Tag Archives: sachin tendulkar

Sobers’ 254 and my dad’s 252 at the G

Even though my dad and I rarely agree on anything cricket-related, he is the reason why I love cricket. When I was young he’d bowl at me in the backyard. That lasted as long as his cartilage-less knees did. Then we moved onto cricket theory – watching on TV, or at the ground – and for years after that he coached me in junior cricket.

It wasn’t just him. My whole family were cricket fundamentalists. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone played. Very few could bat. Everyone, though, had their own cricketing origin story. My grandpa had jumped the fence at the ‘G to see Bradman (only for the little Army Lieutenant of fitness to fail). My cousin Joel and I had backpacked across South Africa to see Australia win a World Cup, and got robbed in Durban along the way. And my father was paid to work in a bar at a match that wasn’t even a Test match.

It was 1972 and my dad was 25. He had a flock of hair, a nasty eye condition that kept him out of the army, an outswinger to die for, a suspect goatee, no high-school certificate, and a love of cricket. At school he was the fast-bowling athlete others wanted to be. He was also a rubbish student, so rubbish that he was asked to leave school, which partly explains why on the third day of that January he wasn’t relaxing on holidays but was instead working a second job: as a barman at the MCG, on the mezzanine level between the Olympic and Members’ stands.

When you ask my dad how it was to be a barman at the MCG, he only ever talks about this one day. It can’t, though, have been the very worst job he ever had. It got him free entry into one of the greatest meeting places on earth and, knowing my dad, the odd free drink. On the day my dad talks about, he was pouring the beers at a largely pointless match between the Australians, who were supposed to be playing South Africa before they were turfed out of official cricket, and a chucked-together World XI. How much the spectators cared for this match can be guessed by the gate attendance. On no day did more than 38,000 turn up.

As a cricket fan I find it strange that a contest boasting Gavaskar, two Pollocks, Zaheer, Bedi and Garry Sobers could not pull a bigger crowd. As a Melburnian I get it. This wasn’t a Test. It was a hastily added fixture featuring a few bonafide stars and a few John Benaud-types. Melbourne fans like their sport a bit gladiatorial. This was a beer match; it wasn’t life or death like MCG-goers want it. For the MCG is nothing if not Melbourne’s a***hole. People talk about Melbourne being the smart left-wing city with the cool art and the alternative vibe that makes it oh-so-liveable, but all that shit needs to be blown out somewhere and the ‘G is where it happens. The ‘G pulsates through big contests, yawns at small ones, rips people to shreds and makes heroes out of those who treat them to a show.

A non-Test match involving such names as Hylton Ackerman and Norman Gifford was never going to bring out that cauldron nature. It was far more likely that only the true cricket fans would turn out. For my dad this was a good thing. The fewer punters there were, the less beer he’d have to serve and the more time he’d have to watch the cricketers he loved.

Coming out to bat at the start of that day, day three, was Zaheer Abbas, and with him was Sunil Gavaskar. My dad always admired batsmen like Gavaskar and Geoff Boycott. When I was growing up, people would ask him if he wanted me to bat like Viv Richards. And instead of grinning and going along with them, he’d say: “No. I want him to put a price on his wicket like Boycott.”

So there might have been a bit of sadness in my dad when Gavaskar got out to Terry Jenner, who back then was just another Australian legspinner yet to taste the slammer or fly around the world trying to create another Shane Warne – although maybe my dad enjoyed the wicket anyway, because he also loved spinners and was forever going on about hacks no one had heard of, people like Peter Sleep and Ashley Mallett and Trevor Hohns. When I was nine my dad decided that since I was only average at wicketkeeping and bowled slower than any other kid my age, he’d make me into a spin bowler.

Not long after Gavaskar got out, Graeme Pollock followed. This brought Garry Sobers to the crease.

It was 13 years since Sobers had made his 365, and quite a few years since his six sixes in an over. It is probably harsh to say he was over the hill; even now he’d be a better batsman for the Windies than Kirk Edwards. But he hadn’t made a Test century in 23 months. Not that he was under pressure. This was a glorified exhibition match and he was Garry f***** Sobers. He was coming to the end of a special career and giving the ‘G one of its last glimpses of his magic.

