Now watch me say that John Wright (the soon to be former coach of New Zealand) is the Looney Tunes Café and John Buchanan (current New Zealand director of cricket) is the forward thinking building owner trying to get the most out of his investment.

It’s easy to make John Buchanan out to be the bad guy. A non-Test playing bookish nerd who looks like Ned Flanders who is overly fond of lawn bowls and ancient Chinese text. It doesn’t help that Shane Warne never misses a chance to abuse John Buchanan, or that several of Buchanan’s theories don’t really make much sense.

But NZC didn’t pick Buchanan by accident. They appointed the guy with the wacky theories to propel their mid range side to greater things. New Zealand is not a country rich with cricket talent or facilities; they have always been at their best when their team comes together as one unit to knock over the better sides. Even with players like McCullum, Ryder, Vettori and Taylor, they seem to rely on a team effort to win big games. And like the Oakland Athletics, they’ve only got so much to work with.

Buchanan has had success. Not so much with his theories or wackiness, but with his record. Take out his time with KKR in the IPL, and he’s coached one of the most successful teams in world cricket and won shield titles for a team that had never done it before. He’s successfully got inside the head of countless opposition players by “accidentally” leaking player dossiers. Even Shane Warne believes his maiden over theory.

The problem is that few cricket fans in New Zealand would know or care about this. John Buchanan’s just not well respected in New Zealand. Most people only know of Buchanan in New Zealand because he hired a lawn bowls administrator to work for NZC. You can’t put that up against John Wright. A former NZ warrior with two stints as coach. Old school, smart and universally accepted. It’s unfair to John Buchanan.

It’s also another reason why John Wright and John Buchanan weren’t ever going to be ideal partners. One believes in cricket laws and man management. The other believes in spreadsheets and KPIs.
NZC were betting each way on this. Hoping that this odd melding of old and new theories would somehow blend beautifully. It hasn’t.

John Wright is leaving.

New Zealand has lost it’s most respected coach, and people are talking about John Buchanan like he wants their team to be coached by a team of alien ninja turtle Avatars who sprout mantra’s from Tony Robbins speeches. Which he may.

John Buchanan is not as useless as many say he is, nor as good as NZC think he is. But the NZC have made their decision. They now need to find a coach who is reading from the same copy of the art of war as Buchanan is. Or they need to clear out Buchanan and start again.

If you are going to make a choice, make one. You may not be able to replicate the homely food of the Looney Tunes Café, but you sure as hell want to make sure the food is really good and that it matches the décor and setting of the new establishment to ensure the locals don’t get angry.

It wasn’t the grin of some nervous debutant. Jesse obviously believed he belonged, and was finding Anderson’s histrionics pretty damn funny. There was just something different about Jesse Ryder. You didn’t have to make a joke about his weight to see he wasn’t a cookie-cutter type young cricketer. Jesse was different.

Before he’d played, my introduction was through Adam Parore saying that there was a batsman who was too fat to play for New Zealand. This instantly appealed to me. Perhaps because I never liked Parore, or because I was craving another BBB (Big Beautiful Batsman). Parore’s comments made a few headlines, but the New Zealand selectors didn’t seem to take them too seriously and before long Jesse had been picked for New Zealand.

Jesse may not have smashed England everywhere that series, but he could obviously play. Through the off side he was a dream. For a big guy he didn’t rely on brutality much at all. His timing was extraordinary. His hands were remarkably soft, almost delicate. And his shots could be almost feminine at times. Through the off side he was like Sourav Ganguly in a fat suit. Elegant, delicate and strong. Like a rugged, more man-of-the-people version of David Gower.

Gower was also a bit different to the norm, however, Gower never cut open his hand in a nightclub while trying to break into a toilet. Gower probably never told a nurse he was the future of New Zealand cricket. Jesse was talented, but the troubling signs didn’t take long to show up.

While his hand was still healing there was talk he wouldn’t make it as a Test batsman. His temperament was not suited to the format. To me that always seemed like nonsense. Forget the off-field problems, purely as a batsman he was born to play Test cricket. He was a batsman far more than a hitter, and his skill would be suited to any form of cricket. All he had to do was get his chance on the field and stop stuffing up off of it.

When he drunkenly claimed he was the future of New Zealand cricket, he wasn’t wrong. New Zealand have a good mix of hard-working professionals who come together to form a decent side that, when all on song, can upset far better sides. But they don’t have many players of Jesse’s talent. You don’t keep a player out of Test cricket because he’s a young guy who enjoys eating and drinking too much.

