need. It’s like Jesus coming down to heaven and talking sense about which horse was going to win the 3:15 at York, instead of whining at you about being nice to ungrateful bastards all the time. It’s like daddy coming home from work bringing chocolates instead of violent beatings.

Some Ayalac research has discovered that I apparently predicted Kumble’s promotion in February – that shows you the true quality of this blog. To quote myself:

I think bowlers are better people than batsman, and they are routinely and unfairly over-looked in the captaincy. They need some support.

All this is still true, and more. Further investigation has uncovered a mad picture of him.

When I think about this further, I think that Anil Kumble is the best thing in the world. And maybe my sole reason for existence is to worship in His Greatness. Perhaps he was the only one who could have stopped twenty20?

I love you Anil Kumble.

Tendulkar: I’m just a temp

Weirdly reminiscent of the Ukes of Hazzard’s “Just a Temp” classic, Sachin Tendulkar has refused the imposition of further responsibility and said NO to the captaincy. Most people would say YES if they were offered the captaincy of their country. But, then again, most people aren’t Indians.

Niranjan Shah, the BCCI secretary, said in a statement.

"He [Tendulkar] was of the view that presently the Indian team was doing extremely well and the Board must think of appointing a younger person as the captain, looking at the future of the team."

Clearly, this is a weird thing to say, which obviously leads to the conclusion that Tendulkar is only in it for the free pens. A hero to cricket fanatics and work-shy temporary staff alike.

Now the BCCI has a bit of a problem. Rahul Dravid’s natural successor would be MS Dhoni, but most people that he needs another year’s test cricket before he can lead in the longer format. Once again, Indian cricket reels in chaos. Which, to be frank, is their standard way of managing things.

Throughout all this, there is an obvious solution, but concealed to all eyes. All but, of course, mine. Appoint Anil Kumble as captain.

“Wait! That’s crazy! You can’t appoint a bowler as captain. If you did that, the slip fielders would revolt.”

No, this wouldn’t happen you crazy, prejudice, ranting world. He’s the next most experienced player. He knows loads. He’s a spinner. And he’s been Official God here for ages. I have said before (sorry, can’t be bothered to link) that bowlers should be captains. But this time, I actually mean and I'm not just trying to pad out another blog.

Appoint Kumble. Really.

I would consider MS Dhoni, but, like Shane Watson, I think he has other unattractive features which are not suggestive of captaincy material.

Cricketers: hard as frostbite

In an article I’m gratefully stealing from the BBC, I note that a group of cricketers are planning to play cricket on Mount Everest. For those of you who don’t know, cricket is a game played with a bat and ball which takes forever.

This is a standard textbook definition of the game. However, every single cricketing guide neglects to point out one key feature: the presence of oxygen.

Kids, try this at home: attempt to play cricket in a low oxygen atmosphere. You’ll find that your lead bowler swiftly collapses to plead for a quick mercy. It’s next to impossible score many runs – even when you force your disabled aunty to act as a runner. It’s funny how the MCC missed something so rudimentary from their supposedly authoritative literature.

Anyway, three teams from the Professional Cricketers' Association will play six-a-side matches of five overs each. When you look at the picture of the flat terrain and the predictable weather conditions you wonder why no one thought of this before.

Andrew Baud, spokesman for the Professional Cricketers' Association said,

"They are taking 40 spare balls up there - I can imagine they will need them."

I doubt it. Your seam bowlers will expire in the first three strides. Your leggie’s fingers will snap in the cold. Forget slog-sweeps into cow’s crevice; imagine the effect on the digits when a ball rears off a length. Appendages will fall to the ground like dollies in the Indian field.

It is for this reason that I am praying to my absent god for video footage from the surviving stragglers. It’s always the fat blokes that last. Here’s hoping that Darren Lehman will do his bit for his country and malicious sadists everywhere.

The climb starts Monday.

Guest blog: Clinical Addiction

Another from my guest columnist. Remember, lawyers, I didn't write this:

It’s a funny thing although the general consensus is that’s its not good. Many careers have been ruined as a result: George Best, Keith Moon and dictators who general got too big for their boots and were taught a good lesson. Then there are those who seemed to have been made by their addition: Crack Doherty, Charlie Kennedy and Bill Clinton. So where does Freddie “I’m named after a Flintstone” fit into this?

Well ignoring turn up to training pissed off your head in the middle of an Ashes tour the first point of contact in answering this question is our beloved NHS. If you see a doctor, maybe you have fallen off a pedalo in the middle of a world cup, then the first thing they will do is run two tests two to assess you. The first is CAGE:

Alcohol dependence is likely if the patient gives 2 or more positive answers:

- Have you ever felt you should CUT down your drinking?
- Have people ANNOYED you by criticising your drinking?
- Have you ever felt bad or GUILTY about your drinking?
- Have you ever had a drink first think in the morning to steady your nerves or get rid of a hangover (EYE- opener)?

Taking into account I scored three and I also have the additional affliction of starting to sing Duran Duran songs when drunk, lets move on the more comprehensive assessment, MAST.

Alcohol dependence is likely if the patient has a total score of 6 or more:

- Do you feel you are a normal drinker? Yes No(2pts)
- Do relatives or friends think you are a normal drinker? Yes No(2pts)
- Have you ever attended a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous? Yes(5pts) No
- Have you ever lost friends because of drinking? Yes(2pts) No
- Have you ever got into trouble at work because of drink? Yes(2pts) No
- Have you ever neglected obligations, your family, or your work for 2 or more days in a row through drink? Yes(2pts) No
- Have you ever had delirium tremens (DTs), severe shaking, heard voices, or seen things that were not there after heavy drinking? Yes (5pts) No
- Have you ever gone to anyone for help about your drinking? Yes(5pts) No
- Have you ever been in hospital because of your drinking? Yes(5pts) No
- Have you ever been arrested for drunken driving? Yes(2pts) No

Now thankfully I only score 7 on this scale and that’s because I got a whopping 5 pointer which is defiantly in the past. So where does Fred stand….