When I ask my dad who else played in that World XI, he has no idea. He has no real memory of who was on either side. He thinks Dennis Lillee was there for Australia, along with Jenner or maybe Kerry O’Keeffe (actually they both played). He’s not sure if Barry Richards was in the World XI or not. Part of this is down to age. My old man is past 60. Partly it’s to do with the way Sobers has taken over that game in the memory of anyone who was there.

The first thing my dad tells you about that day is the effect Sobers had on the bar. He emptied it, instantly, the moment he entered the ground. That was not so surprising. This was Sobers, world record-holder, suave strokemaker, ladies man, one of the finest cricketers ever. His charisma alone was probably worth 70 runs. You would leave your beer behind to watch him. Even if you only see a few balls, you’ve seen Sobers, perhaps for the last time, perhaps not, but why risk it?

Myself and Joel once had a similar experience at the ‘G. India were playing on Boxing Day and we hadn’t caught up in ages, so we decided to do something we never really did, which was to have a few drinks while the Test was underway. Early on it was easy, as Rahul Dravid and Wasim Jaffer played two of the most defensive innings of all time. Jaffer made 4 off 27. He looked like a man waiting to cross a busy road. Dravid was going through a career-defining crisis – namely, he’d forgotten how to score. His 5 off 66 balls (which oddly led to me getting married) was more painful than it sounds. He was dropped, mocked and booed. It was too much for Joel and me so we kept on drinking.

Dravid was out on lunch, a mercy kill, and we were humming. Three beers in the first session, a couple more that lunch break and we were off to the sort of flyer Rahul Dravid would have paid good money for. There was no doubt this was going to be a huge drinking day.

After lunch, Sachin changed that. We gave him a standing ovation and I nursed my next beer. Joel drank his straightaway, then didn’t ask for another, which wasn’t like him. All the talk went to Sachin. Randomly we struck up a conversation with a young Indian father who had brought his children along just so they could say they’d seen Sachin bat. That was the moment things changed for us. We realised that we had to focus on this innings. That this might be the last we’d see.

Sachin started scratchy, not scratchy like Dravid or Jaffer, but nervous-scratchy, as if even he knew he may not play again in Melbourne. He was not exactly out of form, or in any actual danger of being dropped, but his tennis elbow and his struggles to make consistently huge runs had him looking human, and this was the closest his career ever came to fading out. A few brave people were whispering retirement.

Sachin’s batting sobered us up. From a medical or blood-alcohol point of view I cannot explain it. But while Sachin was out there I noticed every tug of his pads, every ruffle of his gloves and readjustment of his helmet. Every little thing was important to me. I could not look away. Suddenly he began playing a shot a ball. His innings went from nervous-scratchy to frantic-nervous. Boundaries were coming. He was treating the spinner Brad Hogg like Hogg was something stuck in his teeth. For a second we thought we were about to see a Sachin hundred. Then Stuart Clark bowled and Sachin played on to his stumps. From that moment we got as drunk as we could.

So I understand why, on the day Sobers took hold of the ‘G, no one came in asking for a beer – although I always push my dad on this point. Surely, I say, someone came in? I mean, I understand cricket religious reverence, but it’s the ‘G. Also, this bar was just about right behind the bowler’s arm, up a few levels. And it had a balcony. If you are going to see Sobers, why not choose that outstanding location? And when you do push my dad on this, there was, it turns out, the odd person who came into that bar. Not many, though – because the barman was out on the balcony watching the game.

My dad’s favourite quote about that day is: “If my boss had come in I would’ve been in strife, but I would’ve said sack me, I’m watching the cricket.”

I am never sure whether to believe this or not. My old man might have been a big cricket fan but to give up guaranteed income from a second job is not in line with his devout working-class ethic. Still, he believes it, and he was the one watching Sobers and the one telling this story.

