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cricket with balls
just another bullshit cricket blog
Filed under indians …
sachin moves me
Obviously I came to Edgbaston mostly because of Sehwag, and that was ruined after 5 minutes.
So then what?
All you can really do is test the new facilities of the press box.
So while Gambhir and Dravid seemed to have the situation under control, I christened the toilets for the Warwickshire board.
There I was, enjoying myself, it came out well, seemed to float, and reinforced my new decision to eat a lot of spinach.
I couldn’t hear the cricket, I’d had forgotten my stupid little radio that never works.
Then all of a sudden there was a deep voice that said, Sachin Tendulkar.
That was all.
I was alone in the toilet having strange voices beaming the name of one man.
It instantly had more meaning than anything I had ever heard before.
Surely this low toned man was the voice of an angel, and he had chosen this moment to pass on the name of Sachin Tendulkar so that I knew something special was about to happen.
This voice was aimed squarely at me. It wasn’t an accident. It was kismet.
I came out of the toilet feeling like I had been touched by something larger than me that really mattered.
It was spiritual and crickety, and my outlook had been changed by it.
Then I noticed that Sachin Tendulkar was out in the middle, and I thought that maybe I’d had some sort of vision or calling, dragging me from the newly polished special press toilets out to see Sachin.
It turned out that it was actually that the Edgbaston press boxes weird have a weird PA system that just picks and chooses words it pipes through the back of the building.
It was handy to know when a batsman was coming out, especially since these toilets seem soundproofed to stop people from inside the box hearing people do their business.
But it wasn’t really the spiritual experience I was looking for.
Dravid reinvents batting
Rahul Dravid is revolutionizing batsmanship
There was a time when Rahul Dravid’s batting was so technically correct that old men wept tears of blood into their wisdens as he played a forward defence of such straightness that Christian fundamentalists couldn’t question it.
All of his shots seemed epicly correct.
He left the ball like it was meant to be left.
A cover drive looked like he was posing for an artist.
His pull shot was tight, contained and morally acceptable.
And his clip off the pads easy, and relaxed, like he was thinking of something else and could play it blindfolded.
Now he’s changed.
Dravid now plays every innings like he’s trying to survive an alien attack.
He seems to play almost every ball through third man, often unintentionally, and he looks hurried and worried most of the time.
But it’s the humble block, Dravid’s best friend, where it’s changed the most.
Dravid now blocks the ball like his shoes just caught fire. His hands just drop straight down in a panic just as the ball turns up.
They probably turn the stump mic down as it happens so we don’t get the excitable scream as he realises that yet again he has barely got away with keeping his wicket.
It’s not pretty, but it is stoic and egoless, like you would expect from Dravid.
Dravid is basically rebuilding his batting the way a newly limbless man would teach themselves how to swim.
And if you can’t respect that, well that’s fair enough, but I think it’s pretty cool.
a song of the first test
One of my many plans of cricket media domination has been to sing songs based on test matches.
Due to time constraints and not wanting to put you through that, it’s never quite happened.
Luckily, like test match sofa and the cricket couch podcasts, someone else has stepped into the void.
The blog Deep Backward Point is here to sing you a test in a song, it would be rude not to listen.
This may be one of the first songs ever written about Sehwagology.
One day this song will be referenced in a history show about how Sehwagology started.
After Sachin
Someone sent me an email that said, After Sachin.
For some people that is a scary thought.
It doesn’t have to be.
In a 1000 years when India is running the entire planet, and maybe a few others, people shall use After Sachin, or the term AS as a way of counting the years.
Everything before his career started could be simply, BT, or more aptly for some, BS. For instance, the year 2987 AD would become, 1 BS.
2000 years of some other dude is more than enough anyway, the world needs a new hero, and our Indian overlords have given us Sachin, it seems kind of stupid not to use him.
Unlike Jesus, who all we have to prove his existence is some rumours of magic tricks and potential grave robbing, with Sachin we have youtube.
Digital archaeologists will just have to fire up old computers and look at the clips, whilst reading the comments underneath to know how much love and respect we have for one another.
There might be some cynical new age types who suggest that the videos are faked, that he was just an actor, like the other known fraudster god, Tom Cruise, and that Sachin is nothing more than a false prophet.
There will also be some will also think that while Sachin was important, Joey from Blossom was the real messiah.
But, who cares about these Joeites, true believers will know that Sachin is the only saviour of humanity. Fuck them anyway, they can believe what they want, the year is 3011 AS, he’s already beaten them.
