If you have a perverted cricket fan in your family, how could you not buy them my book for Christmas?
Buy it, make me happy.
Please.
For those who need it you can also find thekindle version, american amazon version and available at the book depository
(Free Shipping Worldwide).
With Sachin out there selling a book with his blood in it, I thought it was time for me to get in on the act.
If you would like a special edition limited release copy of When Freddie Became Jesus you can buy it for $10,000.
Every copy will have a genuine sample of my sperm in it.
Not just on one page either, I value my customers, I’ll spread it out, inside the front and back cover, and spread liberally throughout the book at random intervals.
There will only be about 7 books with this special little gift in them, they will be numbered and signed (in pen).
For those who can’t afford $10,000 dollars, we also have an urine stained selection for $500 that comes with a bonus pubic hair.
I expect these to go fast though, as they are limited to about 25, well I think I can do that many.
Can you think of anything better than reading a book and having the author right there with you, his bodily fluids positively flowing out of the pages.
The ultimate reading experience.
Most of that is true.
One time CWB writer Andrew Fernando has started a blog.
His latest post is about him describing Satan to a little kid:
“Around two years ago, a kid that I looked after asked me what I thought Satan would look like if he took human form. I thought about it for a while and gave a somewhat descriptive answer. “He would be of average height,” I said, “maybe even a bit on the short side.” “He would be pretty hairy, have dark, devious, squinty eyes and a permanent dickhead-like expression that made you instantly dslike him.” “He would also definitely be Australian,” I added. My young companion concurred.”
Andrew has also managed one of best first blogs of any cricket blogger, in that he ignores cricket and talks about Kate Winslet.
So get over there and check him out.
More importantly than Andrew’s blog is the fact that my book has made its film debut.
Ahmer Naqvi has made a student film that is all about being locked in a room. Compared to some student films I have seen – often made by me – this seems pretty handy.
You can see my book being read with boredom at the 1:44 mark, or in the animation with Shahid Afridi at 3:30.
The Room from ahmernaqvi on Vimeo.
Sure this is a lazy post, but I am working on the magazine, so shit happens.
The competition you have been waiting for has arrived.
To go into the draw to win a signed (by me and only the Iain O’Brien) copy of seminal cricket classic “Ashes 09: When Freddie Became Jesus”, all you have to do is click on this link and leave a comment at Iain O’Brien’s site.
It is that easy.
You can leave a comment, can’t you?
So get over there and read the review, try and get a free copy and tell IOB what wonderful feet he has.
Coming over here.
Taking our jobs.
Taking up our bandwidth.
Breathing our air.
Marrying our women.
Taking our blogs.
And, now, threatening to take our awards as well.
I didn’t even know that there was a category for ‘Greatest Number of Expletives Per Column Inch’, or ‘Most Gratuitous Mention of Bryce McGain in an Article’, but apparently Jrod has been nominated for some kind of award by the National Sporting Club. Which makes the rest of the socially inept munchkins who inhabit this place very proud of him indeed. Especially as it is for Best New Writer at the British Sports Book Awards.
Of course, when the old buffers who nominated him realise that (a) being a Victorian doesn’t mean you are over 100 and (b) he doesn’t own a suit, let alone a tie, he’s toast. But we’re very happy for him and hope that this might actually push sales of The Book into double figures.
Writing a book is cool.
Finding a publisher is pretty cool.
Selling more than 12 copies is cool as fuck.
Getting nominated for best new sports writer by the British National Sporting Club is kinda fucked up.
But, I did.
I am not sure how, or why, but for some reason the mainstream is letting me sleep in the pornographic cupboard they pretend they don’t have in the guest house.
My book won’t win, you can’t make jokes about killing Richie Benaud and win, but, as they say in the cliches, it is nice to be nominated.
Weird but nice.
Unfortunately my book is not nominated in the same category as Stuart Broad’s book, best illustrated ( I didn’t even know Broad was a photographer).
Also, and you should chuckle a little about this, somehow I was not nominated for best publicity campaign.
If by some chance I do win, I promise to snob every one of you in my acceptance speech, but i will quote something from a film or song that has no relevance to the award at hand.
If one of you hasn’t bought the book already, go get your hands on this award nominated piece of ass.
For years I’ve been told to have a donation section on the site, I’ve always decided against it.
But now I think, fuck it, I would rather have a donation section on the site than the many bullshit ads I am offered.
So if you want to donate, click on the button, if not, no problems.
While I am in pimping mode, I might as well mention that I’ve had a couple of reviews on my book now, one on The Village Cricketer and one on Amazon.
The book is coming up as not available on Amazon at the moment, even though they have copies of the book, it is probably an error.
But the book does seem available on the book depository.
End of pimp.
Today is the day my book is out, printed and available.
To mark this occasion I have recorded a reading of the first chapter in podcast form.
You can’t ask for more than that, well you can, but I’d ignore it.
If you want a nice quiet cricket with balls week, I apologise.
As this is the week my book comes out.
So I shall be pimping it like it is a 2020 competition.
To start with, and this is a gentle ease in, we have a facebook group for the book.
So if you love the facebook, join the group.
See, that wasn’t so bad.
A couple of people have asked to see some of what goes on in the book.
I wasn’t sure what to put up here.
Some of it makes sense in the book, but may not here.
Some of it I like to much I want it read in print first.
Eventually I decided on the following passage, I’m not sure why.
It isn’t the final edit, but it is roughly right.
It is after Australia’s first batting collapse at Lord’s when a few of the Aussies went out to the short ball.
“Pull yourself”
Oh come on.
Most of you played this shot when you were in the womb. Back-foot shots are what Australians do. I get not getting swing bowling or having trouble with spinner’s mystery balls, but short balls. Fuck off.
Katich and North are from the Waca. The WACA. The place of pace and bounce. When they learnt the game this was a wicket that fast bowlers would drool over. If you couldn’t play the short ball well there you died, you actually died.
Brad, what was going on with you, you played yours in the dark. In the dark. And you had already seen four others go out the same way. Was there no little voice in your head saying: “Jeez, we are struggling, perhaps I should not try this shot that the whole team has played and fucked up.” No, of course not. You are an instinct player. That is why we, and England, love you. Did you see all the happiness you brought them?
Marcus, you were special too. Unlike your brethren you didn’t even wait for a short ball, you just attacked one that you wanted to be short. That worked out well for you. You do realise that at some grounds in the world the bounce is rather less than you get at the Waca.
Mitchell, never mind son. Just have a good rest.
Phillip, Way to show people you aren’t afraid of the short ball, glove a shit one down the legside. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it is almost impossible to pull one down the legside, you can’t control it. But you are young, I forgive you.
Simon, hasn’t anyone ever told you that you can’t control a short ball down the leg side you dumb fuck. Come on. You are supposed to be the smart stoic boring one.
What are we supposed to tell the children?
“Daddy, I do not understand, how did we lose to England?”
“Well my dear, you see they all decided to play the hook and pull shots badly on one day”
“Daddy, that is fucked, can we kill them?”
If I can find another section I’d like to put up, I will.