- Do you feel you are a normal drinker? Yes
- Do relatives or friends think you are a normal drinker? Yes (he is northern)
- Have you ever attended a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous? No comment for legal reasons
- Have you ever lost friends because of drinking? Yes (Duncan)
- Have you ever got into trouble at work because of drink? Yes
- Have you ever neglected obligations, your family, or your work for 2 or more days in a row through drink? Yes
- Have you ever had delirium tremens (DTs), severe shaking, heard voices, or seen things that were not there after heavy drinking? No
- Have you ever gone to anyone for help about your drinking? No
- Have you ever been in hospital because of your drinking? No
- Have you ever been arrested for drunken driving? No

So it can be pretty well assumed that Fred scores at least 6 which makes him an alcoholic although less than me; lightweight. Obviously this test is a load of bollacks and Andrew does have a serious problem. Personally the fact that this is news is like saying that it has recently been discovered that David Cameron is in fact a man of principle. For goodness sacks his nick name is Fred Flintstone.

So where does this leave Andrew? Obviously in need for some personal reflection and help. Have ever much the nation hates Duncan he does have a point that turning up to practice pissed off your head is not on. By writing what he did was best for him (money money money) but also best for English cricket and Andrew. Alcoholism is a terrible disease and hopefully Andrew can get back to what he does best, being happy and playing fantastic cricket.

New Australians: They’re coming to get us

Those relentlessly competent Antipodeans have produced the next generation of names that you will smite in those violent dreams you have about blowing people up with guns and stuff.

This is their squad against the Sri Lankans:

Ricky Ponting (captain), Adam Gilchrist, Stuart Clark, Michael Clarke, Matthew Hayden, Brad Hogg, Michael Hussey, Phil Jaques, Mitchell Johnson, Brett Lee, Stuart MacGill, Andrew Symonds, Shaun Tait.

New faces worth noting are Phil Jacques, who’s like Don Bradman, only more reliable; Vlad Hogg, who is, as far as I can tell, useless; Shaun Tait, who might be good; Stuart MacGill, who is not Shane Warne.

Interesting, Australians exciting young generation of players are probably older than the current lot. The baggy brains have been picking old blokes for a while now. We all laughed at Stuart Clark and Michael Hussey and the rest of them. “Ha ha ha” we said, “you’re old.”

But we forgot the times when our dad would beat us again and again at everything. He was old. He was ancient. He was unbeatable.

This is Australia's tactic. Pretend to be the opposition’s dad, and the younger side is cowed into deference and defeat.

There is one way of beating your dad though. That is by moving him into the proximity of a young female. He’ll immediately make a prat of himself and thereby fall to pieces. Therefore, we need to pack our sides with attractive young women.

Seeing as this against the rules, we need to encourage our boys to grow long golden locks and large pink breasts. That’ll distract the Ausslers and ensure trans-sexual dominance in international cricket for years to come. Boys with breast: it’s the only way to beat the Australians.

Literature and cricket

Cricking, much like farting in a swimming pool, is all about timing.

As with writing a book. You have to wait a sufficient time before unleashing a self-indulgent attack on the universe.

After some recent dodgy comments, the rugby union community is considering a “cooling off period”, which would ban media statements by players until a certain time after an event. It may be worth thinking about for the cricket world, but one wonders whether any period of time would be enough to prevent Duncan Fletcher making a fool of himself.

The problem, here, as far as I can see, is that cricketers lack creativity. Sure, there are loads of dubious books out there with titles like “Playing a straight bat”, “Time to Declare” and Phil Tufnell’s new book “Bowling into the Rough”. But lets face, these are like chess books. You feel you should read them, but you never will. In fact, they’re nothing like chess books. No one should read those bastards.

These titles are all self-obsessing autobiographies, or stating-the-obvious books on cricket tactics. They never try their hand at poetry. Which may explain why cricketers seems to hate each other.

The point is this: cricketers should use literature to defuse their repressed selves. Fletcher should have turned his experiences into a spy novel or something. Look, it’s easy, I’ll do it:

James Fletcher stalked through the corridors of the enemy’s lair with a careful, but deliberate tread. Who would have guess, Fletcher thought to himself, that the baddies would base their HQ here at Fleet Street. Suddenly, but not entirely unexpectantly, Fletcher heard the tedious grating of a Yorkshire accent, and was seized by the need to hunt down the source of this racket and beat to death its producer.

Thereupon, a behatted bloke in a ridiculous suit appeared, and continued with its Northern moan,
“Oh no. You’re bloody useless you”
“Ha. Cotboyc. We meet again.”
“Ei. Not that it’s much good.”
“It’s time for you to retire hurt.” Fletcher raised his trusty PP-class Grey Nichols aloft and dispatched his interlocutor with a well-timed hook shot. Before the head had chance to hit the ground, it had time to emit one last whine, “Oh no, lad, you’re technique’s all wrong.”
“You’ve dropped your last dolly.”

The path was now clear for Fletcher to penetrate into the heart of Fleet Street, and finish off the head honcho. He burst through the doors of the Media’s most powerful mogul. The most feared, mighty and ancient of commentators. Fletcher, whilst trying to catch his wheezing breath, confronted his old enemy,
“So, Blofeld we…”
“Fuck off.”
“Er well, actually I…”
“Fuck off.”
“Right you are then.”