And when our descendants sit down on Sachmas day, eating korma and watching their kids open up their Virender Claus presents, they’ll have a jolly good time.
The DRS hates Dhoni
MS Dhoni is a wicket keeper.
So when he comes on to bowl cricket statisticians orgasm, commentators chuckle and real cricket sadists find another years to fall in love.
If there was anyone in world cricket who didn’t want KP to go out to Dhoni, other than KP himself, they should be beaten.
Dhoni getting the wicket of KP is the sort of thing that adds to his legend.
In 12 years time you’re in a bar in Oslo (while some might know that I wrote Oslo before the fucked up shit happened, others may not. So I’m not changing this post, because fuck you you fucking terrorist cuntwad skull fucking cuntoxs, Oslo would be a cool place for the following story to happen in, who doesn’t want to get laid or drink booze with a crickety friend in Oslo. Stick that up your ass terrorists, I know the sole aim of your attack was to make me look like a fuckwit, but you lose), and some guy buys you a beer, you find out he’s a cricket fan and you can bond over Dhoni getting KP out.
You could have a lover in Oslo, or a drinking partner, and it’s all about Dhoni getting KP.
Cricket doesn’t win by KP staying in, thrusting his groin oddly down the wicket, it wins with a wicket keeping world cup winning captain getting out someone like KP.
That’s why DRS sucks.
But this isn’t just DRS’ fault, because cricket hasn’t got the laws right.
If there is a chance that something really cool could happen, it should.
Forget about hotspot, massage the laws however you need to, but the world is a better place when Dhoni gets KP out, and the laws need to help this.
Sure, it’s a tough law to police, but cricket needs it.
We can call it the Dhoni law, which means it’s slightly broader than it needs to be.
Praveen Kumar’s the new medium paced Alien Terminator
If the film Alien Terminator has taught us anything, it’s that a nearly immortal organism capable of instant regeneration and with an insatiable appetite for living flesh is a motherfucker.
In that classic film, some kind of Petrie dish alien thing keeps using hosts to grow and then kills them and moves on. Or something.
Praveen Kumar is sort of like that.
There isn’t much to him, he’s not tall, he doesn’t hit the pitch hard, and he’s far from fast.
Yet, he somehow mutates himself and his appetite for human flesh means that he is always dangerous.
Not long ago Duncan Fletcher would have taken him out the back and shot him.
Some of it is based on his personality.
If it wasn’t for his impressive self confidence, amazing ability to think he bowls 15 miles quicker than he does and the best fast bowler’s face in the game, he might just be another under paced seam bowler.
There are a few Praveens around first class cricket.
They put it on the spot, nibble it around and generally nag at the batsman.
It usually doesn’t work at test cricket, the batsmen have seen it all before and you need to be able to move the ball at a more rapid rate than the Praveen’s do.
That’s why it’s amazing he has got this far, and even more amazing that he might make it.
There were times today when his deliveries seemed to be making up their own trajectory when they left his hand. If you do that at 70 miles an hour, it’s still hard to hit.
He has the ability to move the ball both ways, with seam and swing, and be able to repeat that skill whenever he needs to.
It’s not fast, but it is deadly.
Some batsmen will work him out, they’ll find a way to kill him, like a plucky scientist with fake breasts might.
You get the feeling that you can’t really kill Praveen completely, he might not be big or strong, but he will always find a way to regenerate himself, is insatiable for wickets and might end up proving to everyone that medium pace is nearly immortal.
Although the alien terminator does end up just being a dude in a shit costume, which might explain Praveen’s face at times.
India are world champions for eternity: even American Christians love India
The world will end tomorrow, or today, or a few days ago depending on when you read this (that’s a trick line, because you’ll already be dead).
It’s rapture time. Or as these particular weird fucked up group of bible masturbators say, “Blow the trumpet, warn the people!” Which sounds like you are warning people before you fellate them.
The nut in charge has predicted the coming of a second Jesus before, and got it wrong. So he’s due.
And what does this mean?
The Christian Fundamentalist God loves India.
Perhaps because of Sachin, or even Sehwagology. Perhaps God was holding off hoping Americans would stop fighting over birth certificates and creating laugh track TV shows long enough to become the best team in the world, and when he saw that wouldn’t happen, he merely picked the new America, India.
We’ll never know for sure, as we aint going upstairs to get a meeting with the Male Homophobic Christian Fundamentalist God. We’re all dirty sinners here; you’re probably masturbating right now, or applying peanut butter and calling your dog.
