I was in the middle of a zombocalypse, although the problem is you don’t know their zombies until they’re trying to bite you.  It’s like a real zombie attack would be, you start with confusion over why a bunch of junkies are trying to bite you.

Once I got the picture, I ran off from the zombies, they were the slow moving kind because even in my subconscious I like to pay homage to the originals.

In that sort of weird dream way I saw a house up a hill and made my way there. Probably because it was double story house that reminded of night of the living dead.

In the house were 8 different people who never really got implanted into my memory; this meant I knew they’d die.

We green our own food and had two permanent guards stationed outside.

One bad night we lost one person.  He was eaten in front of us as we defended our house.

To stop this happening again we put tight string around the perimeter of the house at waist high, in four different rings, with bells attached So that zombies would ring four different bells before they got close. And if a guard saw or heard the zombies they could also ring the bells directly to get us all up quickly.

It worked for a while, but they must smell you, because the first attack is only two or three, but then there’s 4, or 7, then 20. Before long we were having four people on patrol, then six. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t sleep anyway. You were more useful outside the house half asleep because you can react quicker.

We lost two more one night, and one of my fellow bleeders gets bit and I have to shoot her in the head.  She’s a young girl, but I do what I have to. After that night we started to fight. Everyone had their own plan, but none of them are that feasible.  We just continue to get more scared and tired.

One night while I’m asleep I hear them break in into the house. I don’t know what has happened to the rest of them.  The only way out is to fight down the stairs past about 5 zombies.

Zombies are slow, but they’re not easy to kill. Hitting them hard enough on the head to stop them is not easy and in a hall or stairway you can’t get around them easy. Also, you get tired from hitting them, taking zest out of your next shot, and swinging a cricket bat straight down is not something you’ve learnt to do from a MCC coaching manual or a lifetime of playing cricket.

Somehow, mostly with luck, I get past them all and once I’m in the open I manage to slip away.

For weeks I roam around barely keeping alive, killing the odd zombie, eating whatever food I can find.  Quite often it was raw dead birds.

One day I see what appears to be a young couple stacking up zombie corpses out the front of a house.

I go over, but when I get close the guy takes out a gun and points it at me.  Soon I realise why, I’m skinny as fuck, probably look like a psycho, have some zombie’s guts on me and am holding a samurai sword in one hand and an old Duncan Fearnley in the other. Not sure what it was a Duncan Fearnley, I’ve never used one.

Eventually they trust me and I help them with the bodies that they are building up to mask their smell.  It’s a good theory.  And for a couple of weeks we live pretty comfortably.

Then one day a zombie just turns up, and over the following days more come.  We kill them, but once 7 turn up at once, I know this place isn’t safe, I try to convince the couple, but they don’t believe me.

Now I’m walking down a train track and I think almost look enough like a zombie to get by.  Until I pass a bunch zombies eating a dead dog, and they smell me.

They come over and I attack them.  It’s not as easy as it first was.  I have to hit them three or four times to get them to re-die.  I can no longer run around, I’m barely quicker than they are, so I end up with one on top of me inches away from biting me.  I mange to roll him over and then break his jaw with the handle and smash him over and over again with the bat, even long after he’s stopped moving.

I don’t even hear the helicopter suddenly I’m being whisked away to a safe haven by the government.  They ask me what I do, I tell them I’m a cricket writer that leads them to sitting me next to someone I recognise.  I might look like shit, but this guy looks fresh as a daisy, he even smells like he’s showered and he looks very refreshed.

“Hi, I’m Mitchell”

Jarrod.

“Nice to meet you.

How the fuck did you manage to survive?

“Don’t know really, I just did”.

You don’t have a scratch on you, did you even run into a zombie.

“No, managed to avoid them, lucky, huh?”

Fucken cunt.

 

And then I woke up.

You only had to look into KP’s eyes while he denounced any possibility of having a relationship with Mitch to know it was something quite special.

Last week it was Mitch saying that KP was a smart ass and that KP hadn’t seriously asked for his number.

On the surface this could be just ashes byplay that means less than nothing other that keeping newspapers printing.

Ofcourse, that’s what they want you to think.

In truth this all started long ago when KP was playing in Brisbane and he saw Mitchell in his short plumbing shorts.

No it didn’t.

If you expect some sort of cricket slash story involving Mitch unclogging KP’s pipe this isn’t the place.

KP and Mitch have no relationship.

None whatsoever.

It wasn’t until last week that KP even knew Mitch existed.  Before getting bowled he thought Mitch was a net bowler who kept accidently walking out on the pitch.