When you prod my dad for details of the innings, he finds that hard as well. It’s not so much because of his failing memory this time – it’s because of how much Sobers gave him. “Forwards, backwards, front foot, back foot, he had every shot in the book, he was just a genius, over the top, along the ground, he just did it. With grace.” He is not a man for detail at the best of times, my dad.

Yet when you really drill him on it, especially if he is sober in the retelling, he remembers cover drives off the leggie, and how Sobers played Lillee, the way he dismissed balls on his pads and the way the ground lifted every time he played a shot. Mostly my dad talks about how the bowlers looked like they were coming in to feed Sobers. It didn’t matter what they tried, Sobers could see what they were trying to do. He always had the answer before they’d finished working out the question.

In my dad’s story, Sobers isn’t Sobers but Batman with Superman’s powers.

And of course once I’ve got those few details out of him, I can’t help myself: I mention to my dad that some people reckon Jacques Kallis to be the better allrounder. I don’t believe it myself. But I know it will get him upset. “Jacques Kallis,” says my dad, ‘is a great allrounder, but he wouldn’t even look up Sobers’ bum.”

Dad does not tell the story in chronological order. He does not fill in the gaps, such as whether Sobers started off strong and then consolidated before attacking the spinners later, or whether it happened the other way round. He doesn’t even distinguish between the two days, the one where Sobers made 139 and the other where he took it to 254 (or 252 as my dad tells it). He explains it more the way a born-again Christian describes their moment of conversion, as if the ground they were playing on was a pitch made of clouds.

It’s not anything like a match report, it’s all personal, like Sobers was there for his pleasure, all the stars aligned. My dad was at his ground, watching his favourite player, in an empty bar with a balcony just perfect for viewing. That’s why the detail is not important: he wants you to know how it feels.

My dad is not a big talker. I know nothing about the moment he met my mother or how he proposed. The story of my birth takes him only a few seconds. If you want to know something about him you have to get him drunk, or wait till he uses the information in a separate argument. Yet this Sobers story has been told to me a hundred times. Occasionally I prompt it, just because it’s been a while since I’ve heard it, and other times he segues into it like he’s moving into his comfy clothes before watching the Pies play on a Sunday afternoon. The details can change, depending on how drunk he is or the point he is trying to make, but he always tells it the same way, like he saw God.

The other thing that stays the same is the ending: “I got paid to watch one of the best innings of all time.”

And then he goes a bit quiet. You can see he is reliving it. But he looks frustrated, too, that he cannot articulate it better, as if the story is too much for him to ever get out. That’s he’s let me down by being vague and ethereal. He’s wrong, though. I know everything I need to know about that innings simply by looking at his face and listening to his voice.

Recently my dad found footage of the innings. He was desperate to show it to me. I held off for as long as I could, hoping he’d accidentally delete it from his DVR. I didn’t want to see it, because I thought it might ruin the memories that I had of him telling it to me. But one day, before I realised, he put it on. Even with the camera set up at one end of the ground, grainy footage, and a lack commenters telling you how special each shot was, Sobers’ 254 was one of the most amazing innings to watch. The innings that Bradman said was “probably the greatest exhibition of batting ever seen in Australia”. No matter how good he was through mid-on, or slashing through point, or the way he played every single ball from the spinners, it wasn’t the innings I remember hearing from my dad. This was Sobers’ 254.

The innings I’ll always remember was the Sobers’ 252, the one that belongs to my dad.

This is an edited extract of an article included in the book Australia: Story of a Cricket Country

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Indian Cricketers tell people they are about to die

While it was clear that watching a Mark Waugh ad about dandruff could kill you, he never said it outright.

The Indian cricketers have.

And it’s creepy and brilliant.

Based on the performances of Sachin, Yuvraj and especially Viru, I am now writing a horror script for them to star in.

The only one I won’t cast is Virat, because it’s clear he’s not acting and is actually a murderer.

If you’re reading this Virat, only joking. If I turn up with an armed guard when I have to interview you, that’s also part of the joke.

Apparently the players and BCCi want the ad banned. But only because they have just realised that Virat really is a serial killer.