His first Test was against Bangladesh, and was largely uneventful, but in his second he made 91. It was astonishing, but somehow this wild man off the field had kept his temperament well enough to at least make a Test-match 90 without punching anything.

Off the field his temperament hadn’t improved. He was banned from the national team after missing some team meetings in a series against West Indies. New Zealand Cricket chief executive Justin Vaughan went out of his way to assure everyone that Jesse wouldn’t be cast aside, that he’d be taken into the loving bosom of NZC and taken care of. Aaron Klee, Ryder’s manager, did his least favourite thing and fronted up to the media to tell them that Jesse had decided to go cold turkey on the drinking.

This was followed by India’s tour of New Zealand. A series where Jesse didn’t just look like a Test batsman, he looked exactly like what he had told that nurse he was. The future of New Zealand cricket. First Test, Seddon Park, first innings, New Zealand collapse to 60 for 6. And while his captain, Dan Vettori, is playing his unorthodox, aggressive shots, Jesse is playing shots so sexy it makes you weep to watch them. Jesse was reaching the off-side boundary like India had forgotten to put fielders there.

Jesse never looked like a batsman without a Test hundred; he looked like a guy who was ready to be a huge deal in cricket. As he closed in on his milestone, Vettori went out and Jesse was left with the tail. Now, batting with the tail as you go for your maiden Test century is probably not ideal, but with New Zealand’s tail it’s even more scary. Because you know you only have ten batsmen and Chris Martin. If you parked a kid’s tricycle in front of the stumps with a bat taped to it, it would average more than 2.43.

Luckily for Jesse, his batting partner was still Iain O’Brien, his Wellington team-mate who seemed to be doing everything in his fairly limited powers to get Jesse over the line. Until he danced down the wicket like a drunken debutante to be stumped by a foot, though it felt like two pitch lengths. Maybe more. To this day O’Brien claims he was trying to get Jesse on strike. If he was, it was perhaps the world’s most misguided attempt to help a friend, the cricket equivalent of pushing someone in front of a train to get them to their destination quicker.

When he drunkenly claimed he was the future of New Zealand cricket, he wasn’t wrong. New Zealand have a good mix of hard-working professionals who come together to form a decent side that, when all on song, can upset far better sides. But they don’t have many players of Jesse’s talent

Jesse was on 98 when Martin walked in. India did what you do when Martin is at the crease: bring in the field and start to giggle. Martin played and missed, looked like it was his first time with the bat, thrust out his body in what he assumed was the way a normal batsman would, used that weird batting face he has, and had one ball caught close, in from his pad.

At the other end, Jesse laughed. He giggled. He smiled.

I can only imagine what a normal batsman would do in this situation. His face would be clenched like he was going through violent constipation; Jesse looked like he was watching a stand-up show. He was enjoying the situation as much as everyone else was. I couldn’t believe a batsman two runs from his Test hundred would be so relaxed and find the situation so humourous.

Somehow Martin lasted the over.

The first ball next over Jesse played a slightly uglier-than-usual Jesse Ryder swivel-hip pull-shot to bring up his hundred. Next ball he was out. Jesse was a Test match batsman.

In the following Test he made a double-century. By the end of the series he was averaging over 50 in Test cricket. Jesse had also booked a place in the IPL. So it wasn’t just me who loved Jesse, everyone was jumping on board.

In the IPL, Jesse had another bad episode. His cold turkey turned to a drunken incident that Klee originally denied happened. Maybe the press over-reported it, but Jesse certainly was drinking again. Shortly after, Jesse had to pull out of the World Twenty20 because of a groin injury. There were also stories about wild house parties. More injuries. A broken chair that lead to discipline. And the occasional good knock thrown in.

It was now harder to follow Jesse’s career. Even when he did play a game, it was sort of a surprise because he’d be out for so long. When Jesse would play, he’d still show the odd sign of his natural talent, but he never seemed to be around for long before another injury got hold of him. For me he sort of faded into the background. I still loved watching him bat, but just working out when he was in the team was hard enough.

That’s why I didn’t even watch the New Zealand-South Africa Twenty20 on the 22nd February. It was the third in the series, and I didn’t have much interest in the first two, so the third was hardly on my mind. I knew Jesse was back playing, but I didn’t realise how close he had been to a call-up. And I missed the game. Once I heard about Jesse’s role in that game I had to watch the replay. At the start of his innings he felt like normal, if not slightly eager, Jesse, racing to 48 off 27 balls. It wasn’t his best innings; it was equal parts brilliance, luck and belligerence.

