English Try not to Lose Match. Questions in the House.


Australia scored a huge moral victory today when the world’s media decided, as one, that the England Cricket Team were batting too slowly. In a test match. Newspapers and media commentators from both ends of the globe were united in their damning of English tactics in the Fifth and final Test at The Oval.

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Down under, Ockers in bars across the colony— from Wagga all the way to Wagga—could be heard to whine in celebratory unison at the attack on the English decision (on the season’s slowest pitch) not to lose the match and consolidate their 3-0 lead. The Aussie team, led by skipper Michael ‘Bloody’ Clarke, and in lieu of bowling the opposition out, opted for calling Pietersen nasty names and bowling the ball to 2nd slip (presumably as some sort or Homage d’Harmison). This enormous vote of disapproval at the speed of the English batsmen means the scoreline in the series has now changed to …er…3-0 to England.

Not since a girl called Mary was followed about everywhere she went by her companion with a fleece as white as snow has there been such constant bleating for so long. Much has been made about the plummeting of Australia down the Test Match Rankings, but the ACB will be proud of the fact that their fans have reached the top of the Whinging Fans Table, removing French Rugby Supporters from the top of the “Whole World’s Against Us Championship” (Sponsored by Brains Beer).

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But this is no fluke, no flash in the pan. It has been worked on all summer, ever since the Aussie Tourists lost to Roedean Girls School by an innings and 74 runs on a slow turner in May. While the Strines‘ Upper, Upper Middle and Lower Middle batting order practised batting collapses, the fans were drawing up a war chest of moans, complaints and whines to be gradually introduced to and shot at the English public throughout the season.

And how they’ve fired them off:

The Umpires are too foreign; DRS is too unreliable; The grounds are too small (they can’t get tickets to the matches so they can moan about the English); The pitches are too dry; it only rains when we’re winning ; Stuart Broad is a Cheat; Root provoked the Punch (and he’s a cheat); they’re batting too slow; the commentators are too posh/biased/insulting/use long words; The grass is too green (ok, I made that last one up—but only that one) . etc etc etc.

The ICC are investigating claims by the BCCI, the ruling body of Indian Cricket, that they have the monopoly on Sore Losing, and that the Aussies are in danger or breaching their copyright on it.

The MCC have made a formal apology to Australia and indeed the whole of the Commonwealth and given an undertaking that they won’t try to save a cricket match again, or ensure that they don’t give the opposition a sniff.  Rather they will play dashing, exciting cricket, giving no heed to throwing away the contest. It is believed the have contacted Mickey Arthur with a view to a possible advisory role.

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In a totally unrelated incident, Police have discovered a small heard of sheep in a bar in Brisbane. The animals have remained undetected in the Inn for six weeks, mingling with the local sports fans. They were only given away when one of their member got into a fight with a group of cricket fans when he asked them to keep the bleating down.

Malcolm Conn is 108

The Cricket Umpire, By R.L.Stevenson (wkt)


From the vaults of The Sharp Single we bring you a long-forgotten passage and the original plate from a first edition of Treasure Island where the author describes a cricket match taking place outside the Admiral Benbow Inn.

(This chapter was removed from subsequent editions.)

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“He was plainly blind for he tapped before him with a stick, and wore a great green shade over his eyes and nose; and he was hunched, as if with age or weakness, and wore a huge old tattered sea-cloak with a hood, which made him appear positively deformed.

No-one knew his real name, most referring to him simply as ‘Blind Hill’. The reason for his disability had been lost in the mists of time. Some say he copped a short one to the temple on a green-top at Hove, while representing Minor Counties East. Others that a New South Wales seamer poked his eyes out during a Sheffield Shield game when, as the standing umpire, he turned down a plumb LBW.

Nowadays he trudged between the wicket and square leg, refusing to raise his finger, preferring to issue the Black Spot to any poor, unfortunate soul unlucky enough to nick off to the keeper.

Once he received the Black Spot a batsman had a mere 15 seconds to plead for his life. Clemency was infrequently shown”

Everything Stops for Tea


Old style: players are served tea at Headingley 1938 © Joe Darling, Australia's flinty captain, suggested a tea-break when he led the 1899 team to England, and it was taken up after a fashion - refreshments were brought out to the players on the field. In 1902 the same system applied, and it wasn't till 1905, with Darling still in charge, that the players officially left the field.