As for Yuvraj and the grave digging scene, that’s in bad taste, isn’t it? I mean, in this day and age Yuvraj would have employed a guy with a truck to do that, wouldn’t he?

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Congratulations Sachin on your 100th 100

Recently, like most of you, I’ve had all 99 of Sachin Tendulkar’s 99 international hundreds tattooed onto the inside of my eyelids.

It’s the ultimate mark of respect for Sachin, and only non believers would do less.

But every time I went to sleep, something bothered me.

One hundred seemed to be missing.

Sometime in 1998 I seem to remember Sachin making a hundred against New Zealand or Sri Lanka in Asia or the middle east or something.

It was about 107 off 144 balls on a pitch that was slower than you’d think, but Sachin had the requisite skill, patience and courage to get through it.

I seem to remember some exquisite drives, awesome work off his pads and he was particularly harsh on the spinners. Yeah, you remember it too, don’t you.

It wasn’t the best innings of his career, nor the worst, it was just a purely forgettable ODI knock that for some reason, was never put into the ICC database.

Things like that happened all the time, Ian Harvey’s 7 wicket haul against South Africa was never recorded either. There was a lot of meaningless cricket in the late 90s, unlike now, and things got missed.

The good news is, with this hundred rightfully recognised, it means that Sachin has made 100 international hundreds.

I knew you could do it, Sachin, or should I say, I knew you’d done it, Sachin.

What an achievement, imagine how old and good you need to be to do that, pretty good, very old.

Now Sachin doesn’t need to feel awkward from the moment he raises his bat at 50, web site designers don’t have to change the formatting of stats pages to have number of international hundreds on them and the rest of us can go back to not caring how many international hundreds batsmen have.

So, it’s all-good now, yeah.

Hail Sachin, the king of kings, the 100 of hundreds, the grand poohbah of the willow, you are statistically freaky in the best possible way.

But no need for too much celebrations, because you scored your 100th 100 ages ago, and it was grand, I’m sure, I just don’t really remember it.

Unlike this 107 in Asia, or the middle east, against Sri Lanka, or New Zealand, around 199, or so, which I remember very clearly.

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I saw Sachin Tendulkar blink

It’s not an easy decision to come point out a flaw of the greatest human being to ever where (some people may write wear here. I can see why. However, I am moving the English language on and using where as people think where are Sachin’s pads in the overall scheme of things.  It’s risky, and some may see it as an error,  but really you are a big stupid head and I am the one who is progressive, I where the golden crown around here) light blue buckle cricket pads.

Sure, I could have taken in to the grave, so that only Sachin and I knew the real truth.

Some may see it as the honourable thing to do.

Why sully Sachin’s name just so you can sell your book?

But truth is also important, and what are we if we hide the truth to make our heroes look less human.

If you prick Sachin, does he not bleed and tell you to stop pricking him?

Sachin is human, which is a good trait, and because of this and my desire to sell copies of my book let me tell you about the time I saw Sachin blink.

It was a warm day in December, there was a warm northerly blowing and my girlfriend of the time had decided to come to Victoria Vs India with me.

Before we got to the ground she was complaining, it was never going to be a good day.

Earlier in the match I’d seen the ego of Hodge annoy Ganguly by batting for days.

Now I was just there to see Sachin bat.

He didn’t.

Sehwag came and went, as did the man playing cricket just so he has something to write about, at 3 Dravid should have come in but instead it was some random dude that no one wants to remember, and so Dravid didn’t come in till 4. Shortly after the game was abandoned to ensure that no one committed suicide from boredom.

Sachin was due to come in next.

the crowd of 300 Indian students and my girlfriend and I were ripped off.

During the day, to avoid any sort of conversation with my girlfriend, I spent most of my time looking at Sachin in the dugout.

To be honest, he didn’t do much, he had the look of a man who wished he had a good book but instead was being chatted to by Ganguly.

At one stage Cameron White started warming up, earlier in that match he had taken 4/59 in a blistering attack on everything Indian.

It was perhaps the greatest spell of legspin in that match.