And Mitch still can’t tell KP from Trott.  Cooley sent him out with a note that said, “KP is the one with the camp Saffa accent”, but Mitch couldn’t tell which one of them sounded like a camper.

Both men could be in the same elevator without any sexual tension being noticeable to a third party.

Their relationship is not professional or platonic, it simply fails to exist.  Like Mitch’s inswinger a fortnight ago.

When Mitch was dropped (rested) and KP was (rested) dropped, they didn’t console each other.  There were no soothing text messages or kind digital words of any kind.

Mitch just continued his gormless existence and KP went about his life in KP land.

Although, if they did have a sexual relationship…. No, can’t even try and go there, imagining that is worse than watching a Mitch short ball down the legside or KP sweeping Hauritz off his head.  Although if you combine the two naked and that is exactly how they would go about it.

Mitchell Johnson said that Mitchell Johnson had been dropped.

Andrew Hilditch said Michael Beer would play and his knowledge of the WACA would be important.

Michael Beer didn’t play and Ponting has now said his knowledge of the conditions of Melbourne will help.

There are even rumours that the four man pace attack was not a plan but more an accident.  Like Michael Beer’s selection.

Australia won this test.

I mean really won.

Smashed by an innings and coming back to win by over 200 runs.

How is it possible that this team with this band of merry muppets who don’t even seem to know what is going on around them can win a test so easily.

Especially when they not only beat England, but also the momentum of the Adelaide win.

I like to think that Australia beat England and Greg Chappell beat the momentum. It is his windmill and he rode that donkey straight for it.

Unfortunately the donkey still might not play next game, it was always going to be rested.

When I first saw him I didn’t think much, he was just a dumb kid and he wasn’t what I was looking for. Unlike the rest, I never fell for the left arm types; I don’t care what arm you use as long as you use it well.

Then he disappeared, and I must admit, I barely gave him a second thought.

When he came back I thought it was a bit weird, but then when he made it to the top level it really annoyed me. This dude had been driving a van for a plumber instead of trying to please me, why would I want him around?

It didn’t matter by this point, he was in my life whether I wanted him or not.

This, and his constant wide deliveries, really got to me. Every time Lee or Clark put the pressure on, this young buck with a stupid piercing would come on and let it all off.

Then he got better. He still bowled wide, but he took wickets as well. Without noticing my feelings change, suddenly it became apparent that I really liked him. The two old guys meant very little to me, it was all about Mitchell.

By the time he took South Africa down he was the only one I wanted.

Leading into the Ashes I wasn’t worried about too much, just that Mitchell would get injured. I couldn’t stand the thought he’d get hurt.

Then it all went wrong. During the ashes all I wanted was for him to get hurt.

That followed with a year of him being vile to me. Really fucken nasty at times. I tried to be nice to him, but when he goads you like that you just can’t help yourself.

It was sick and wrong, we were entrapped in hatred, that is how these relationships go, you can’t live with each other and you can’t kill the other person by drowning them in a soiled toilet.

This went on for the longest time, until I and everyone else were sick of him. Finally, he was gone. The cycle of hate could end.

That wasn’t true though, he wasn’t really gone. He was still around, just not in front of me, it just seemed like I could move on, find new people, become happy without him.

It just didn’t happen that way.

The other men were just as miserable as him, and he was quickly back. Way too quick for me.

Then he does this. Given me so much in one day. I can barely contain myself. While I might hate him for all the shit he brings me, when he is kind, he is very very kind.

The problem is, as good as I feel today, how will I feel in a week, a month, a year.

These moments of bliss wont last. He’ll quickly become abusive to me again. It will turn ugly. I’ll abuse him. We’ll turn to hate and try to make life as painful as possible for each other.

The cycle is set to continue. I speak out because I fear I am not the only one.

I still remember the first time I saw you.  You’re hair all tufty, kickin’ the dirt like a shy boy. teeth whiter than jesus, big shoulders, a plunger sticking out of your back pocket, the once in a generation teddy bear in your grasp and your labrette piercing shining in the sun.  Straight away I knew I’d be able to make you into something great.

Then I got to know you, and I’ve never bonded more with a young bowler than I have with you.  By the end I felt like I was the loving uncle who tucked you in at night when your parents were busy fighting.  You’re the left arm fast bowler I wish I could have had.

You were so eager to learn, so wide eyed and innocent.  The bambi of fast bowling.  I knew I could make you into a lethal machine.  It took time, for a while you were a superstar bowling with a white ball, but you bowled everything so wide with the red ball most of the day people just left you alone.