Old style: players are served tea at Headingley 1938 © Joe Darling, Australia’s flinty captain, suggested a tea-break when he led the 1899 team to England, and it was taken up after a fashion – refreshments were brought out to the players on the field. In 1902 the same system applied, and it wasn’t till 1905, with Darling still in charge, that the players officially left the field.

www.espncricinfo.com

 

Have a Go Ya Mug


When I were a lad, fearsome fast bowlers who came over here used to look like this…

92711or occasionally like this…

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They used to have odd actions…

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…and even odder facial hair…

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…and they always smiled, even (or especially) when they were about to knock your block off…

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…and if they couldn’t bowl you out, they’d punch you out…

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…(no changes there, then, I suppose ?)…

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…but the old bowlers would set fields like this…main-qimg-03aa4b03ad7f42586966f46d9cf48df2

…and they were all very scary indeed.

Nowadays, if someone scary turns up to bowl…

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…the image men get hold of him and make him look like a nice boy. They don’t scare anybody.

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…I mean really ! who’d be scared of these two ?

It wouldn’t have happened back then, they didn’t care about coming across as nice blokes…

dennis_lillee_6_600_400-600x400…but sometimes nowadays you tend to think that some boards regard the image of their attack bowlers above their substance or ability — like these guys  Sidders, Starckers, Patters and Rolfy…

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There are always those who tend to go a little over board, of course, even for the marketing men…

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SO C’MON, AUSSIE, FOR CHRIST SAKE. LET’S SHOW A BIT OF GRIT.  MAKE  A GAME OF IT — OR YOU MAY AS WELL HAVE BOUGHT THAT OTHER MITCHELL WITH YOU (STARKERS OR NOT).

HAVE A GO YA MUG !

Spofforth, Scorecards and Sticky Wickets,


John Arlott and Ralph Richardson from 1950. A little gem covering everything you wanted to know about The Ashes and cricket. No, much more than that, madam.

17 mins, 20 secs of pure heaven. Enjoy.

Please Give Generously, Innit ?


This just in from our Land of the Shiny Suit Correspondent…

ESSEX HURRICANE APPEAL

A major hurricane (Hurricane Shazza) and earthquake measuring 1.8 on the
Richter Scale hit Essex in the early hours of this morning with its
epicentre in Basildon. Victims were seen wandering around aimlessly,
muttering “Faaackinell”.

The hurricane decimated the area causing almost £30 worth of damage.
Several priceless collections of mementos from Majorca and the Costa
Del Sol were damaged beyond repair. Three areas of historic burnt out
cars were disturbed. Many locals were woken well before their Giros
arrived.

Essex FM reported that hundreds of residents were confused and
bewildered and were still trying to come to terms with the fact that
something interesting had happened in Basildon. One resident – Tracy
Sharon Smith, a 17-year-old mother of 5 said, “It was such a shock, my
little Chardonnay-Mercedes came running into my bedroom crying. My
youngest two, Tyler-Morgan and Victoria-Storm slept through it all. I
was still shaking when I was skinning up and watching Jeremy Kyle the
next morning.”

Apparently looting, muggings and car crime were unaffected and carried
on as normal.

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The British Red Cross has so far managed to ship 4,000 crates of
Special Brew to the area to help the stricken locals. Rescue workers
are still searching through the rubble and have found large quantities
of personal belongings, including benefit books, jewellery
from Ratners and Bone China from the Pound shop.

HOW CAN YOU HELP?

This appeal is to raise money for food and clothing parcels for those
unfortunate enough to be caught up in this disaster. Clothing is most
sought after – items most needed include:
Fila or Burberry baseball caps
Kappa tracksuit tops (his and hers)
Shell suits (female)
White stilettos
White sport socks
Rockport boots
Any other items usually sold in Primark.

Food parcels may be harder to come by but are needed all the same.
Required foodstuffs include:
Microwave meals
Tins of baked beans
KFC
Ice cream
Cans of Stella and Diamond White.

22p buys a biro for filling in the compensation forms
£2 buys chips, crisps and blue fizzy drinks for a family of nine
£5 buys fags and a lighter to calm the nerves of those affected.

**BREAKING NEWS**
Rescue workers found a girl in the rubble smothered in
raspberry alco-pop and were worried she had been badly cut…
“Where are you bleeding from?” they asked,
“Romford” said the girl, “woss that gotta do wiv you?”