White tugged up his shirt sleeves with a pinching manoeuvre and then whirled his large shoulders around in masculine artistry as Sachin watched on intently.

With the shoulders a blur of frenzied excitement, Sachin blinked ever so slightly.

It was a short blink even by blinking standards, and I doubt anyone else even saw it, but I did.

As his eyes shut I assume Sachin saw into the future to see what a force Cameron White would be and went about finding a way to destroy him.

It may have been Sachin’s only ever blink, but he used it wisely.

Years later Sachin would be dismissed by White in a test match, he allowed this to throw people off the trail.

No one has seen him blink since that day.

When you or I blink, it shows our weakness because we are providing moisture to the eye by irrigation using tears and a lubricant the eyes secrete.

When Sachin blinks, it shows he is human and superhuman at the same time.

There is no account of Sachin’s eyes or Cameron White’s shoulders in my latest book.

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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.

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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.

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What cricketer would you turn gay for, pick carefully

I put up a link to Ant Sims’ new blog about Chris Gayle on twitter and @mediagag said that he would totally turn gay for Chris Gayle.

I wouldn’t, but I get it.

So here is my guide for what players you should turn gay for depending on what kind of sex you’re looking for.

Brendan Nash – If you’re looking for a doting partner who will always cuddle with you, Nash is your man.  Will do everything he needs to do to make sure you are happy.  He’s not stylish or that sexy, but he’s a good bloke.  The second hand Volvo of Gay sex.

Shahid Afridi – rough sex in the back of a taxi, random encounters in parks and lewd relations in shady hotels, he offers it all.  If you’re looking for no commitment and short sharp burst, Afiridi is your man.  May leave you unsatisfied at times, but that’s part of the fun.  Is most probably a selfish top.

Peter Borren – do you like to feel intimidated by your partner?  Some men would need to tie you up and put ball gags in your mouth to make you feel subservient to them, with Borren, it’s just one look.  Ofcourse, not perfect for introducing to your parents, as he will scare them to death.

Sachin Tendulkar – Who doesn’t want to fuck the most famous man in cricket.  I can’t imagine that in life Sachin does anything badly, so that should mean that in bed he’s a cracker at the sexy sexing.  Bonus points for fucking a living God.

Doug Bollinger – Not everyone wants a thinking man, some want one who is all about actions.  Douggie is perfect for this.  If you can rate someone in bed by the way they dance, Douggie is hilarious in bed.  He’s a man’s man, he’ll try all day, he’s willing to fix his appearance and he’ll make you laugh.  Like a pet that is house trained that you can legally fuck.

Jesse Ryder – cricket’s most eligible bear.  If you’re a cub looking for a big strong man to place it in your gaps, Jesse has to be the man you want.

JP Duminy – Perhaps the opposite of a bear, he’s a twink.  Having still not completely come to terms with his game, so now is the perfect time to become his sugar daddy and take care of him.  Buy him a car, show him how to face the short ball and watch how he performs for you.

Salman Butt – fuck him.  Hard.

Ajantha Mendis – looking for something a little different, freaky, and mysterious.  Mendis’ fingers have it all.  Although, once you’ve worked out all his little tricks, you can always move on to Randiv or Herath.

And ladies, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, if you’re a lady looking to go gay, may I suggest…

Claire Taylor – Probably the biggest catch in world cricket if you’re a woman looking to turn.  She is perfect in every single situation.  You could claim that she isn’t the most stylish, but her results speak for themselves.  Taylor will think herself through every situation, which bodes well for the boudoir.

Mithali Raj – If you’re not as worried about performance, but just want the best looking woman on your arm as you enter the clubs, Mithali is that.  Her cover drive is so sexy that if the entire world watched it together it would create a tsunami of sex juice that would kill us all.  Probably more interested in looking good than being good, but that’s why you turned for her in the first place.

Personally, I turned gay for a pull shot from Matthew Elliott against Allan Donald, alas, the pull shot didn’t have any feelings for me.  So I decided I’d have to become straight.

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India and Sachin are right to hate the flawed democracy of UDRS

There are many flaws with the UDRS.

