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The Unenthusiasm Of The Oft Writing Blogger

LordCanisLupus5 Comments

In cricketing parlance, I feel like I am doing a bit of a Joe Root. I’m knackered after 18 months non-stop, and need a rest! I’ve come home from work this week and just not been bothered to blog. I am sorry, but it’s the way it is. I’m thoroughly bored with watching England playing Australia, I am more than a little disenchanted with the way things went after the Ashes, and, frankly, I wanted to do some other things. Catch up on some TV shows, update my music library, do a bit of reading. That sort of thing.

Yesterday (Friday) I went to Middlesex v Yorkshire. It was a remarkable game of cricket, but only if looked at outside of the context of the recovery the North Londoners effected. Yorkshire’s intensity yesterday was decidedly lacking. They had a lot of bad luck early as there was plenty of beating the bat with the new ball, but once the shine had gone off it, and the drive I suspect that plays a huge part in Yorkshire’s dominance waned with the title in the bag, Middlesex grew into the contest, then took it by the scruff of the neck. It’s really nice, and reminds you of what the game brings, when you see someone’s maiden hundred. I saw it when Toby Roland-Jones, batting at number 10, put on the afterburners in the late season sunshine, and clumped the remaining 20 or so he needed in three overs to get over the line (and then, having done so a couple of balls before the close, played perfect defence to keep it a nice “red-inker”). It was lovely to be there.

Toby Roland-Jones celebrates his century
Toby Roland-Jones celebrates his century

Earlier I’d watched Nick Compton make the last 60 or so of his 149. He’s a frustrating sort is Nick. He played and missed a lot, at times looked really vulnerable, but then he would unfurl a shot of the truest class, and you wondered why he’s not anywhere near the fold, it seems. It was also noticeable that he wasn’t best chuffed with the LBW decision he received, as he stayed at the crease for ages before wandering off. His was one of the three wickets to fall all day, so I suppose he might have been a bit miffed at missing out on a double hundred.

One nice side event from yesterday was meeting Chris from the blog The Declaration Game for a few minutes. Always good to speak to others who write about the game and he’s a charming, polite and really knowledgeable guy. The other nice thing was when we met he was talking to Tim Wigmore, of Cricinfo and The Second XI fame, and again, great to chat to him about what he does, how he goes about it, and his book. I said I do need to buy it, and he encouraged me to do so as he’s passionate about associate nations! My apologies to Tim – my mate was wearing an Ireland cricket shirt, not a Gaelic Football one (and he berated me all night about that mess up). Suffice to say, for someone like Tim, it ain’t all glamour in the job he does, but like all of us, he loves the game dearly. So great to meet up with them both.

So what now? Arron, of course, reminded me that today is the 10th anniversary of Kevin Pietersen’s Ashes saving knock at The Oval. Needless to say, that’s not about to be commemorated anywhere that I know of (not that I’ve looked) but it was one of the most audacious, and one would say un-English, innings you will ever see. Sure, he had some luck, but who begrudges that luck. The question that I’d love to be answered honestly by those who slag the bloke off is “do you wish that innings had never happened?”

Tomorrow there’s a deciding ODI against something that purports to represent an Australia ODI XI. We should win. Like the test team, though, major questions need to be asked about our team. Hales won’t be our opener in the UAE, as he needed an ODI launch-pad and instead he’s now being questioned, and please, please, please don’t think Roy could open. The opening bowling took wickets for the first time yesterday, but hasn’t before. Are we going to trust Willey anytime soon, as for some reason he appears to have a little bit of a knack? The batting is still not rock solid. I like the approach, I like some of the execution and we need to play with a youthful verve. But the acid test is 2017, not now.

Tim was interested in the journo poll – obviously not read the blog post in question – and I know that some of you are itching to participate. It won’t be long. The oft-promised Final Ashes Panel will be up too – I promise.

So, ten years to the day, we can all enjoy this. Can’t we? The last test hundred made live on terrestrial FTA TV.

The Fourth One-Day International

LordCanisLupus48 Comments

Welcome to the comments thread. While you’ll be watching this game at Headingley  (or following on the radio or Internet) I will be at England’s third test venue (behind the oval and Old Trafford I believe) to see if North London can pull off a miracle against a demob happy professional Northerner club.

England, as usual, are a bit more chipper after a win and giving it a little bit. Let’s see if that confidence is well placed. We’ll know if we see Andrew Strauss’s name in the papers in the next two days.

As you can tell this break from blogging is a bit longer than usual. It’ll kick off soon. The end of season poll is next week. Who will win the prestigious “worst journalist” award? Will Selfey continue to dominate along with Pringle? Promising newcomers to the list like FICJAM and the Analyst could barge in. Newman has his work cut out to maintain his lofty status and Bunkers may suffer from having single figure readership. What about John Etheridge, the tweeting avenger? Maybe even Scyld and his scoring wibble upset you? Aggers may annoy, Dean Wilson infuriate or James Holden/Michael Calvin show quality bilious rants outweigh quantity nonsense.

Or is there someone else?