Fat Zim fights ‘em

Duncan Fletcher, the former England coach, is serialising his autobiography in the media. He regularly releases instalments in the Daily Mail. The latest whiney drawl can be read here. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. It is pathetic.

Ayalac will save you the trouble by taking the best bits out of context and making fun of them.

Firstly, he moans about how much stick he took from the press in general, and Ian Botham in particular. Apparently Botham gave him dodgy and contradictory advice. In one victory, everyone gave Fletcher a huge bear hug to congratulate him...

“Botham just stood there and did not say or do anything. And to think he later said that I had 'taken being miserable to a new level'. What about him that day?"

He thinks the players listen to him but they do not. Often you would go into the dressing room and hear the players in exasperation saying things like: 'Have you heard what Botham is saying about the wicket?'”

Yeah! The big bloody successful bastard. D’ya hear mate my mate Chardonnay said about him? Wait, these aren’t the diaries of a pre-pubescent Basildonian female, it’s a respected public figure. Who’d a thought it?

Other hilarious episodes include Fletcher giving Geoff Boycott an ear-full down the telephone, and then felt guilty. What sort of twisted monster is this?

But, wonderfully, apparently when Fletch approached hero of the air-waves, refined Henry Blofeld, Fletcher writes:

“He did not even greet me but instead just bellowed 'Fuck off. I don't want to speak to you.'”

And when Fletcher persisted in conversation, gentle Blowers reposted with another “Fuck off.” This is the most fantastical thing I have ever heard in international cricket. Marvellous.

Anyway, further to this, Fletch moans about Andrew Flintoff being too pissed to win an Ashes. According to others, though, Flintoff has never had a problem with booze. These people are, in the main, Northerners, though.

Daddy or chips?

Which is better, rugby union or rugby league? The answer is, of course, cricket.

Here's a harder question, who is better, South Africa or Pakistan? Well, maybe there's an easy answer, because, judging by recent performances, South Africa is flying eagle, whereas Pakistan is dying beagle.

South Africa are a lot like Australia. When they lose, we all secretly cheer, like when a good enemy of ours dies. Strangely, South Africa are not Australia, and yet they produce the same effect. I don’t know why this is. Nor will I speculate further, because I did not experience this dark joy.

Pakistan, with certain victory in sight, lost six wickets for 20 runs in 36 balls. This lost them the match and the series.

This is seriously rubbish. We all like Pakistan. They’re a charismatic bunch, that wade into the crowd with fists flying one minute, only to retreat into an introspective shell by beating the crap out of their team-mates with a cricket bat the next minute. You know where you stand with them. I like them most when they cheat. Lovable rogues.

Unfortunately, Pakistan’s batting let itself down. Mainly because of the buggering about with the line-up and the strategy and stuff. Although Mohammad Yousuf produced his usual unbelievable performance by averaging 70 in the series. Other that him, rubbish. Shaun Pollock out-performed most of Pakistan’s batsman.

If, like me, you are in need of a cheer up, read Stuart’s brilliant cricketing diary series. It reads like a mixture between Sue Townsend, Geoff Boycott and Vincent Van Gough. Top stuff.

Sluggo strikes back

Some of you may have noticed that Bermuda have been losing to Kenya recently, indeed, they lost their three match series by three matches. An England-like effort.

Dwayne Leverock, aka “Sluggo”, did alright. He was Bermuda’s third highest wicket taking, taking seven at 20.57 apiece. Not bad really. Better than Ashley Giles, I’d wager. The Slugs also weighed in with a massive eight from his three innings.

Sadly, Kenya won through having more people with their name beginning with the letter “O”. At one stage, the boys in green had eight O-ies in their line up, with all four mainstream bowlers starting their name with O.

It was an awesome display of team spirit and playing as a unit. Bermuda never stood a chance.

Of course Sluggo, like the champion of old, did his best to stem the tide. Although his legs are sturdy and his shoulders broad, it was too much for this giant among men.

However, the Bermudans, in a moment of blasphemy, opted to leave Sluggo out in their match against the Ugandans. Their sacrilege was quickly rewarded with a defeat by 43 runs. Realising their blunder they restored this Greek God to his rightful place in the following match, and the Mighty Figure return match-winning figures of 2-36. Champion stuff.

But it is the loss in the ODIs that will hurt the most. I feel depressed, because Leverock is sad. We have a bond. A connection. I’m not sure his feats deserve God status, but, if he continues with these brave performances, my divine link will surely prove irresistible.

I love you Sluggo.

PC crowd chants

I am a little worried about the Australian public. They might make fools of themselves. More so. So I have decided to write them a few political correct crowd chants to give the Ausslers something to sing about to make them, and the United Nations, proud:

Equal opportunity! Equal opportunity! Equal opportunity!
Oi! Oi! Oi!
Equal opportunity!
Oi!
Equal opportunity!
Oi!
Equal opportunity!
Oi! Oi! Oi!

Jimmy: Everywhere we go

Crowd: Everywhere we go

The people want to know

The people want to know

Who we are

Who we are

Where we come from

Where we come from

Shall we tell them

Shall we tell them

Who we are

Who we are

Where we come from

Where we come from

We are the in the main, but that's not to exclude others, Australians

We are the in the main, but that's not to exclude others, Australians

The ethnically diverse and open-minded Australians

The ethnically diverse and open-minded Australians

We are the tolerant

We are the tolerant

The Multicultural tolerants
The Multicultural tolerants

Etc.

I said oh, ah, everyone in the car,
I said everyone regardless of their ethnicity or social background,

There. That should improve things. By the way, I’m sorry if I offended anyone yesterday. Of course I didn’t mean that all Australians were bastards. Just most of them.

Australians: Are they all bastards?