Snicko can’t be used because it takes too long and is easily cheated with. The whole thing costs people money and no one wants to pay for it. It takes too long. The weapons systems need to be set up manually which they often are incorrectly. Hot spot can be cheated. Sachin is against it. Simon Katich and Daryl Harper both are often involved.

All that said, it is here and now. We can all do barroom pontification on why democracy is a majorly flawed system of governance, but with an army of millions of the world’s poor and the backing of Ashton Kutcher and Stephen Fry on twitter there is little we can do to change it.

UDRS is like democracy.

And in this world cup we don’t even have a strong democracy, but a half a democracy with severeal of our rights not even being used.

Still, on the face of it fewer mistakes are made, wrongs are righted, and we all go home just not sad enough that we want to upset the world balance.

Then Ian Bell gets hit 2.5 metres away from the stumps. Apparently missiles can’t travel for the last 2.5 metres, so Billy trusts his original mistake.

Bell walked after seeing the video, other batsmen have been given out because of the 2.5 metre clause, and the only reason not to do it was because Billy doesn’t like to be wrong, even though you’d think he’d be used to it by now.

That this all happened against India, who have all but banned this democracy because their supreme ruler doesn’t like it, makes it even more important.

Now I’ve been on all sides of UDRS in the past. I like that it stops bad decisions, but I hate that it stops the drama and constant complaining of a truly shocking decision.

It was brought in to stop the shockers, but it spends most of its time trying to work out shades of grey, and it’s as open to interpretation as anything on the field, it just takes longer.

I like mistakes, hate it when things take time, and need to suck up to Sachin to get more hits, so I say no to UDRS.

It’s evil, boring, often wrong and doesn’t make the game better.

I want the shockers back, I want them to be instantaneous and I want the might of the Sachin Tendulkar Internet Militia to get on my side.

Anyone for the UDRS is basically questioning the sexuality and batting prowess of Sachin Tendulkar.

UDRS is as flawed as democracy and way more unnecessary. Plus it’s crap, Sachin told us so.

Yes to Sachin, No to UDRS.

Watch the Chuck Fleetwood-Smiths

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Sachin Tendulkar scores two centuries in one day

You already know that Sachin Tendulkar is better than you. No matter what your special talent is he’d be better at it. He can juggle Volkswagens while rolling a cigarette without use of his arms.

Today, as we can reveal exclusively, he took his special skills further when he performed perhaps the greatest feat in test cricket, making a hundred at both ends.

While many people claimed to have seen Murali Vijay at the other end, this was actually a hologram.  Vijay is class, but he was not even at the Bangalore ground.

Sachin’s trick was necessary because the laws of cricket state that you can’t bat at both ends at once.  Sachin, like a young Bruce Wayne, wanted to spice things up a bit. And really, what is cooler than batting at both ends.

Apparently he first decided to do this when seeing Peter George and Nathan Hauritz bowl in tandem yesteryday.

“Sometimes, you can’t rely on the other batsman to get you on strike, but by being at both ends I could face them at all times”.

The trick that was done with Sachin’s special effects company – Tenduklar light and magic – and special consent from the BCCI via text message.

You might say that while Sachin’s batting was good, he has surely played better innings from just one end. It’s true, but batting at both ends is quite tiring after a while.

Most cricketers get tired just batting at one.  Plus, all those mid pitch conversations must have been weird.

“Sachin, you are god”.

“No, Sachin, you are god”.

“You’re too kind to say so, but you’re so money and you don’t even know it”.

The ICC are already looking at banning this technology, they’ve consulted Simon Katich and he is against it.

It was originally thought that Australia would be upset over the trick, but when asked, Ponting said, “Really, well, that is weird, but to be honest we probably wouldn’t have got the hologram out today, let alone another batsman. The boys tried really hard though and I hope they can have a big day tomorrow”.

Brad Hogg also discussed it, “Look, Indians really love cricket, and I don’t know what all this talk about telegrams is, but they love their cricket here, I’ll tell you that”.

Sachin and the real MS Dhoni will continue their innings tomorrow.

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