Comment on the match below. Keep your powder dry for the survey. Because despite what they say, we know they read it. 

The Third One Day International

LordCanisLupus72 Comments

Morning all.

Comments thread for today’s game which, given we have had to rest Jos Buttler, is one where our clear minds can overcome a formidable foe.

I can’t believe Strauss is patting himself on the back but while he does that, England need to rediscover their form in this series. It has been sobering so far.

Congratulations to Surrey for making the 50 over final. I missed yesterday’s game and was disappointed there appeared to be no highlights. A pain.

Comment away and also add your thoughts to Sean’s county cricket post and the TLG  post on cricket bloodbaths!

Dmitri

The Tedium Of Irrelevant Controversy

LordCanisLupus64 Comments

A shortish post, but hopefully getting to the point.

I didn’t see Stokes’s dimissal live. I was flitting backwards and forwards between the England cricket match, and that international fixture against San Marino. I did switch back to see Smith conversing with his team as we waited for the third umpire to make his decision. I have to say, my first reaction was “out”. I have some sympathy with those who think “not out” based on the full speed version, but I still tend to weigh the balance of probabilities as “out”.

But that’s not what this post is all about. There’s a greyish area and everyone will pile into it. I might come at it from an “anti-England” perspective as far as others are concerned, but there are those who come at it from an England fan standpoint. Hell, I know how that feels. I’m still mad at Sol Campbell’s goal being disallowed in St. Etienne, even though Alan Shearer impedes the Argentinian keeper! That’s 17 years ago now. Don’t even mention Keith Hackett to me either, and that’s 24 years ago.

But I’m jaded, and knew this would bring out a tedious debate where everyone thinks their line is right, and if you don’t, well you are an idiot. There is a grey area. It can be debated all you like. In the context of the match why is it different from a dodgy LBW or a nick that is missed? Because, and you knew when it happened the media outlets are seriously punching the air, this stuff is clickbait. Pure and simple. Twitter got full on it, look at how many comments the Guardian BTL has today on this (over 1200 combined for both pieces), and all arguing the toss. I like debates over sports, but this sort of stuff does my head in, invoking spirit of the game, recalling players, and the search for precedents as if, in the heat of the moment, players remember them. At the end of the day, only Stokes knows what he was doing.

Now, you’ll recall not so long ago, that Dmitri has been called vitriolic. A number of times. Bilious too. A little unhinged. A person who lacks understanding. Well. That’s nice. But then you read something like this, and you think, am I really the one not grounded here?

See, this is why being nice to them is never right.

When they get the slightest chance, they screw us over.

And we give them guard of honours. The difference in class.

If it was up to me, I’d have asked Finny and Broad to aim at his back and give him “a broken fucken back”

Looks like Starc got influenced by the ol’ Warnie’s criticism and decided he needs to be a w@nker for him to “play the Australian way”. And Steven Smith is a chav who will regret moments like this when the drives stop flowing and he becomes a pale shadow of himself whom people ridicule when he walks out to bat.
PS: Before I get accused of racism, this is by no means a generalization of all Australians. It is just aimed at the snakes like Steven Smith, Michael Clarke, David Warner, Mitchell Starc and co.

I’ve re-printed this because I want to be reminded of it every time that cretin picks on people putting arguments against the England team and the authorities. Steve Smith is a “chav” on the back of one incident. He’s also a snake, as are three other players. And while he’s climbing up the moral mountain, he’s wanting people to have broken backs (and please, spare me the ManInABarrel stuff – this is very different and you know it if you cared to read what surrounded that). Hey, there’s no misinterpreting that is there? “When they get the slightest chance, they screw us over” as if England play like some Corinthian outfit who never stretch the lines.

Of all the people to blame here, Steve Smith is somewhere near the bottom. As a captain I would have seen an opposition player stick out a hand to block the ball hitting the stumps to stop a run-out. I’d have appealed. Then, as players and pundits are wont to say, it’s up to the umpire to make a decision and then you accept it and carry on. Only everyone who debates this at length has the training to reach the level of an international umpire, a few hours to look up rules and precedents, and then becomes the expert.

24 hours on, I don’t know if it was the correct call. What I do know is that my vitriol is against such irrelevant controversies that seem to give vent to people’s base instincts of what it is to be a fan. To give this particular fan a reference, he believes the answer to England’s struggles in chasing down totals of 300 is to not have excluded Alastair Cook. Well, there you go.

The double standards with Hales and Cook are hilarious, but I don’t want Cook back in the side – it damages his test game. The anti-Cook mob are learning that it’s so much easier to attack someone who’s playing than one who isn’t.

Ha, because we are acting like “the mob” with comments like his first one. He’s a live one all right.

An update or two. I’ve not been up to writing much this last week or two. Writing the blog full time is a pretty draining experience and sometimes it’s worth taking a break (although it kills the hit rate, as we are finding out).

