Irish man goes crazy, people stand by

Kevin O’Brian (no relation to Chief O’Brian off Star Trek) felt the Guinness flow through his brain and the boggy peat of home course through his blood today. He went ape when they told him he was playing against Kenya.

“Ah to be sure, I don’t mind ‘em.”

Then, he saw them, and got really mad.

“Ah, dere’s only one green-clad lookin’ bunch o’ eedjets in dis world. And tit t’istn’t not gunna’ be us.”

Before people had chance to work out what he was talking about, he scored a run an Irish ball century, eventually hitting 171 off 215.

This included 12 sixes that was described by the probably dead Formula One commentator, Murray Walker as,

“OOOOOOOOOOUT-standing.”

Kenya, by contrast, are hopeless.

This saddens me. Back in the day, I used to live there. Heck, Kenya even gave part of the right good education I enjoy today.

Yeah, their administration is Italian-esque. And every one looks like a muppet next to Steve Tikolo. But come on, people, Kenya is great. They have tigers there and stuff. Let’s make sure that they win.

And to ensure this, I call for all my East African readers to head to Gymkhana Ground at Nai-robbery, find the Irish dressing room, and leave some open bottles of whiskey outside their windows. Don’t spend too much on it. Remember, they’re Irish.

They’ll sniff it out quickly enough.

This should redress the balance a little (either that, or give those bog-trotters greater powers still) and heighten Kenya’s chances of progressing to the ICC’s Baby Boo Boo League.

Finally, people have come to their senses

At last, someone is placing personal interests over collective benefit. Some dodgy company I’ve never heard of, has threatened to bring down the entire Stanford circus, unless it gets its way.

Brilliant.

This company, Dulux, or something, came out of nowhere and insisted that it should receive all the proceeds to the up-and-coming Caribbean shambles. Apparently, they're the official paint of the West Indies team, and got the House of Lords to agree to their insane demands.

Lord Denning, in his judgment, stated,

“There shall be no whitewash in the cricket.”

Previously, Allen Wankford had argued that the Windies’ sponsors were nothing more than weenies. When the Dulux Dog (team mascot and number three) heard this, he was said to be livid.

“I’m livid, me.”

But now things have resolved themselves with the natural ease of most problems in a free market economy. Bastardford held a jubilant press conference after the compromise was hammered out:

“I have wired a huge amount of money to the Dulux Dog. He has accepted this gesture with the kindness with which it was given, and now we will proceed to walk over all those who stand before us.”

Let’s delude ourselves further

There are some difficult questions in life – how many times does a person need to sneeze before the need to say “bless you” dissipates. I reckon it’s about three consecutive sneezes, any more and you need to wait until the fit is over, whereupon you can say something hilarious like, “going for the record, eh?”

Another toughie might be: Michael Clarke – what’s that all about?

Michael Clarke has a dicky tummy. He’s in India. And people are worried about this. He’s in India, people, India.

Anyway, let me formulate an answer to my original question. Michael Clarke, Shane Watson and all of their ilk, although universally recognised as rubbish, still take runs, steal catches and sport womanly good hair. But they are nevertheless essentially crap.

This is the sort of thing that you need to tell yourself when the Ozzlers pulverise your childhood heros again, pounding them into a crusy, lump dust that floats uncomfortably up your nose.

Let’s look at these players:

- Matthew Hayden
- Michael the Hussey
- Stuart Clark

The list is ended. I put it to an Australian that I met in a bar in Berlin’s red light district, that these players are essentially crap, but it’s only their complete bastardliness that results in success.

His response wasn’t especially cogent. He started mumbling about how England were dead lucky in 2005 and why hasn’t she got the clothes, she needs them, I mean look at her. And, to emphasise how strongly he felt about this, he knocked over his oversized beer all over me.

That’s how Australians feel about the rest of the world. Foreigners are to be treated with poorly co-ordinated contempt, no matter how legless you are.

Let’s delude ourselves further

There are some difficult questions in life – how many times does a person need to sneeze before the need to say “bless you” dissipates. I reckon it’s about three consecutive sneezes, any more and you need to wait until the fit is over, whereupon you can say something hilarious like, “going for the record, eh?”