A difficult question. Especially when we consider the affliction that is Germaine Greer. What twisted people would willingly exact that thing upon the world? This issue has reached new levels of importance with Sri Lanka’s up-and-coming tour of Oz.

Arjuna Ranatunga, former Lankan captain and heaviest man at the Chorlton-on-Beans May Day Fayre 1998-9, warned Muttiah Muralitharan to stay away from the tour, for fear of the abuse the spinner is likely to receive. Jason Gillespie expects loads of it.

For some reason Australians hate Murali. To me, this is unfathomable prejudice: Murali is great. He also has a medical condition which means he cannot straighten his arm. He cannot help bowling without a bent arm.

Should we ban Shane Watson from international cricket for having pathologically crap hair? No, he can’t help being a twat – he was born that way.

The arm business is only half it. The remaining abuse is likely to come from the fact that he is not Australian. An unthinkable crime, I know. But Sajid Mahmood and Monty Panesar suffered from these malicious attentions during the last Ashes series.

We can only surmise that Australia is a bastardly place full of, in the main, bastards. That may be unfair. Not everyone that lives there is nasty. There’s some British ex-pats, for one.

But if this frequent racial abuse is to continue, we may have to consider the possibility of Australia forfeiting the right to host international matches although. This may give the rest of us a chance. But, you know, something has to be done. I don’t know what…or how. All I know is that I don’t want to pay for it. Or anything else.

Shahid Afridi: still amazing, if alarmingly likeable

Afridi is rather like a pair of jet-powered roller skates: fun to nip to the shops for a pint of milk, but you wouldn’t want to commute to work in them.

This one-man myth helped Pakistan dispatch the South Africans by a handsome six wickets. Not only did he whack 32 off 18 to get his side off to a great start, but he also bowled a decisive 3-37 off his ten overs.

Afridi is finally finding a permanent place for himself in the side. Previously, people expected lots of runs from the man. Let’s be honest with our selves: Afridi will never do that. Quick runs, yes; many runs, not really.

But his bowling is becoming increasingly dangerous. I fancied him as the best bowler in the twenty20 tournament, and his weird brand of… well, I don’t know what you call them, spinning sneezes, or something, anyway, whatever the heck he bowls, it seems to do the job.

I remember seeing him bowl once. I thought to myself, “he bowls fast for a spinner.” And I was right. What was I talking about? I yes, I was saying that Afridi is now a Really Good Bowler, he provides handy, if mad, runs. This is his place. Moving the spotlight from the batting, if impossible, is probably the best way of handling his unique talent.

Most people love Afridi. Usually, the slightest sniff of popularity in a player is enough to put me off them (the Monty excepted) but there is a charm in Afridi’s rather slack-jawed approach to the game. Like home-brewed scrump, there’s a rustic honesty to him made all the better by the random dead animals that they threw into the vat.

As a rule, I like the players that everyone else loathes. Jacques Kallis and Rahul Dravid: champions among younger and more exciting men. Show me a solid forward defence played to a harmless half-volley, and I will show you a happy Atheist. Everything is in its place, and the world is as it should be.

Strauss: I’m just unlucky

In a response to his royal dropping by the selectors, Strauss has said:

"I have been a victim of some poor umpiring decisions, some unfortunate dismissals and a few incredibly good balls delivered at just the wrong moment.”

Which, frankly, is just bollocks.

Ian Bell went through an “unlucky” period. This involved him getting lots of “incredibly good balls” which resulted in nicks to the slips. Then, he adjusted his technique, and now hits loads of centuries. But perhaps that is just a co-incidence.

It is also a co-incidence that all the test match bowlers reckon that Strauss has serious flaws in his technique. And once you eliminate square cuts from his game, apparently the only way he scores runs, then he looks desperately under-prepared for international cricket.

Remember also that he has been moaning about “too much cricket.” In fairness, so have we all, but you must be careful what you wish for. However, you may have expected a little more sensitive treatment of a former England captain, and out leading run scoring in many series. He seems to feel a little injured by the whole affair:

"To say that it hurts is a massive understatement. In truth it is the culmination of a long, tiring and immensely frustrating 12 months in which little has gone my way,"

Of course, this is whinge. I think that last statement could apply to pretty much everyone in the world. Look at my last year: shit carpets my life’s journey, but do I moan to the Daily Telegraph? No, I just get on my bike and blog bitter complaints to no one in particular - like a real man.

Ramping up again

Stephen Brenkley, the Independent’s cricket correspondent, was making an extremely strong case on TMS for the inclusion of Mark Ramprakash into the Sri Lanka tour in November. He based his argument on the following fact: he is the best batsman in England.

Apparently, for him, that’s ‘nuff said. Which is fair enough, frankly. Yet, people were making the same argument at the end of the 2006 season. I think even Tim, from Third Umpire, was advocating his use during the Winter Ashes.

The idea was dismissed at the time. “He’s old” they said. “He’s had many chances before. He wilted. He’s old news.” Even I accused him of being a Harmsprakash.

And then Ramps went to repeat his batting dominance in the 2007 season in the First Division. Total dominance of all bowling attacks that he faced. He is the Don of the Domestic Game. Consequently, new force is being brought into the pro-Ramps arguments.

2006 was not just a blip; class is permanent. And, without doubt, Ramps proved that he was the classiest in the county circuit.

The anti-Ramps, continued their arguments. “No good at international level, though. Besides, it’ll be a step backwards – we need to build a team for the future.”

Yeah, but if he does perform, under this new enlightened regime, I wouldn’t say no to his runs. Even Owais Shah has publicly said that he’d be perfectly happy to give way to the Surrey run-machine.