Then the man who smirked at James Anderson and laughed at Chris Martin changed.

From 48 to 50, Jesse took 10 balls. He didn’t defend or leave balls, but something was different. The need for a comeback fifty could have got to him. He would have wanted to prove that he was still the Jesse of old. Perhaps he just wasn’t ready, and in the middle overs when the pressure was off he was able to capitalise on a good start without thinking too much. But something did change. He wasn’t free-flowing, looked frustrated and far from carefree. He was batting like something else was bothering him. He lost his timing and patience. His hands seemed harder and heavier. It was unsettling to watch him go through it. And the winning position he had put New Zealand in was fading away.

Jesse’s last five balls were truly awful: He skies a ball that should have been caught, and takes a single. Faces a dot ball next delivery, then takes a single when Franklin wants two. Gets back on strike and faces another dot ball. Then tries to lap-scoop Johan Botha to beat a short fine leg that you’d imagine would have been hard to clear off Botha’s quickest ball. It was bizarre, nervous and ugly, nothing like the old Jesse.

Jesse had made 52 off 42, with four off his last 15 balls. New Zealand needed 20 off 27 before his slow period started; when he got out they needed eight off seven. New Zealand lost that game. Jesse, who had top-scored, got most of the blame.

A week later he was in trouble again. He was caught drinking late at night while injured. Team protocol had been violated, a small misdemeanour to any other player, but for Jesse this was huge. The man with the soft hands and massive frame had again found a way to make himself a punchline and a target. Klee was back under the pump again, editorials were written, John Wright’s patience had been tested, the New Zealand team felt let down, and Jesse would not make a return to Test cricket against the South Africans.

Ryder could find humour in situations that would give other batsmen the jitters © Associated Press
Enlarge
What New Zealand fans would have expected would follow was for Jesse to apologise through Klee and say he was going to do better in the future. Then a few months later he’d do the same thing all over again. With perhaps another injury in between.
But this time the announcement was different. He decided to take a break instead. This was a decision that Jesse, Klee, Karen Nimmo (Jesse’s clinical psychologist) and Heath Mills (CEO of NZPCA) came up with. It was an indefinite, break but seemed more definite than any apology or hollow statements that had come from, or been attributed to, Jesse in the past. It was as if Jesse had finally had enough of what his career had become and was now trying to get his whole life back on track.

Jesse has demons. And Jesse needs to work on those demons far away from the press and public. This decision was the right one for him. He shouldn’t feel the need to rush back, he is only 27. He should devote all his time and resources into just getting himself right.

One day I hope Jesse Ryder is happy. If he comes back to cricket, and I can see that happiness and a few wonderful shots through the offside, that would be a treat. But if not, I just hope that the guy who brought me joy, finds his own. The man has a great smile; I hope he finds many reasons to use it in the future.

They probably won’t, but it would be cute if they did.

They have a top four that has the skill to scare some teams, and the late order with the hitting power to boost some totals, but they need every single player to be at their best for two games and that is not likely.

They do however have some things in their favour.  Sri Lanka has a similar line up to South Africa.  And if Pakistan make the final, they’ve already beaten them.  If they play India in the final, they can hope for a plane crash the night before the game.

All they can do is try and bat first, put on a reasonable total, nothing too special, then use tight bowling, Martin Guptil’s Roger Ramjet fielding, and a bit of lip hoping that all three can make the opposition feel the pressure of being in a big game get to them.

If they bowl first, they probably need a lot of luck and some run outs.  Also some bad umpiring decisions followed by poor use of the UDRS would help.  As would Kyle Mills going into the changerooms to torment the opposition before they get out there as a pre-emptive strike.

Their team is not horrible, but until Pakistan stopped hitting the pitch and South Africa choked they looked like they were lucky they didn’t have to play Ireland or Bangladesh.

If they did win the world cup they’d be the first team to ever do it without a strike bowler and it would be the biggest thing to happen to New Zealand since Bad Taste was released.

What New Zealand must do

Never give up, never surrender, hope like hell other teams will choke under their disciplined bowling and fielding effort.

How to beat New Zealand

Fast bowling did it for Australia; spin bowling did it for India.  Twice this team has failed to get to 200, and they didn’t make much more than that against South Africa.  While the batting line up is long, (strangely the longest left in the tournament), they are prone to a complete collapse from head to toe.

I think the best way to do this is to attack them at all times.  When you’re attacking them one wicket seems to send a panic through all of them.  They will probably struggle to put on a total of 300 plus and blow you out of the water, so you can afford to be a bit more attacking.