Another toughie might be: Michael Clarke – what’s that all about?

Michael Clarke has a dicky tummy. He’s in India. And people are worried about this. He’s in India, people, India.

Anyway, let me formulate an answer to my original question. Michael Clarke, Shane Watson and all of their ilk, although universally recognised as rubbish, still take runs, steal catches and sport womanly good hair. But they are nevertheless essentially crap.

This is the sort of thing that you need to tell yourself when the Ozzlers pulverise your childhood heros again, pounding them into a crusy, lump dust that floats uncomfortably up your nose.

Let’s look at these players:

- Matthew Hayden
- Michael the Hussey
- Stuart Clark

The list is ended. I put it to an Australian that I met in a bar in Berlin’s red light district, that these players are essentially crap, but it’s only their complete bastardliness that results in success.

His response wasn’t especially cogent. He started mumbling about how England were dead lucky in 2005 and why hasn’t she got the clothes, she needs them, I mean look at her. And, to emphasise how strongly he felt about this, he knocked over his oversized beer all over me.

That’s how Australians feel about the rest of the world. Foreigners are to be treated with poorly co-ordinated contempt, no matter how legless you are.

Laugh at the Australians and their hopeless spinners

AH AHAHAHA

This rotational Antipodean incompetence brings back warm jolly memories.

Australians are absolutely, totally, comprehensively, hilariously useless at spinning. That their best spinners are part timers - one a Somerset lad, another a bloke more interested in fishing than cricket - only adds to international mirth.

Of course there’s a lot of joyous Schadenfreude to be had in their Sheisse bowlers. Naturally, it doesn’t matter how terrible their players are, the Australians will always win anyway.

Right. Let’s rate the Ozzies’ finest:

Bryce McGain – the sum total age of his body parts is equal to that of the Black Forest. He’s injured at the moment. I haven’t confirmed that this is his current status, but his permanent condition is of some degree of invalidity.

Jason Krejza – Not only does this bloke have a rock ‘n roll name, but viewing his stats is like ascending a stairway to heaven. That is, if heaven is full of massive spinner-bludgeoning titans. In a word: HA! In more: AAAAHAHAHAHAAH!

Now we come to the real snorters:

Cameron Biscuit - Originally from the Clark’s Village in Street, this Somerset lad turned evil, and joined the dark side. And then, after leaving Gloucestershire, he hooked up with the Ozzies. Whilst he played in the English county leagues, he topped the averages of spinners that weren’t Mushtaq Ahmed.

Andrew Brummie - Another Turn-Coat, this man has, for some reason, put countless world attacks to the sword. How this is, I’m not sure. Worse still, he’s a spinner that sometimes bowls medium pace. What sort of monster this thing is, I’m not sure. But, I suppose this strange ogre is from Birmingham. So, I suppose it sort of makes sense. Ewwwww.

Anyway, the point is this:

Laugh and jeer at the Australians. Do it now. Do it before they grind your side into the dust with their feckless bowlers.

Cricket: now the Australians are doing it

The English and German cricket seasons are at an end. This is obviously very sad.

But it’s ok, because the international season is taking over. So, for fans of the County Championship, it’s more of the same: Australians battering seven shades of sauerkraut out of everyone else.

Apparently, they’re going to play India again. The reason for this is nothing to do with money. India is an uncorrupted country, still battling for the purity of the game.

The Australians are just along for the ride.

So, obviously this serious is too close to the last one. The sides are more of less unchanged. Although, the Indians are taking some forward steps by picking Sourav Ganguly – known to the world as Mr Giggles.

Australian coach and chief book-maker, Dringo Wallaroorodger, was over-heard to say,

“We’re playing these bastards again. Oh Christ, what do they think we are? Trained apes?”

Of course this is going to be a disappointment. Remember the Ashes after 2005? That was a right proper rubbish series. The Australian were just a push over.

Northern Monkies steal Championship

No one saw it coming. Not even God.