It’s not an easy one. Surely Ramps’ mental attitude has improved? Yet, I’m all for giving youth a chance and building for the future. I think if one of the senior players, like Michael Vaughan or Kevin Pietersen was out, then there would be a very strong case for him. But to lose Owais Shah, who is ten years younger, may be too costly in the long term.

(Has anyone else heard Brenkley? Is he really a journalist, or is he just Mark from the Peep Show in a radio incantation. I think that it’s all a bit creepy. Although, I think calculators are creepy too. What do I know?)

Jones: I’m not Welsh

Simon Jones has now decided that he’s from Worcestershire. And who could blame him?

Statistically, you are less likely to be mugged or fat than when in Wales. Better weather, better cricket, less Welsh people and you are certain to get your hands on a lovely pear.

Since Jones received that impossibly bad knee injury (I mean, honestly, it’s like there’s a piece of shrapnel in there) the England bowling unit has wilted. We really need Jones to be fit.

Steve Rhodes, director of cricket at Worcestershire described Jones as a "quality bowler". He’s not wrong.

However, at 28 and with a dreadful fitness record, it doesn’t seem probable that he could get a game for Worcester.

His decision is a bit odd, considering that Glamorgan has been awarded an Ashes test in 2009. Surely he’d want to make a come-back on his home ground? Maybe he felt intimidated by the new broom quicks that are emerging ominously from Welsh. Anything that emerges from Wales is ominous though – just look at the M4.

Maybe he just fancied the quiet life? Rhodes goes on to say:

"Worcestershire deep down is a very close friendly club and it's not unlike the dressing room is at Glamorgan. It's not one of the major Test playing grounds but it is certainly an ambitious club that wants to go places."

Steve Rhodes. There’s some happy England memories. Ambitious but never went anywhere. Remember him. Remember him batting? Why did we ever bother? He was like a hopeless Chris Read before his time.

Flintoff: I won’t go away

Rather like those stains on your tea cups, Andrew Flintoff is refusing to go away regardless of how many times he’s been through the dishwasher.

I think it’s fair to say that I’m probably the only person outside of the MCC that doesn’t like Flintoff. I’m not really sure why I feel this way. It’s probably because he has “personality” and all I have is a bitter disposition.

Anyway, he now reckons that he’ll being coming back soon, because he’s employed the services of a reasonably priced Dutch surgeon, Professor Niek van Dijk. (Tells you all you need to know about the state of the NHS.) Prof van Dijk has had a good prod about in Flintoff’s mighty ankle and, like any self-respecting cowboy quack, thinks he can sort it no problem.

This will mean that he’ll be back in action in early 2008. He’ll be 30 then. It’s not Ming Campbell old, but it’s not Wayne Rooney old either.

Meanwhile, England have been doing splendidly without him. He’s certainly a reliable bowler, but his batting has been like watching a party of shepherd’s pies attempt the four minute mile. Consequently, he’d have to prove his fitness as a specialist bowler.

But England have been “really good” at bowling recently. Not just individually, but as a thoughtful and complementary unit. They work well as a team. It certainly isn’t broke.

And if there’s no room for Monty, then, by buggery, there sure as hell ain’t any room for that fat bloke from Preston.

Doing good the English way

The performance of England over the course of this surprising ODI series against Sri Lanka has been unremarkable. If we were to point for a couple of “key players” who performed at “key moments”, we may be left stumped.

Perhaps Owais Shah’s crucial 80 on the second match genuinely won the match, but other than that, English players have been quietly successful. Even Kevin Pietersen didn’t play any booming centuries. No one bowler ran through the Lankan line-up. They were hushed, but still had a force – like a girl’s burp.

England’s success has come from solid team performances. Rather like how England crushed the Australians in the rugby World Cup and knocked them out of the tournament, England’s bowling “pack” have been well organised, disciplined and good. This is a huge change from normal.

They have succeeded in a reserved way. No one wants to show off too much, they all just stuck in and did their bit. And quite right.

Most of the press seem convinced that this “resurgence” is solely down to Otis Gibson, the new bowling coach. Alan Donald and a year of improving performances account for nothing when there’s a chance for a badly researched but plausible article to write.

I put their success down to this: no Steve Harmison. I’m no statistician (although I tried, once) but I reckon England’s overall success rate has improved about a jillion percent since he decided to injure his cleavage or something. We need accurate bowlers that get wickets now. This is 21st century cricket, after all.

Guest blog: Beware of Virgins

Another special from my intrepid guest columnist:

So it looks like the bearded gnome is going to buy the (Northern) Rock. This troubles me, as it should every cricket lover. For those of you including the Bank of England and the Financial Service Authority who are unaware of the workings of the Rock, they sponsor my adapted team of Durham. A team that has managed to compete at the echelons of English cricket this season without relying on a bunch of washed up annoying English and Australian bastards.

According to a man I was talking to who specialises in investment analysis and happens to be on the board of the Club, there is major concern that any takeover will put in jeopardy the sponsorship agreement and finances that the club relies on to survive.

The Rock may be run with undue care for investor’s money, but they are very generous with it to Geordie sport teams. A situation that is unlikely to continue if the rebrand to Virgin Money takes place. Does a man on a never ending ego trip that makes Mohamed Fayed look media shy really care about being a Geordie bailiff or the institutions that hold this desert like land together? I doubt it.

Kallis gives Pakistan The Death

Jacques Kallis has scored his third century of the series against Pakistan to take the Saffers into a commanding position in the fourth day of the second test.

With his partner, Graeme Smith, who also notched up a hundred to his name, extended South Africa’s led to an impregnable 450 odd. He did this by a gradual, wearing grind. As always.

There were some who supported such an approach to twenty20 matches. It was the winning strategy in some games. Maybe South Africa could have used this approach, given that they badly flopped below their potential in the tournament.