It came to you.  Some of it was your natural grace, the rest was me just giving you a friendly pat on the bum or explaining which way to point the seam.  Then when Clark got nipless and Lee tried to hard, you took over the side.

For me it was like watching my favourite son graduate from high school.  Sure you still had a lot to achieve, but I met you when you were a tiny little tacker, and now you’re all grown up.  63 wickets two years in a row, I was so proud.  When you took the saffas down in Perth, I felt like I was watching you take your wife after your wedding.

Ofcourse, this is where I might have become too involved with you.  Perhaps our relationship got weird.  The whole inswinger thing was my mistake.  I thought you were ready, and I pushed and pushed, but I was wrong.  Very wrong.

Maybe I started thinking of you as my son, and I got a touch of the tennis parent about me.  I was involved in every aspect of your life, and that was not healthy, I mean if you like cocoa pops, eat them, don’t listen to me. Also I stuffed up the whole Ashes thing by telling you what you needed instead of just letting you come to me.  By that point I thought you were a man.  That you were good enough to handle any sort of emotional upheaval and still work on your game. My bad.

Since then you’ve been struggling, and I think the problem is me.  My role is simply bowling coach, but I see myself as so much more to you. I am your comfort blanket, your father figure, your warm cup of coffee and all of this means I am too much.  I stopped coaching you a long time ago.

Now I smother.

So, it is better if I move on.  I know that everything I have taught you is in there somewhere.  You don’t need me.

I’m never more than a phone call away. I’ll always know you emotionally, physically and everything.

Fly freely my tufty haired bowling man.  You’ll always be that shy little white tooth boy to me.

Sincerely,

Troy Cooley

Your bowling coach, mentor, confidant, father figure and friend.

Mitchell Johnson can be a monster.

Mitchell Johnson often bowls balls that barely hit the cut strip.

Mitchell Johnson seems like a good bloke.

Mitchell Johnson is prone to bouts of bowling hopelessness.

Mitchell Johnson can bowl very fast.

Mitchell Johnson is a confidence bowler.

Mitchell Johnson can hurt people.

Mitchell Johnson is not the most stable individual.

Mitchell Johnson can donate runs.

Mitchell Johnson has destroyed good batting line ups.

Mitchell Johnson is the new Steve Harmison.

These are all vague generalisations, but you know, kinda right.

I’m not writing this for any reason other than I thought it would be nice to write a post about someone being the new someone without mentioning the person who people usually mention when the are new someoneing a bowler.

So, the international season in Australia has come to an end, and I’m drinking to it. Not because of the unbeaten Aussie summer. Thrashing two mediocre teams is hardly cause for celebration. No, because it means the end of the most annoying experiment in cricket viewing since, well, ever.

Bloody heart rate monitors.

What, I mean what, is the point of this idiocy? The whole point of introducing any sort of technology into a sport is to make it in some way better for the spectator. HawkEye, HotSpot, slo-mo cameras, they all serve this purpose. But what is the freaking point of a heart rate monitor?

It is not as if most of us are incapable of noticing that your heart rate goes up when you are running and it is no great logical feat to suss out that it might go up a bit more if you run and then hurl a small projectile 22 yards.

And it’s not even as if they put them on the interesting players, fer chrissakes. What is the use of putting a heart rate monitor on Mitchell Johnson, unless it is to give his mother heart failure of her own? How about sticking one on Chris Gayle, so that we can tell if he is really that laid back, or just clinically dead? Or on Shane Watson, to see if he actually is 98% straw? Hell, if we are being really interesting, strap it to Steve Smith and see if he’s yet mature enough to walk past a woman on the boundary without all of the blood rushing to his groin?

No, the only conceivable use for this technology is to fix it to the commentators. Watch Mark Nicholas’ bpm rise every time he passes a mirror. Measure Warne’s excitement as a tray of pies goes by. Do what the heck you like with it, just get it off my tv screen.

But not everyone thinks so.

Kamran’s mother, who recently survived a heart attack, was so angry at her son’s treatment that she has ordered Kamran’s younger brother, Umar, to withdraw from the test team.

Umar was initially reluctant as he thinks test cricket is really cool, but his mother was having none of it, and threatened to tear down Umar’s poster of Aisha Linnea Akthar off the wall.

Kamran’s keeping was brought into question when he dropped Hussey, Hussey, Hussey and Siddle during the second test. Most people forget about the run out, because that is not a real dismissal.

Umar is very fond of his brother, but test cricket is really cool, so it wasn’t until his mother said his pocket money would be stripped that he did tell the team he wouldn’t be playing.