Especially not God.

But Durham pipped Nottinghamshire at the post yesterday, beating them, and Somerset, to be crowned First Ever Pikies To Win Anything.

So congratulations are in order to the Peoples of the North. There are some redeemable features there.

In more interesting news. I am sitting in a minimalist apartment in Berlin. It’s a bit rubbish, but I’m moving in with an Australian tomorrow. God alone knows what will happen. And, as we’ve already established, He’s rarely a reliable guide.

I ordered my first ever meal in German today. Felt very proud. Only, I didn’t feel so clever when I could specify how cooked I’d like my steak, so they provided it traditional German tough as old boots style.

“Das war gut” lied I.

Rubbishness is the theme of my move it seems.

So far, little sign of cricket in Germany. Rest assured however, when I find it, and I will find it, you will hear of its existence first.

[In other mad news, blogger’s gone all German on me. Ooh eer missus.]

Name That Bum #16: Answer

Well, I have been stunned and shocked alike in this week's Name That Bum.

I thought I'd picked the the hardest one of all time, and then along come a Mister D. Barry, and ruins all those evil plans of mine. The answer was, of course, Steve Tikolo.

David Barry's first guess hit the mark. Made almost immediately, he correctly answered the hardest Name That Bum in history. So difficult was this week's bum, that there was virtually no other entrants.

The only explanation for this is witchcraft. David Barry, you are clearly a witch.

Tune in next week, to reveal more blogging demons and see if you can.... NAME THAT BUM.

Name That Bum # 16

Bit of a nightmare on Bum Street this week.

Usual rules. Usual prizes: some amazing ahtwork in the winner's honour and the love of a thousand beautiful women. Usual stuff.

Bum the ONE

Good luck, and good bumming.

Kolpaks sent packing

Alright! That’s what I’m talking about!

Finally, people have decided to listen to the BNP, and keep the English county league for the English. Out with those nasty foreigners.

A report in today's Daily Telegraph claims that the ECB is set to eradicate the Kolpaks and throw a tightened overseas player policy into the mix. To quote:

“Pending any unforeseen loopholes in EU law, any player not holding a British or EU passport will need to have played five Tests or 15 one-day internationals in the preceding two years (the final criteria have yet to be agreed, but must not be over-discriminatory) in order to be signed by a county. That way, the quality of imports goes up (counties can still sign overseas stars) while their numbers come down.”

This is an interesting move, and I the Twickeneese Panopticon, didn’t see it coming. This may be a little short sighted: consider the West Indies greats of the old, who learnt a lot of their cricket in an English county. It is not naïve to suggest that England is still an important supplier and polisher of international cricket talent.

It’s a bit like Sandhurst, only with less grooming of blood-thirsty dictators to be.

I have long hated this Kolpak business. It’s cheating, to be honest.

The reason that it was brought about is not due to globalisation or Evil Germans, but the enhancement of county cricket’s quality and the greater intensity that this demands. Given the heaps of counties out there, there is simply no way that weedy bumpkinshires could produce the required number of nut-case, Aussie wannabies.

So they turned to the next available source of bastardliness: South Africa.

But, as with any market, once a shock has been absorbed, the system will be re-structured and, I suspect, some losers will be eaten up, or fall off completely.

The collapse of certain county sides was perhaps the ECB’s original intention when they bisected the championship. It’ll be sad for some. But, I’ll certainly cheer once some of the smaller, more pointless clubs, like Surrey, finally get the chop.

AYALAC is going to Berlin!

Alright. Alright. After so many emails, I have relented.

“Please The Atheist. Please. Please go to Germany to report on live matches there. I really want to know what’s going on.”

Your wish is my command, demanding public.

So, after briefing playing a console from Deep Space 9 (“boop biddle beep” was my line) I have secured a job in one of Europe’s oldest and most bombed capitals. I wonder if the ECB will call my mission off?

Anyway, to the evil, international, corporate goons that previously enjoyed my employ, I say this: SQUID YOU.

Can anyone tell me what the German is for that? Or the German for anything, for that matter.