Yet Kallis was dropped from the Proteas’ twenty20 squad because he was too boring. I don’t think they could have done much worse, to be honest. You might as well pick your best player, eh?

Kallis, however, bravely moaned like an eight year-old, but also mopped around Pakistan for a bit, scoring centuries left-right-and-centre to show he’s pretty good at cricket. Not just when faced by minnows, but he can play serious opposition too.

The man is much maligned, and unfairly so. I think he should move to Derby and captain England’s rugby team. Talking of which, did you know that England knocked Australia out of the World Cup?

Sri Lanka meekly crumble

Apparently, therefore, they should inherent the Earth. So perhaps this is a crafty trick to win the next World Cup? I doubt it, though.

In a deflating performance, Sri Lanka lost the match and the series to the inferior and more rubbisher England side.

The Lankans got off to a dreadful start, with the first three wickets falling for just twenty runs. Although Kumar Sangakkara and Chamara Silva put on a defiant 126-run stand, the England seamers dominated their innings.

In reply, Alastair Cook dug in for a characteristically dogged 80 off 123 balls, and KP looked similarly gritty before unleashing a flurry of boundaries to bring England home and record his first fifty in literally donkies.

The Sri Lankan’s lack of application has rather deflated the meaning of this series. It is as if the relentlessness of international cricket has worn their desire down to the size of my weekly pay-cheque.

This is understandable, if even predictable. Perhaps England played a master-stroke by brining in previous outsiders, untainted by the endurances of past defeats. They arrive, fresh-faced, keen and surprised as heck to be there and clean up.

Just look at Graeme Swann. Carefully crafted by the great dibbly-dobbly factories of no-where in particular, like a customised, pimped-up Jamie Dalrymple, and yet he dominants one of the best teams in ODIs in all areas of the game.

How on Earth is an honest, if bitter, blogger supposed to respond to such things?

By swearing, that’s how. Bollocks.

Wait, England won! I suppose I should be pleased. I am, in a way. Mainly because I have a lovely glass of wine in front of me, and my boss is away for the next fortnight. But anyway, well done boys. You clearly know a lot more about cricket than I do, which hasn’t always been the case.

Hair cuts short

Daryl Hair has dropped his case against the ICC. In dramatic scenes at the Tribunal in London nothing happened today as the barristers decanted themselves to a local pub to count their fee.

One legal representative was quoted to have said:

“Bringing international cricket into chaos is the best way to bring home the bacon. And what bacon! Have you seen the size of my meat?”

Apparently, some evidence was given that proves Hair has been talking bollocks. It was shown that he was never offered money in return for silent compliance.

Nevertheless, the case has thrown open a can of worms at the ICC – this was possibly the reason why Hair took the action he did.

The trial has exposed the Council’s unprofessional practices present at all levels. With key meetings not being minuted in case they “end up in court” the case has revealed the ICC’s amateurish and poorly run infrastructure.

Poor communication is rife. And senior management conducts itself through gentlemanly agreements, ignoring the need for transparent and accountable procedures.

The only member of the executive board to have retained his reputation is Malcolm Speed (interestingly, the only such member to have any professional experience outside cricket). He claims that his actions were ham-strung by his poor relationship with the Indians, who would have refused to co-operate a priori to any of his supposedly reasonable requests.

It was precisely this reactionary, high-personalised set-up that got the ICC into this position, and resulted in Hair’s poor treatment. For that, we must applaud that otherwise twatish Hair.

Weirdly, he is now on a “rehabilitation programme”. Well, he has put on a lot of weight in the last thirty years. He must be an alcy.

Australia crushed like tiny shrimps

Continuing the theme of Antipodean sporting defeat, Australia were battered by the mighty Indians. Snapping defeat from the jaws of victory, the Aussos looked well set at 122-1, with the first hundred coming in just 13 overs. Both Matthew Hayden (92) and Andrew Symonds (75) looked dominant.

And then, for no particular reason, they lost. Not only did they lose, but they FAILED as well. Knowing this, humanity wept with joy and sacrificed many goats to the gods of justice and incompetence.

I rather suspect supernatural involvement. Unwittingly, the entire population of mankind (if you are feeling generous with your definitions, excluding Australians from this class) were sending a mental message to the boys in Tacky Yellow: Lose.

It appears to have rubbed off on the rugby too. Which is excellent.

Other noteworthy events was Sachin Tendulkar’s breaking of the most fifties in ODIs record. Surpassing Inzamam-ul-Haq's 83 by one. This isn’t bad. Especially by someone who has looked “out-of-sorts” for the last year or so.

When I look “out-of-sorts” it usually means I have to pull another sicky at work, and spend all day thinking about eating cornflakes. By Tendulkar goes out and breaks cricketing records. I am, in many ways, inferior to Tendulkar. I bet he doesn’t have his own blog though. Loser.

Tyin’ in Notts

Graeme Swann is infuriatingly good. Match-winningly good, in fact. It’s not for these reasons that I don’t like him. No. My problem with Graeme Swann is that he is not Monty Panesar.

Worse still, England won a match. This reinforces the misconception that Monty should not be played in all matches, and be given the ball at every opportunity. The more Swann plays, the less likely it is that Panesar will open the batting.

Swann complements well with his Nottingham shire team-mates, Stuart Broad and Ryan Hairybottom. The mid-lands trio took nine wickets and scored 52 runs.

However, the chief reason for England’s victory was Sri Lanka looking out of sorts. Sure, the pitch was hopeless and the ball moved around like a dysfunctional gypsy family, but they’re a quality outfit. They should be able to see off difficult patches.

I suspect some anti-Monty match-fixing was going on. It can be the only explanation for England’s success. Heck, they certainly don’t have the talent. It’s just not natural that they win.

