Tag Archives: virender sehwag

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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As seen on cricinfo; inspired by the dude who asked about saw:

One killer. Five cricketers. One house. Who will last?

When Virender Sehwag, and four other cricketers who aren’t Virender Sehwag, wake up in an old creepy mansion they have to face the toughest test of their lives.

Virender, Sulieman, Brad, Daniel, and Shahid all find themselves victims of cruel cricket related horror madness. Are they willing to change the way they play the game to survive. This is the horror film that puts the balls in the right area.

Sulieman Benn wakes up in the end of a hallway, it is pitch black but when he moves a TV screen appears on the roof above him. A blood covered skull moves its jaw bone and says:

“Hello, Sulieman. You are a humble, sane and talented international finger spinner yet you constantly bump into the opposition, trip players up or get in physical entanglements; in Australia you did all three. Did you do it for your team or did you just want some attention? Tonight, you’ll show me. The irony is that if you want to die you just have to have to behave as normal, but if you want to live, you’ll have to walk down this hallway and not bump into any of my friends who are all set up to explode at the smallest of touches, you might survive one bump, but not two.  The door is open at the other end of the hallway; it will be for the next two minutes, the time that your over is supposed to be bowled in if you are playing sensibly.”

A solitary light is turned on and it swings from side to side illuminating all the entire hallway of mechanical creatures that is in store for him and the open door at the end.

Daniel wakes up with his arms and head in a dry plastic tube and the rest of his body in a tank of water.  He struggles a bit, which triggers a voice recording:

“Hello Daniel. If you are tough enough to get hit in the face and then still want to bat in a test match, why don’t you just prove it? Let’s put your so-called “toughness” to the test.  In a few seconds a ball machine will start firing balls into your face, for every one you dodge or deflect will release a fresh water crocodile into the water.  If you are tough, you will take all the balls on the face and make it to the other end of the tank safely, press the water release button, if not, the crocodiles will eat you alive. Each ball will come at 90MPH, Jimmy Anderson pace.”

Brad awakes in a room filled with old machinery he has a letter around his neck.

“Welcome, Brad.  You’ve got fast hands, don’t you?  Now we are going to test them for once and all.  In each of these machines is a key, you will need all six keys to open the door, but the machines will crush the key if you are too late.  If you miss one key the door will never open and you will be stuck here to think about your past digressions until the air runs out.  If you get your hands stuck in the machine, you will be sucked in and crushed.  You’ve gotten away with manoeuvres like this before, think you can again, Brad?”

Shahid wakes up tied up in a body length straight jacket with a weird metal contraption on his head, written in chalk next to him is:

“Hello Shahid. You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you like to use your mouth, but could you use it to save your life? On the table in front of you is a ball of razor wire, inside the ball is a remote control that will release your shackles and open the door.  Since you are such an expert I am sure you won’t cut yourself too much or accidentally slit your throat.  You have 11 minutes, the average amount of time you spend batting, after that the machine on your head will bite your head in half.”

Virender wakes up chained to a vat of yellow liquid with a tape recorder in his pocket:

“Virender, this is your wake-up call. Everyday you embarrass other cricketers by playing shot after shot. Now you will have to change your game.  Your aim in this game is to dead bat the balls, so that the sulphuric acid vat positioned behind you does not break and pour onto you.  If you miss a ball, you will die, if you hit the ball too hard you will die, if you rush forward you will die.  For once you will have to play the anchor role. When you have gotten to the red button at the end of the room the ball machine will stop and your restraints will be released, but to get out of the room you will have to take a blunt axe to the body of an unconscious bowler who is chained in front of your small exit door.  From the time you press the red button you have 2 minutes to dismantle the bowler, if you don’t the vat then the Vat will time out and just release its contents in the room. You have destroyed many a bowler with your bat, can you do it with an axe?”

The first ball fires short and wide of Virender.

Buy the book, get a t-shirt, or donate to the whisky fund.

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293 is better than what you can do

Sure we’re disappointed.

We wanted our prophet to take us into the promise land.

But he gave us 293 reasons to be joyful.

There were dirty slogs, vicious cuts, effortless heaves, tactical drives, fairy floss guides, flat bat fuck offs, arrogant reverses and every kind of shot you needed to see.