Bangladesh all messed up: blame the Indians

Thank the Lord for the BCCI. Now that Bangladesh’s national team has been set back by about a decade, we can all content ourselves that the Tigers never need tour India.

Phew.

Some might say that the Bangladesh Cricket Board are also partly to blame for this. They banned the 13 rebel players from all national and international cricket for ten years. This isn’t really because of Indian pressure, but because of the comments of former Tiger captain, Habibul Bashar:

“Screw you, hippies.”

So now the 13 are off to live a life-style of opulence and isolation. It’s funny how those things usually go side by side.

Meanwhile, the Bangladeshi side is completely buggered. And for this, I blame India. No one, specific India is to blame. I’ve met a few. Some of them are nice. Some.

The intransigence of the BCCI and its failure to pursue a sensible policy towards the ICL is beginning to have serious, and long-term effects for the game. Sure, a few old duffers can quietly see out their days in a moneyed segregation, but it’s the whole-sale importing and out-casting of national sides that becomes problematic.

Weirdly, the BCCI accepted the logic of the ICL. They have suddenly realised what a jolly good idea twenty20 cricket. So why can’t they get along nicely, merge their leagues and stop buggering up cricket.

THINK OF THE CHILDREN.

Pakistan turn to the Windies

Yes, it got that bad.

After India, Sri Lanka and wussey Oceanic nations said no, Pakistan finally turned to the fat kid, and said, “West Indies, I pick you.” And then added “I suppose.”

No one is sure whether even the ugly, fat kid will get involved in Pakistan’s increasingly pooey team.

The WICB website doesn’t seem to have registered the proposal. Its last news item is dated in July. Apparently, nothing has happened to the entire region during the summer.

The proposition is an interesting test of sociological convention: which is more dangerous, downtown Islamabad or uptown Kingston?

It’s a tricky one, but hopefully, armed with bat-like clubs and full body protection, the Windies are tooled up to hit the streets and get involved in some serious action.

I say that excitedly, although the only action that the West Indies busy themselves with is of the “rear guard” kind. And rarely with much commitment then.

You rather feel that Pakistan has been buoyed by the BCCI’s bolshiness, and attempted similarly bullying of the world. The world, though, realising that Pakistan is a dodgy backwater, simply say, “farty pants.” And all goes tits up.

Talking of tits us, seen Herr Warne’s recent comments? HA!

Every Blog

Sorry it has been so long in posting. I’ve been really busy recently.

Isn’t life rubbish?

So, I was, like, sitting in front of the telly, with a cup of tea, watching the latest match, and then I suddenly realised how huge his collar bones are. It just ain’t natural!!!

And the umpires! What do they think they were playing at?? I mean really! Isn’t it obvious to everyone, in this day and age, after so much failed and successful experimentation, what technology’s place in cricket should be. Isn’t it obvious!/?#?

So, this bloke, he got a few runs. Which was totally outrageous because he sported a pretty hideous goatee. What is it with cricketers and their suspect facial hair ambitions?

Thankfully, he got out. And then some total goon walked in and was like, “I’m Mr Forward Defensive.” What’s his problem? Self esteem issues?!!!1!1?

Right. Let’s get to specifics. England. What’s that all about? They keep on promising and promising and promising. But what do they give. What do they really give? Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything.

Australia. Bor-ring! This is about as tedious as the time when I had to conduct a time and motion study of a paint-drying observation group.

When will people see that there is a perfectly simple solution to dealing with Australia. Why don’t they get on with it! I mean, really! Why does no one else see this? It’s so clear!11

India. Don’t get me wrong, and many people do, but what exactly is the BCCI’s objective? What’s it really up to? Don’t ask me11111 I don’t know anything.

Name That Bum #15 Answer

We finally received a correct answer to the latest Name That Bum. It was, of course, Les Ames.

Congratulations to the highly talented David Barry, who, not for the first time, proved his worth in a bare-fisted bum-to-bum smack down.

