England beaten by huge margin at the hands of stars

According to AYALAC’s refined methodology of re-weighting a team’s score by using irrelevant criteria, England lost to the star-peppered Trinidad and Tobago yesterday.

And by buggery did they lose big.

D. Charlton asked a cutting question recently (it was, I admit, hard to find sense in a fog of misguided comments). He asked:

“How many runs to England need to score to beat T&T tonight - before a ball is bowled?”

Well, let’s see. T&T’s land area is 1,980 square miles, and, as we saw yesterday, England is 50,351 square miles.

So, by my reckoning, the first ball of the match needed to be a no-ball, from which, England would proceed to run a relative modest 3,335 over-throws.

After achieving this, only then could England consider winning.

But, once again, our boys in whatever colour it is their advertisers have chosen for them these days, have failed us. And failed us bad.

By my recalibrated understanding of “the rules” England lost by 3,499 runs. Once again, not only did the opposition manage to chase down England’s total of 141 after just two balls, but they proceeded to put on a sensational show of hitting just to entertain the crowd and certain deluded parts of my mind.

What a victory by the young men from two islands whose names both begin with the letter “T” – what are the chances of that! After such a strurpling win under their belts, success, wealth and many, many women will surely come their way.

For England (and a small, rubbishy part of South Africa) this day will live in infamy. INFAMY.

Bit of England beaten by the rest of England

The Allen Twatford league has started recently.

The “All-stars” (containing, by my count, exactly two stars) beat Trinidad and Tobago (who have three stars).

Middlesex, spurred on by its greatest member, Twickenham, only just lost to the bullying efforts of all the rest of England combined. You might say that it was unfair. So, being the failed statistician that I am, I would like to correct the imbalance using mathematics.

Middlesex is 282 square miles and its population totals 1,576,636, of whom 738,904 are males.

England, on the other hand, is 50,351 square miles, with a population of 49,138,831 (let’s say 49% of them are male: 24,078,027).

England is 179 times bigger than Middlesex, and 32 times more populace (in terms of males).

So, using high level statistical theory that none of you would understand, we can adjust for this difference, to reveal the actual result:

England (122) lost to Middlesex (19,511) by 19,389 runs.

Not only did the London side surpass the England score with ease, but that added nearly twenty thousand more runs just for good measure.

This, I think we’ll all agree, is a much more accurate way of measuring the relative disparities in sides, and should be rolled out to all real statisticians forthwith.

Bangladesh robbed by bad luck (and skill)

I know I’m preaching to the converted, but do you see? DO YOU SEE?

Do you see why test cricket is the best form of the game?

Bangladesh aren’t great, but they are improving. And they have some players that might even get into a Twickenham eleven. Given a few injuries.

Occasionally, they are capable of some Steve Tikolo-like efforts. Mohammad Ashraful has put in some impressive knocks, and some of their fans have strong opinions.

Now, Shakib Al Hasan, has burst onto the scene like a meaty porn star, and made a complete mess of the New Zealand boys. Those caps don’t look so black now.

Shakib scronked nine wickets in the match. Which, by most people standard’s, is pretty good. By Australian standard’s, that’s amazing-incredible-do-you-want-a-passport-mate?

Yet, AND YET, New Zealand are nevertheless, the better side. Look at them. Alright, they’re a scruffy bunch of Oasis-wannabes, but they have been playing cricket for a while now.

And, lead by their spin bowling captain genius Mr Trousers, the Kiwis absorbed the fright, recovered and forced an unflustered victory.

If this was a one-dayer, we’d be heralding an unexpected, if unsatisfying upset. If it was a twenty20, we’d be staring at the ceiling whilst our partner snored away.

Yet, the ups and downs, the interplay of luck and, ultimately, the skill were all allowed to entertain us.

“Yeah.” You might be thinking, “So what? I know this, and you always go on about tests.”

Ha. But, you’ll notice the gratuitous Steve Tikolo mention. Clever that.

Why Warne should come back

Because it would be flipping hilarious.

Flipping hilarious say I!

Australia worse than England?

Australia’s spineless defeat to someone else reminded other island folk of England’s own feckless folding facilities.