An England victory always makes me feel a bit dirty. No. Not that kind of dirty.

Thankfully, my mood improves with the knowledge that Fiji lasted longer than Australia in the Rugby World Cup. It was a good job that a rubbish team knocked out those Ausslers.

South Africa look a bit better, really

In the first test of the serious, South Africa beat Pakistan by 168 runs at Karachi. Jacques Kallis scored two centuries; Shaun Pollock was dropped; Mark Boucher broke keeping records; and Inzamam-ul-Haq announced his retirement from international cricket.

So there’s lots to talk about. So, feel free to go to the pubs and chat these things over with some mates.

I like it when Pakistan play South Africa. There’s a parity between their standards, but I also have them both marked as “mercurial” and “occasionally brilliant”. You never are quite sure what’s going to happen.

Normally, Pakistan tend to blink first, and South Africa manage to squeeze home. However, this series promise a new era for Pakistan cricket: consistency and dedication.

Shoaib Akhtar looks finished, Younis Khan has become a Yorkshireman, Inzy is off and Mohammed Yousef’s retirement loaming. The big names of Pakistani cricket are moving off, but also allowing in a new age of apparently “reliable” cricket.

Judging by this first match, they’re still liable to fall into the ridiculous (opening with Kamran Akmal was a little….unexpected), but you cannot fault their ambition. Although OLD Abdur Rehman looked pretty handy, picking up eight wickets in his debut test. It’s alright though, spinners can be old.

So, all in all, I’m looking forward to the rest of the series. Yeah…I don’t want to big it up too much, though; it might be rubbish, and then you’ll blame me.

Snakes and dogs attack England

In a week of biblical plagues, the heathen Englanders managed a win despite the wrath of a vengeful god. The England captain, Paul Collingwood, was bitten and killed by a poisonous cobra during nets.

Fortunately, although dead, England selected his cadaver as a fifth bowler, and his body was supernaturally re-enliven by the slobber of local stray dogs. It is thought that they were attracted to a Colly on heat.

In other news, England won a cricket match. Well done them.

They won by boring the batsman out of their wickets. Annoyingly, Graeme Swann bowled with maturity and batted sensibly. His irritatingly competent performance is likely to keep Monty out of the series.

People are also saying a lot about Owais Shah. Mainly because his match-winning century against India is still fresh in the memory, and when people score big in a handful of games it means they’re the next Don Bradman. Or, in ODI parlance, “the new Michael Beavan”.

I think that Shah is the new Kevin Pietersen, in that he gets runs where as most of his colleagues cock up. Whereas KP is the new Shah of Iran, despite having plenty of support, he is over-thrown by fundamentalist zealots and exiled to foreign country cosseted by Western indulgences.

Mustard also looked good. I’d still like to see Jack Russell in the position.

Australias look at Indians and laugh

In a seemingly relentless barrage of international matches, one blogger picks a game at random and tries to talk about it. Will this blogger make a stand? Well, momentarily.

I did wonder why so many people were complaining about the length of the World Cup. I thought that it was great. It is a WORLD Cup. It should be massive. Like the world.

But this dizzying torrent of ODIs overwhelms even the most fanatical of fans.

Take the England team, for example. After a seven match series against India, they had approximately a day’s rest before heading over to SA for the twenty20 fiasco. A day after this was completed, England’s finest shot off to Sri Lanka to receive another hiding.

Obviously, this constant battering leaves no window to breath, or even hope. It is a continuum of pain, with only a Zimbabwe for rest-bite.

I vaguely remember kingcricket moaning about the specialness of test cricket being removed through over-familiarity. I endorse these sentiments, and suggest they are equally applicable to all areas of international cricket. But it's especially applicable to England, who just lose all the time.

Anyway, moaning aside. Australia won another game. All Indians, except MS Dhoni, crumbled like an under-educated girl in a stock broker’s office. India: pull your socks off. The Aussies must be defeated.

England fall to pieces

The one-day trick still isn’t working for England. They have fielded more than forty players since 2005 (apparently) in their limited overs set-up, and decided to use some more in Phil Mustard and Graeme Swann. Neither proved particularly incompetent, nor were they match-winning.

Mustard was chosen out of necessity more than anything, and Swann was preferred over Monty Panesar because He Bats A Bit, and England can’t understand spinners that don’t bat. Lordy Lordy Lordy, I HATE YOU ENGLAND CRICKET TEAM.

Not really. It’s more that they really piss me off. It’s like the people who hand you out free papers in the morning, although you don’t mind taking tit-bits off them occasionally, you just want to batter them to death with their own product sometimes.

Anyway, lets cut to the pain. England lost again. They lost to a better team, that was better. Also, our team can’t cope with the warmth; England players just turn bright red in the heat and collectively transform into a drugged-out geriatric women.

In fairness, Mustard looked…the mustard. Ryan Hairybottom looked useless. Others failed as well, we all know who they are. Don’t we?

On the other hand, Sri Lanka looked excellent. Mahela Jayawardene struck an impressive 66 and Sanath Jayasuriya still keeps going. Where were they during the World Cup, though, eh? What’s the point of being good if no one can get any decent bet-money out of them?

All in all, Ayalac says: rubbish.

Darrell Hair lives the dream

Let’s face it. We all want to sue the IC-bloody-C. For instance, yesterday, I bought a packet of biscuits. However, to my horror, I found that Malcolm Speed had interfered with my Ginger Nuts, and replaced the packet’s contents with sub-standard digestives.

When I spoke to my solicitor about this, he mentioned something about “evidence” to “prove” ICC’s outrageous assault upon my personage and biscuitage. Dumbfounded, I was left marooned to absorb another blow by cricket’s governing body.