Their bowling and fielding has far less big names and performs much more as a competent unit.  Their fifth bowler, if Oram plays purely as a bowler like he has, might be a weakness.  Vettori didn’t like giving Woodcock the ball against South Africa, if you can attack him and Styris, they might be in trouble.  Also Vettori is a big weakness in the field.

If your team is struggling and suddenly four tall men are around you after you’ve made a dreadful mistake, keep your elbows at the ready and “accidentally” push your bat handle into their genitals.  They might be tall, but few people like a bat handle to the groin.

What not to do against New Zealand

Hit the ball near Guptill and run.

For a normal dictator that is annexing an island or stealing the mascot of your neighbour, for a cricket dictator who selects the team, coach, and selectors while designing the team shirt, making sure Jesse is locked to his bed and that Adam Parore doesn’t slate him daily it’s getting wins on the board.

Like most Dictators, Dan Vettori took on too much.

Vettori was right to rename Tuesday Vettoriday, set the record straight on gay players, cut the team’s oranges, start wearing a leopard skin fez and rewriting the bible to make Jesus a left arm finger spinner who makes more runs than you’d expect from someone of his stylistic devoid play.

The problem is that while he was doing these important things, others were scheming.

If Shakespeare has taught us little more than to kill yourself before you check your partner’s pulse, it’s shown us that people scheme to get power.

I can imagine it now, while Dan Vettori was hosting a benefit party for Scott Stryis’ thighs, Greatbatch (his ally) and Wright (the mercenary) were hatching a plot. I can see them cackling as Wright stirred a big pot of L&P and Greatbatch ate his fush and chup pavlova.

Poor Dan, just trying to rule in a pseudo-benevolent manner so his country had a chance, was shot down in cold blood.

No longer the defacto coach, no longer a selector at all, now just a normal captain who has to do nothing other than play, train, travel and say clichés.

How the mightily organised and overworked have fallen.

Justin Vaughan is yet to release a statement about this change in supreme leader, only because he is too busy cleaning out the blood from Vettori’s whites.

Alas, poor Dan! I knew him, Justin.

The cricket sadist.

“I’m delighted to take Sachin’s wicket. It’s the biggest scalp of my career,”

Jeetan Patel

If I got Sachin Tendulkar out, I’d probably say something stupid too.

But is there a bigger scalp in world cricket than Sachin Tendulkar?

Sure, outside world cricket there are bigger scalps.

Godzilla, Barack Obama and Dakota Fanning, to name a few.

Now Jeetan has taken down Sachin, he could probably take down Godzilla and Obama, as long as they didn’t team up.

He probably couldn’t take down Dakota though, but if he did, he’d probably say.

“I’m delighted to put Dakota’s head on a stick.  It may look like a small scalp, but it’s the biggest scalp of my career.”

Jeetan Patel

‘There can be only one’ was a line written by someone who had never seen the Indian batting line up.  They have a long tail, but they sort of double dare you to get to it. New Zealand may never seen it.

New Zealand

If you can’t bowl or field, playing against Sehwag is like running into a bull for hours on end.  Is it too late for them to pretend they left the oven on at home?

Who’s in front

New Zealand can still win this.  The problem is they need a renegade CIA force, 24million dollars in unmarked bills and a nuclear warhead.

Play of the day

If you are the 12^th man who has to field for a team that is struggling and the oppositions most threatening batsman hits the ball straight up in the air close enough to you for you to take the catch, it would really hurt you emotionally to drop it.  For that same ball to hit your nuts, that is the beginning of a Hank Williams song. Isn’t it, Martin Guptil.

Testicular moment of the day

Sehwag looked ok.

Working class moment of the day

Poor Dictator Dan.  He is trying to cross the Pacific Ocean in a kids inflatable swimming pool.  The only luck he can have is that a seagull pops it before he gets to too far from the coast.

Weird factoid of the day

Jeetan Patel’s dropped catch off his own bowling was perhaps the best audition to be the screaming victim in a horror film I’ve seen in years.

However, no team is unbeatable, even by a bunch of semi amateur miscreants wearing black caps.

To help the Kiwis I’ve devised a blueprint on how they can beat India.

Sachin

OK, so actually winning will be hard, but there are other things you can do to save face.  I suggest that every press gathering be used to abuse Sachin Tendulkar.  Call him a paedophile, suggest he beats old woman, say you saw him pissing on a beggar, anything you can think of that will piss off Indians so much that they ask you to leave the country.  Don’t say Ponting is better than him, as that might result in death.