While you do that, God has chosen the first time in human history that India are the best side in cricket to end the world. Perhaps Sehwag’s batting really did cause the apocalypse?
After May 21 they may not be. Players retire, get injured, lose form or sleep with the coach’s wife, but right now India are the best, and they’re going out as number one.
Sure, we may be able to play cricket in hell, but you just know they’ll be nothing in the pitches for bowlers. And can cricket really survive with a fourth version of cricket, Dante cricket?
Ofcourse, cricket (and less so the world) ending now is not all good news.
We’ll never Simon Katich knife Michael Clarke after he runs him out.
The Hashim Amla sex tapes will remain unwatched.
Runako Morton will never scream can you dig it at a baying crowd of street thugs in matching outfits in his unofficial role as king of the gangs.
The leader of the UN will never be Kumar Sangakkara, and he’ll never be rich enough to own the rights to the back catalogue of Billy Ocean or Hank Williams.
The cyborg that Martin Crowe created (just because he had a spare Sunday afternoon) to hold his brain will never get a chance to take 5000 test wickets.
It’s a shame because the world would have loved Mushtafiqur Rahim’s novelty dub hit, “I should be so Lucky”.
Salman Butt doesn’t have the chance to find Jesus, become popular on a celebrity dancing show or rebuild his name by getting cancer.
England will never get a chance to see Graeme Swann hosting retro 1950s game shows.
It ends all hopes that Kevin O’Brien did of doing something that people remember him by without stupid hair.
And the UDRS will always remain shit.
What will happen is that India will remain the eternal champions of the world as we all burn in the Christian Fundamentalist Hell.
The real shame is not that we’ll miss the stuff above or that India are number 1 for ever (which isn’t a shame if you’re Indian, although you’ll be in hell, so hard to celebrate too much) it’s that we all know Tony Greig will be down there commenting on all our torture. Blow by blow. Getting the details wrong, calling Sri Lankans little, talking about the broad shoulders of some blonde 19 year old, and generally making hell, hell.
Sehwagology saves.
Duncan Fletcher saves Indian cricket with Ashley Giles
Duncan Fletcher’s first speech as Indian coach:
“For too long India have picked spin bowlers with guile and skill. It’s a terrible trait that will never last in the long run.
Guile and skill are fine as a surprise tactic, but for long term success you need someone who will literally add little to your team other than work ethic and a sensible haircut.
Other lesser cricket coaches may have needed these surprise tactics to win some tests, but I don’t need them. What I need is bowlers who bowl 90mph plus and spinners who are really more there for team morale.
Spinners shouldn’t be eccentric or the main part of your attack. They are there because they are smart enough to gently roll their fingers and occasionally bowl defensive legside tactics.
India have never understood this, and that is why I have requested that they pick Ashley Giles their tour to England.
From what I understand there are some administration details that still need to be smoothed out, but this will go through. Or I’ll write some self important columns in newspapers to embarrass those who don’t allow it.
I love India, and I think their team is ok. However, players like Sachin and Virender can learn something from Ashley, here is a man who made it to the top level of cricket simply because no one ever noticed he existed. Unlike them he didn’t use talent, he just never turned up late to a training session and always helped put out the cones.
That’s what India needs from their spinners.
Forget doosras, teesras and carrom balls, India needs gentle roll from a invisible team player.
Actually, you don’t even need me here, just get Ashley in, he’s in just as good of form as he was when he played.
I’d like to be a rugby consultant. I have some ideas…I love my rugby, I would rather watch rugby than cricket. I’m passionate about it, it’s the game I’d like to have been involved in.
Does India have a rugby team?”
balls profiles: harbhajan singh
Is called the turbanator because he wears a turban and he once took a shit load of wickets. If he had taken the wickets with a dickie cap on, he could have been the dickinator. Was once part of the best non-spinning spin attacks in cricket history. In India he is one of the most deadly beasts on earth, outside of India he is much more like a grumpy old uncle. Celebrated the Perth test win more than any 12th man ever has. Is prone to dancing, and to be fair, is not bad. Is not liked by Matthew Hayden, it’s possible they’re lovers. Slapped Sreesanth in the face. Called Roy something. You can see him as a pious fierce nationalist with terrific skill in offspin and an inflated sense of himself, a cunt, or a decent bowler who loves the cameras a bit much. Or perhaps all three. Has a doosra, bowls with long sleeves.