Darrell Hair, on the other hand, thinks he has the proof and balls to succeed where I failed, by suing the ICC.

This popular and jovial umpire bases his argument on the proceedings of the 1814 Test Match, between England and Pakistan. Whereby, without at clear substantiation, he accused the Pakistan of tampering with the ball. In protest, Pakistan’s captain refused to take the field. Hair and Billy Doctrove took the decision to interpret the match as forfeit, awarding England default winners.

Subsequently, the ICC took umbrage at the umpire’s handling of the affair, and removed Hair from its elite panel of amazing umpires. Doctrove, however, remained. Hair now argues that he was removed on the basis of racial discrimination, what else could explain Doctrove’s continuation?

It is generally accepted that Hair doesn’t have a chance in hell. The ICC’s case rests on the principle that Hair was the “senior umpire”, whereas Doctrove was just beginning his test career, and thus responsibility cannot be evenly divided.

Yet, I can find no reference to the status of a “senior umpire” in the laws of cricket nor anywhere mentioned in the ICC’s literature. This principle, to me, makes no sense. For the same offence, you must treat the perpetrators equally.

Saying that, this uneven handling of the umpires does not equate discrimination. I’m not sure under which jurisdiction this case is being conducted, but in UK law you must prove a discriminatory intent to prove racial discrimination. This simply does not seem present, given the evidence.

Hair has long courted controversy, and this affair could have been the straw that broke the camel’s back for the ICC. Whereas it seemed sufficient to give Doctrove a good ticking off.

Undoubtedly, the issuing of legal proceedings and the employment of a silk will not be cheap for Hair. Nor will he win the case. But, I suspect, neither of these matter to Hair.

Fun is banned

The new ECB head, Giles Clarke, has decided to outlaw all fun within the England cricket team.

In a surprising first move, he has acted to attack England's “unprofessionalism” going on to say Andrew Flintoff and Paul Collingwood should have received bans for their moments of madness.

“We're not going to get proper athletes and a decent team if people do not have the right attitude as professionals in their sport.”

This is a bit weird. Professionalism is about acted in a reasonable and respectable manner at work. Outside work time is private time. The professionalism lies in not allowing your private realm of messed up ideas and broken brains to negatively impact upon your plain work persona. Neither Flintoff or Collingwood allowed pedelos or breasts to affect their performance at work.

So what’s the problem?

You might say that a little-known businessman who likes to talk too much may have a publicity problem. Talking nonsense to the press is one way of rectifying that issue.

Ayalac is all for drunken cricketers. There should be more role models like that: people who can’t handle their booze and get stuck in light water-craft; people who pay to see nude wrigglers. That’s the stuff this nation is built upon. And we should be proud.

Somerset wins, or so it seems!

Hurrah! In possibly the best news since VJ day, the best county in the land secured victory in the Second Division of the county championship, and thus earned promotion to the land of the big boys.

Actually, Somerset managed this a few weeks ago, such was their dominance. They won the championship with a massive 266 points, and about a jillion games to spare. They only lost one game, as well.

Indeed, so impressive was their performance, that we might be tempted to suppose that the West Country Heroes were perhaps the best side this season. Sadly, we will never know, because Somerset were in the wrong division.

It reflects badly on the county system, when the best side in the championship cannot prove their supremacy. Indeed, Somerset earned the wooden spoon last year around, perhaps this is just a blip?

But blips is what the English domestic season does best. The seemingly inexplicable ebb and flow of county fortunes is part of its attraction. Once useless sides like Durham advance into mature, assertive forces, whereas champions, such as Nottinghamshire, quickly fade into obscurity.

Such an unpredictable scene does not lend itself well to the two-division model. But, undoubtedly given the increasing number of limited-overs commitments, it is here to stay. Next year, maybe Somerset can retain their authority and crush all those that dare to challenge their might.

Hurrah for Somerset! Hurrah! Hurrah!

Sussex wins, or so it seems

In a championship with so many up-and-downs that most fans felt a little ill by the end of it, Sussex clinched county glory despite Lancashire’s brave efforts.

In a thrilling finale, Lancashire came 25 agonising runs short of an epic run-chase against Surrey, that would have secured them the championship. 489, however, proved just too much for the Northern monkeys, and the championship trophy rightfully remained in the South. Where it belongs.

Saying that, for most of the summer, I was convinced that Yorkshire were going to win. But injuries, international duty and a pie glut saw their hopes fade. Weirdly, as Yorkshire receded, four other teams advanced, with Surrey, Hampshire and even Durham in with a shout.

Nevertheless, the side with the best spin bowler in the country won. And what do we learn from this? Always pack a spin bowler, or at least, as Lancashire have recently learnt when you’ve got one, don’t break it, or let it out of the country.

Even if he looks like an over-weight garden gnome, with the weirdest bowling action since Paul Adams, he must be kept at any costs. Even if it meant bullying out other team members.

Well done everyone in Sussex. I used to live in Sussex. I suppose I should be pleased. But it’s raining, I have a hang-over and I have to go to work. It’s not going to happen.

India wins, or so it seems

No one really cares. Not even a billion Indians. However, the match twisted and turned. Or so I read. I didn’t really watch it. In protest of losing my bet, and decrying the banality of the ultra-shortened format, I boycotted the affair.

Is acceptable to say that India were the best team in the tournament/championship/wasteoftime? After all, Australia, Pakistan and Sri Lanka won more matches than they.

Do we see India’s elevation into the highest of limited-over achievement a reflection of sporting justice? Well, taking my claims that twenty20 is a cricketing equivalent to “spin the bottle”, no one would have deserved any plaudits if they won.

But I’m no mean bastard. Well done India. You lucky sods.

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.