And think of the extra tension he brought us by just being in over night.

The hope.

The anticipation.

The lust.

It is even possible that he was teaching us a lesson.

We all got ahead of ourselves; we were looking at 300, 401, 502 and drooling.

Maybe he just went, “let me teach them patience”.

Lesson learned.

While I am heartbroken he went out, and fucken tired it is 4AM here, I feel honoured to have stayed up all night to see an innings like this expire.

Thanks for yesterday.

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Sehwag Saves

This is not an innings.

An innings has a fielding team.

It has a batsman at the other end.

There would also be spectators and commentators.

This has none of that.

This is a spiritual awakening.

A scream in the ear of the doubters.

A club to the head of the non-believers.

A nuke bomb to the groin of the heretics.

This wasn’t an attack on Sri Lanka, this was one man conquering the world, fixing its ills, and turning on every single human being at the same time.

Erotic conquering for peace; with a bat.

Everyone seeing this innings is having spiritual sexual intercourse.

There is a reason I say seeing, not seen, because this innings is so good that it should never be talked about in past tense.

I suggest the people who are at the ground today should all kill themselves. How on earth are they ever going to top this innings? Either that or all run naked from the ground chanting the great one’s name.

When the day finished, a microphone was thrust into the prophet’s face, just like at Nazareth, and the man said, “I see the ball and I try and hit the ball”.

I SEE the ball, and I TRY and HIT the ball.

Live by this my children.

Forget all your archaic religious practices, stop worshipping at the feet of some coked up rocker, put down all the books, just watch this man/prophet/god/force and you will get everything you need for life.


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sehwag in a wool cap

I have just finished watching Sehwag make his hundred, via highlights.

Editors have not yet worked out that for Sehwag highlights are not required, he is highlights.

Every ball he faces should be shown.

But overlooking poor judgement from editors, what a knock.

Poor Mendis was fucked so hard he was left bleeding from his ear.

Murali was dismissed as a club bowler.

And Herath’s magical new ball was hoicked without a care in the world.

The best thing about the innings had to be Sehwag batting in a proper woolen cap.

What a sight that was.

I think I sighed.

Watching him swing the ball to all parts is always a religious experience, but with the cap on it took it to a new level.

I thought Dilshan, is padawan learner, was cool with the flowing locks going wild in the wind when facing the spinners, but Sehwag just trumped him.

Yesterday he showed the world why they should be sehwagologists.

That is why he gets a mention in things he shouldn’t.

From next year on I shall done a blue cap in honour of this majestical mystical icon.

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GOD hates nightwatchmen – sehwagologists take note

For years I have been talking about how shit nightwatchmen are.

In podcasts I get particularity pissed off at limp dicked batsmen who can’t go out and do their job and instead have to hide behind tough bowlers.

They fucken piss me off.

Now the one true prophet our lord Virender Sehwag has his say on nightwatmen.

There is this story about you declining a nightwatchman, where you said you were not an able batsman if you couldn’t last 25 balls at the end of the day. Is that true?

It is true. What is the difference between batting at the end of the day or at the start? If you make a mistake you’ll get out. So I don’t think a batsman really needs a nightwatchman, but it is totally an individual decision. Whenever a captain or coach asked me for a nightwatchman I would say, “No, why? If I can’t survive 10 or 20 balls now, then I don’t think I’ll survive tomorrow morning.” I believe that’s the best time when you have the opportunity to score runs, when everybody on the field is tired and you can score 20 runs off those 20 balls.”

It is official sehwagologists, Nightwatchmen are shit, get out there and hit a quick 20 and stop your bitching.

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a godless tournament

The Cricket Gods hate us, all of us.

Roy goes home.

Dirk goes home.

Sehwag goes home.

And now Jesse has an infected groin.

Tell me there isn’t at least one player on this list you love to watch.

Someone who makes you want to tell that special someone that you have a headache just to watch them play.

Look who has replaced them.

Cameron White, Fresh Air, Dinesh Kartik and Aaron Redmond.

Come on.

Give us something.

I like Cam, and I think Dinish looked in sparkling for in the IPL, but look at the names we are missing.

Seems like someone is pissing on this tournament.

I mean Aaron Redmond.

Give me a break.

I fell asleep once thinking of him batting.

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