Raelians

It has been a long time since the Raelians outed themselves as Cloners of humans.  And no sports team has really cashed in on this.  Think of a squad with 3 Hadlees, 2 Bonds, 3 Vettoris, 2 Flemings, 3 Sutcliffes and 2 M Crowes.  Plus the Raelians claim they can clone the dead, so bring Walter Hadlee and Bob Blair back for guidance and inspiration.  You could also clone a friend for Adam Parore as well.

Humanoids

Those sad and lonely Japanese scientists have all the technology to replicate a human, now all you need to do is amp the shit up on their right shoulder, turning them into bowling machines.  Just tell the media that one of your bowlers in injured, and that you are replacing them with a 7 foot 4 sheep farmer from Wannafuk.  That should explain the awkward nature of him.   It doesn’t even need to be automated, just get the player with the best skills on xbox to control this monster.  While you are there buy some lovely lady humanoids as well, you know, for those lonely tours.

Drugs

Don’t day no, say hell yes.  Embrace the performance-enhancing and enhance your shit. There must be performance-enhancing drugs that people can’t test for these days.  So find a dealer and get all East German on it.  And don’t give me that crap that performance enhancing drugs don’t help in cricket, pump them in your veins and then watch your miss hits go over the rope while your third testicle pops out of your neck.

Lalit

Bring him back.  Come to London, find his flat, bring him back to India.  Ross Taylor could do it; I’ve always assumed that he would be a good spy if not one-dimensional spy.  Once Lalit is back everyone will be talking about that, and how Kiwis are heroes.  Getting thrashed in the series will become a very small story.

Human cannon ball

Daniel Flynn isn’t doing much these days.  Take a look at him; no man is more suited to being a human cannonball than he is.  So use him.  Fire him at Sehwag, VVS, Dhoni, Sachin and Che before each test.  The worst outcome is that Daniel Flynn won’t play test cricket anymore. And since I’m one of his 7 fans, most people won’t care. Also, human cannonballs are fun.

Obviously some of these plans are slightly flawed, but they would be fun.

There once was a cricketer more romantic than you, who decided to make his career by bowling into the wind. He had an extra “I” in his name for no reason, liked taking pictures of his own feet, and became Test cricket’s greatest blogger along the way.

He is Iain Edward O’Brien, enemy to ghostwriters, saviour of into-the-wind bowling and hero to those he tweets to. While most of us would never have noticed this hardworking Kiwi quick had he not talked about being called rude things by the Gabba crowd, we now know him, and we await his every tweet, blog and commentary stint with the hunger of Bon Jovi fans.

When he left international cricket to be with his wife, international cricket sobbed a big wet soppy tear at losing a true romantic.

Luckily for those who live in the British Isles, it was the cultural hotbed of Matlock that Iain chose to live in with his wife. This meant that while some cricket fans would miss out on him, British fans would get to see him up close and personal when he signed for Middlesex.

It is true that while playing for Middlesex, Iain spent most of his time with his butt in the air (not an Ijaz joke) with physios and doctors manipulating his injured posterior. When he was fit, he would pop in with a seven-wicket haul, but such is the class of this man that even injured he could keep county cricket fans happy with endless jokes about his injury.

Iain is truly a man of the cyber people and also the darling of Lord’s. Chatting to po-faced Middlesex fans for hours on end about the team they love, while looking resplendent in their pink colours. He even took to the microphone in between extensive rear-end medical work, working his magic for the BBC London, Five Live Sports Extra and Test Match Sofa.

You might be thinking, is there nothing this man can’t do?

Well, he can’t bat, and thanks to a scandalous group that also reside at Lord’s, he can no longer play county cricket for Middlesex. The ECB (or friends of Allen Stanford as some call them) has decided that even though Iain O’Brien has qualified as an English player through his romantic intentions, and that he could legally work for the ECB, he cannot play cricket in England.

I tried to contact a few other county players to see what they thought about Iain O’Brien’s case, but most of them were in South Africa. On holiday, I guess.

Thanks to the ECB’s wacky decision, Iain will probably have to play for some side in Matlock. You know what this means: Iain bouncing young villagers due to still being angry at the ECB. Is that what you want? Surely not.

In Ricky Ponting’s latest book he takes precious time out of talking about how the media abuse him, just to have a go at Iain O’Brien for an incident at the Adelaide Oval. I think you will agree with me that any man who annoys Ricky that much needs our support.

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