Allow the opposition batsman to batter you to Scotland and back? No problem. The cream of your line-up intimidated by the scariness/weirdness of the opposition’s bowlers. Be my guest. Fill your covers with immobile old men? After you, old bean.

The Australian defeat will be treated by the more generous and open minded of us with even-handed hoots of laughter. By to those of us who are partisan, and embittered by years of pain and humiliation at the hand of the Ozzie Boomerang of Nastiness, it is cause for a three-day sicky and national celebration.

The only problem with that last part, is that the nation I currently find myself has no idea what I’m talking about. (They have language difficulties over here.)

A lot was written after the 2005 Ashes. Most of it was wrong. People said that the series defeat marked a return of normalisation in international cricket, a resurrection in parity and possibly, just possibly, the homecoming of interesting cricket.

If you thought that the Ozzlers were bastards before 2005, you had no idea of the meaning of the word after the Australians unleashed a furious attack on the world and common decency. All hell broke loose. And they won a lot of games.

So, after the Aussies impending doom in the sub-continent, one wonders what next for the world?

There are two possibilities: one, the Aussies get even nastier. Two, their slide continues, and stop playing Bangladesh as things are “getting a bit embarrassing.”

Actually, there are about a jillion possibilities. The entire team could turn into purple umbrellas and form a boy band that “rocks for peace”.

Anyway, the central point remains:

AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Dr No beats up that nasty witch from Sleeping Beauty

India are doing quite well against Australia. Theoretically, this shouldn´t be surprising. Australia are pretty useless at the moment. But, as we all know, that fact rarely results in their losing.

Nevertheless, the two evil sides of world cricket are slugging it out. The Ozzlers are evil because they just are. And India are evil because they are trying to take over the world. At least all the Aussies wanted to do was piss all over it.

That, I could take.

The fact that in every “Irish” bar in Europe, there are at least three Australian males complaining about people “back home” is as bad as the Ozzy Offensive got. But, if the Indians get their way, every visit to a bar will result in serious food poisoning.

Seeing as cricket is “scripted” now, we can assume that the baddies are battling it out for a final, epic face-off against the goodies. In this case, this is England.

It´s irrevelant that the goodies are a useless sack of disabled potatoes right now. Just look at Rocky. My Aunty Derrida´s cat boxes better than Rocky, and she´s been dead for twelve (both my relative and her cat – it was a tragic, if surreal accident).

The point being, rubbishness does not prevent glory. So, if the Hollywood rules of drama apply, we can expect England to eventually overcome the victors in this show-down, through a tense, if unlikely series of events.

Then England will get to Rodger the girl. Who, in this case, will be Keira Knightley.

(You may be interested to hear that I went to school with above film bint. Apparently, she had a thing for me. But I had to say no. We simply don´t share the same tastes in skirts.)

Weird Food

Whilst some people might be distracted by juvenile competitions between minnow pretenders, the real title for the international cricketing crown is being decided in the Western hemisphere – commonly known as the “right, if left a bit” hemisphere.

That’s right, Zimbabwe and Canada, the two titans of the global stage, are slugging it out like steroid fuelled baddies on a particular gruesome episode of Power Rangers.

It’s a pretty ugly fight. Such is its scale, innocent bystanders such as Sri Lanka and Pakistan are feeling the inexorable pull of the awesome combat. It’s the Second Second World War.

Many foolish people, thought that India was the evil Dr No of the cricket world. They’re after money; they’re after your money. Watch them. They’ve become the new Australians, in that respect.

Oh, but this is beguilement. North America is where we should direct our paranoia. Canada is trying to cash in on our little game. Not only by holding pointless tournaments to crack open a market already cold and sated with cheap, homebrew maple syrup, but by bringing in cash cow Zimbabwe.

Zimbabwe’s money-making potential is limitless given that almost all Zimbabweans are trillionaires. Except those that hold their assets in Swiss bank accounts, those fellows aren’t doing nearly as well.

So yes, Canada, in a moneyed axis with Zimbabwe are up to something. And if we don’t stop them, and stop them hard, they’ll take over without us even noticing.

Just heard this quote on the radio: “English is the natural language of the human being.” Germans, take note.

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!