In recognition of this great achievement, I honour him with this Epic Poem:

Oh David, David Barry
You make me, oh so very happy

With you, and you bum-
Spotting ability

It is quite a boon,
To have such a proclivity,

But it is unique,
In its creativity,

That such a geek,
Has such a capability,

Tune in next week to see if you can... NAME THAT BUM!

Graham Pooch

There once was an animal that attracted so many Google hits, that his shameless creator couldn’t help but capitalise on the surprisingly viral market. Today we look at the life and works of Graham Pooch.

As a young pup he learnt his trade in the Kent Kennels.

He developed a reputation for a tough, dogged approach, which won him favour with the local top dogs.

He was eventually selected for the English Shepdogs. First, he was sent in for night-watch duty, but he began in paw form.

Later, he enjoyed the many runs and walks that came his way. He was insatiable – like a dog with a bone. This was rewarded with his elevation to leader of the pack, a position in which he used to expunge cattish players.

Now he is an old dog, relegated to sniffing around the fringes. But his bark is worse than his bite as he is liable to bite off more than he can chew.

New Number Two Aims to Gun Down Opponents

That’s right. Currently second place Somerset are still on target to smash all those who stand in their way to take the County Championship.

In a recent statement, Somerset captain Justy Langer said,

“What’s the difference between Somerset and a homicidal transvestite hell-bunt on destroying on particular Midlands counties and the world more generally? Lipstick.”

However, recent years have provided controversy. Although it is content to enjoy rural isolation, it has been thrust into national awareness through uncertainty in the current climate. Indeed, many of Somerset’s off-spring have been caught up in unfavourable attention in recent times.

The glamorous county is currently engaged in a tussle with Durham, a frosty wasteland of limited note. The battle has seen fierce support fro Somerset’s fanatical and slightly frightening fans, who have been heard chanting,

“Drill them! Drill them! Drill them! We want to drive large, fuel inefficient cars over them!”

This might seem a little jingoistic, but frankly Durham are on a bridge to nowhere. Somersetians are generally pro-life, except when they have guns, in which case, they think it’s fine to cause havoc.

By the way, as I am unemployed, I would appreciate it if anyone could give advice as to whether it is possible to make money from a website. Or, for that matter, any sort of money.

Cricket with Balls is OLD

Can you remember what you were doing this time last year? More of the same, only with more hope?

This guy was founding a new global franchise and has used it to take over the internet.

He now has a million sites. Some of those follow useless domestic sides, others back hopeless local teams. Variety is the key word in CWB.

Occasionally, you might see some nudity. So go there. Go there now now!

Cricket news and things

As I work primarily in the public sector, the client has recently provided me with a data stick. On which is contained the complete details of all social security claimants in a certain London Borough.

No encryption. No password. Great stuff. Now, which train station should I leave this? Perhaps plaster our branding all over it and post it to our competitors? Maybe I should simply go the old fashioned route and send it to the Guardian?

The possibilities are endless.

England have announced their Stanford Squad. It’s not very interesting though. See?

So, anyway, back to me.

I’ve had an interview today. It was one of those nasty phone interviews, where you suspect that the interview panel is rolling their eyes at each other.

Word of advice, when in an interview, never start a sentence with the words “Oh, don’t get me started on…” This is not a beginning that can lead to good places.

Although, it isn’t bad as the “ice breaker” I fielded some years ago. These goons asked me:

“If there was any character in history you would like to invite to dinner, who would it be and why?”

Lots of “inspirational” corporate type answers popped into my head: “Nelson Mandela, because he’s so…blah blah blah…” I even considered Ghandi. Ha!

No. I didn’t give that answer though. I said this:

“Erm…not really sure. My brain’s keeps suggesting one name. Er. No. It has to be Vlad the Impaler.”
“Er…right. Any reason why?”
“I think we would share the same sense of humour.”

Name That Bum #15

Right. Bit of a toughie this week. It's another Bum From the Past - as well as being a Miriam Bum in One.

What a treat.

Whoever wins gets something life-changingly wonderful.This week we'll play using Stockholm rules.


Good luck and good bumming.

Bum the One

Can you...NAME THAT BUM?