I’ve Seen Better Batters in a Fish & Chip Shop **


There are very few continents on which I haven’t made a complete arse of myself playing cricket (or otherwise). For instance, back in 2000 I collapsed with heat exhaustion (or alcohol dehydration and poisoning—depending on which ‘expert’ you listen to) on the Third Man boundary at a ground in St Lucia, West Indies. Three men had to carry me off the field of play to a nearby shady spot where I was doused in cool water and cooler Red Stripe. I took no further part in the match;

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A Team Photo in Oman, 2009. Squad moral wasn’t always what it could have been following one of my more imaginative bowling spells. Pic taken the day after the local hosepipe ban was lifted.

In Nairobi, Kenya, suffering from lack of oxygen because of the high altitude (or from alcohol dehydration and poisoning—depending on which ‘expert’ you listen to) I momentarily lost my sight and lost all sense of direction. Instead of charging towards the batsman to deliver the fifth ball of my first over, I charged towards the square leg umpire who turned on his heels and fled, fearing that he’d be run over by this fat pink bloke approaching. I took no further part in the match;

In Adelaide my fearsome bowling was hit hit so hard and so often by a bloke who usually batted at no.11 for his club side, that a box of new balls had to be ordered, as no-one wanted to go into the spider/snake-infested bush beyond the boundary to find the three new red cherries which he’d deposited there. The bloke I’d put on the boundary to catch him ricked his neck watching the balls soaring fifteen foot over his head;

In Sri Lanka while playing at a local Prison, I tore a muscle/got cramp (depending on…) in my calf in the third stride into the run-up OF MY VERY FIRST BALL. Probably the heat or something. I took no further part in the match.

But on this morning of all mornings, when the world holds its knickers in anticipation of the start of another Engand vrs Australia Ashes series, and because I’m so excited about it I can barely walk, I thought I’d flick through the old photo album and share with you a few lolights of my once-unpromising career. Less Ashes Urns, more Ashtrays and Beer Bottles.

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1992, The Daily Telegraph, vrs Devises Police Training School, Wilts. L-R (back row) R Shrimsley, R Savill, D Sapsted, T Butcher, M Smith, K Maguire, P Sherwell. Front row: P Stokes, N Bunyan, B Fenton, The Author, C Randall. Several of the above young journos went on to great careers in newspapers, magazines, TV, PR and literature. Some didn’t. No scorecards survive for this match. So I think we must have won it.

 

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This is not a still photo of me bowling, it’s video footage, replayed at actual speed (and no, it’s not your poor broadband connection). The hallmark grimace is already developing.  Somewhere in England in the early 1990’s. The umpire’s moustache may indicate the Liverpool area. The bails were later stolen.

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A rabbit in the headlights.  Stowe School, England 1988. Daily Telegraph Gentlemen vrs Players Cricket match (can’t remember which side I was on.) Christopher Martin Jenkins (pick that name up for me please, Deirde) and I had a nice chat as we walked around the boundary. He told me that he doubted if I would never make a club cricketer. Which was nice. And he’d hadn’t even seen me bat yet.

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The Author, on tour in Dubai, and on the eve of a possible Test call-up, receives a good length ball on his off stump, attempts to hook it over square leg for six, and can only watch as the ball clatters into his castle.  The keen-eyed will realise how slow the delivery must have been. Few batsmen are lucky enough to get the time to look behind them before the ball hits the wicket. (There is a version of this photo where I have photoshopped-out the ball. I look magnificent.)

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A terrifying sight for any batsman. Or, indeed, for anyone. The four-pronged pace attack of The Fleet Street Exiles XI, take a well-earned paddle in the sea between humiliating defeats, Galle, Sri Lanka 2002. Please note : for once I am neither the fattest, nor the oldest in this photo. Just the shortest. (Also very pleased to see that I kept my purse with me at all times.)

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The Author stops for a prayer and a swift large rum before going into bat in Antigua. West Indies, 2000. Here we see him trying to come up with a name for an idea he’s had for an irregular column on the internet.

**The phrase directed at me by the home wicket keeper as I took guard in my first ever match on foreign soil. Melbourne, Australia, 1998 (ish). The sad thing about it is that he was probably telling the truth.