Soon after the Akmal matriarch realised that if she took Umar out of the team that would mean she would have no sons playing test cricket, and as she thinks test cricket is really cool, she decided to let Umar play, for now.

I spoke to her earlier today and she had this to say:

“I’d rather not be a tennis mother, but Umar is only 25 years old, or 19 in Pakistan cricket language, and he needs guidance. However, I followed the Mitchell Johnson Oedipus story closely and realised that by telling Umar to pull out I would be ruining the spirit of the Pakistani team, so I retracted my earlier request.  Test cricket is really cool, and I hope Pakistan kick Ricky Ponting’s hairy arms all around the wicket.”

Kamran’s father refused to comment, as he doesn’t know much about test cricket and is concentrating on his career as a senior model.

For what it is worth Kamran still believes he will play in the final test. He has been watching a lot of films about Proms in America where the story has it that the main awkward dude turns up on the girl’s door only to find out she has always agreed to go to the prom with the more popular, but hardly seen, jock guy.  In those films even though the dude is embarrassed his Prom night usually rocks, and mostly that girl (or a really cooler one) ends up with him.

Then I saw it.

The play by play.

Haddin hits a ball into the ball short on the leg side; Benn and Johnson get in a tangle. Not that it is hard to get tangled with Benn. They collided fairly naturally; Johnson tried to push him away, Benn seemed to grab him and tried to get his leg in his way, and eventually they unentwined and the run was completed.

Haddin got pissed that Benn was grabbing at Johnson; I doubt he would have seen Johnson’s push from his position. He then had a go at Benn, with a bit of bat waving nonsense thrown in.

Then Benn got angry, mostly about the bat waving, as Haddin and Gayle had a fairly unaggressive chat. Benn then kept abusing Haddin (who seemed bored of it and walked away) about the bat waving and kept calling him big man. From what I could hear I believe he said, “Watch yourself, big man, don’t fucken point your bat at me, man.” Gayle didn’t try to do much so Billy came over, eventually.

Then later when Benn was bowling to Haddin he hit one straight back to Benn who feigned that he was going to throw the ball at Haddin/thestumps, probably the equivalent of the bat waving. It was a terrible feign, and obvious he was not going to throw, so much so that you couldn’t even say he was going to throw it at Haddin, as he never really cocked his arm correctly. It was more a wild swing of the arms from a 2 year old.

That was the end of the over and Haddin walked down mouthing off to Benn (Benn could have been mouthing back but that angle wasn’t shown). Benn did a big like point at Haddin, but Johnson got in the way, and Benn’s arm struck Johnson ever so lightly, and Johnson tried to swat it away like someone had poured ice down his top and Benn slapped his arm away.

Then Billy finally got sort of involved and Benn left.

The history.

Haddin and Benn have history, last tour they kept chirping at each other, and at one stage Benn thrust out his leg to try and trip Haddin. Not sure if that had anything to do wit this, but they clearly don’t like each other.

Perhaps Neil Broom and Benn are friends?

In this tour Benn has been yapping non stop to the aussies, and the funniest moment had to be when Watson was marking his guard to start the last innings at Adelaide and Benn was craned over him talking and talking.

Haddin has also been chirping a lot when Benn has been into bat.

The verdict.

What a load of shit. It wasn’t a shoving match; it was an accidental tap and some heated words. Haddin probably rented a high horse he has no moral reason to get on, and Benn overreacted and then dragged it out until it was almost painful to watch.

Perhaps if the ICC want to clean cricket of any sort of human emotion Haddin and Benn should be given a level one fine for the bat waving, feigned throw and swearing, but it still seems pretty piss poor to me. I can’t see how Johnson can even be charged.

But what about Billy, he could have stopped this at any time. What the hell was he doing? First he stood behind the stumps as Benn got angrier and angrier, then he took way too long to get down to where Benn and Haddin were clearly going to meet. Will he get fined for failing to act, will he get warned that he needs to get involved in these things and try and diffuse them. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Billy stand around and so nothing while teams are getting heated.

My vow.

If any player gets suspended, and from the original charges it seems only Benn can, I will start a petition to get him freed.

Cricket is a passionate game, people get fired up. Things are said, glares are exchanged, bats are waived, and fingers are pointed. That is all good. Passion is why we love this game.

We want to see players who are out there to win, not collect endorsements. Benn is a fiery bugger, and I love that about him. If the ICC wants to take people like him out of the game then they have to get by this site first.

There are no fingers pointed or bats waived in my Ashes book, but there should be.