I can’t say I give two shits about this ODI series, because it has little context to me. The Ashes are done, and even a 5-0 thumping is going to be glossed over because winning that series is the be-all-and-end-all. If we win the series, which looks hilariously unlikely now, then the ridiculous nonsense that followed the Ashes win is going to be augmented. This is a team that needs time to grow, time to fit together, yet we’ll need to rest some elements of it because of an over-burdened schedule that will turn our players to dust if we don’t stop it. Root is having a break, and Buttler should probably have joined him as playing isn’t exactly having a postive effect on him.

I’m also still lacking a lot of the fire in my belly to really get angry, and that’s where the blog (or my pieces) works best. I’m downhearted, and almost in a place of acceptance that the game doesn’t need to be criticised if most of the people are happy as it is. Reading the Comic you’ll see why I’m downhearted. I’m surprised the ECB haven’t taken it in-house. Alec Swann is doing a magnificent job of living down to his brother.

Finally, an interesting link I came across today….

https://uk.sports.yahoo.com/news/death-gentleman-throws-many-questions-123155150.html

ECB TV, writ large.

I am putting together the final Ashes Panel, I have a piece by Sean B on county cricket that might get some discussion going, and the Bogfather is preparing a review of Sundial In The Shade, the biography of Barry Richards. So some stuff to look forward to this week, I hope.

Dmitri

Playing through the (lack of) pain

thelegglance3 Comments

One of the more amusing/annoying things about cricket is the perception of those who rarely watch that it is a quiet game, civilised and genteel.

It is the epitome of the English summer, the church or pub team lobbing the ball 22 yards with the (occasional) thwack of leather on willow as the verger/lounge lizard finally makes contact and everyone applauds before making their way off to sample the cucumber sandwiches.

Has there ever been a game so misjudged in the public consciousness? Club cricket is what it has always been, a sport that is highly competitive as is any other. In league terms, winning a division or a cup matters as much to those who do so as any Ashes win in the public consciousness. Yet it is has always been amusing to note the surprise amongst non-initiates when they see it.

Many years ago, my then brother-in-law came down to watch a match for a bit. He pulled me to one side and observed that it was very quick. “What is?” I replied. “The bowling, it’s really quick”. Looking up, I saw a decent seamer and nothing more. I was somewhat baffled and asked him what he’d expected to see because this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and quicker bowlers played most weeks. He was astonished.

The same astonishment would be there at the sight of bruising, broken bones and stitches. How could this elegant sport be like this?

Patiently explaining that standing 22 yards away from a lunatic trying to knock your head off wasn’t quite what they thought it was, and that if they wanted to know what that was like they were welcome to don the pads and helmet and stand in the nets would then be met with a politely bemused shake of the head.

Certainly A & E departments up and down the land will roll their eyes at the mention of the game, their Saturdays and Sundays being filled with the regular sight of people dressed in white with smashed noses, broken fingers or wrapped in bandages stained with red. Indeed, many a cricketer feeling sorry for himself will be greeted with “Oh for God’s sake, not another one” by the triage nurse.

Players themselves are of course quite proud of this. Pub chat will tend to swiftly turn to the times facing a proper fast and nasty and the numbers of huge purple bruises across the rib cage that were regarded as badges of honour.

In order for it to be a real pub tale though, it requires more than to be just hit by a snarling wannabe Shoaib Akhtar, it must have been sustained in a manner that allows for self-deprecating piss-take.

To that end, if you are sitting comfortably, I shall begin:

As a player who opened the batting and kept wicket for many years in league cricket, the physical peril has always been part of the fun of it. Indeed, I was more or less the last generation to come through and bat without a helmet. That didn’t mean I never wore one, for sometimes you would have those who would be above 80mph on the speed gun. But it did become one of those things getting older that would be an internal war of the brain, one half saying “don’t be so stupid” and the other responding “I don’t do this”.

Eventually a close younger friend tore me off a strip saying that he really hated it, and spent the time watching me bat against quicker bowlers worried about me being hit. That hadn’t occurred to me at any point. Which is why it was selfish.

Walking out to the middle once and being greeted with astonishment by a fielder was one thing.   Saying “why, do you have anyone quick?” when he was already bowling probably wasn’t the most sensible response I could have made. And of course when you’ve gone out without one, pride won’t let you then ask for it as you realise this bloke is a bit sharp. No one ever said cricketers are the brightest, though getting hit on the inside of the knee is far, far more painful than being hit in the box.

And yet the most downright embarrassing injury had nothing to do with the normal risk faced, and the consequences of it still make me cringe to this day.

For wicketkeepers live with mashed fingers, with bruised wrists and chins – as an aside, if the keeper is standing up, and you pad up to the spinner, don’t be surprised if you get a look of unremitting hatred from behind the stumps. That’s when the keeper gets hit, for the ball heads straight up off the pad, you aren’t expecting it and have no chance of getting out of the way. If you’ve ever wondered at the foul and abusive language behind the stumps, that’s why.

What you don’t expect is to get hurt when someone throws the ball in from the boundary. A simple cut down to third man, a jogged single. It happens thousands of times of a weekend. The throw came in, high and loopy.   Moving forward to catch it, it was as routine as it could be. Until first slip thought it a great idea to try and catch it. Misjudging it, it instead flicked his fingers and deflected straight into my eyebrow.

Now this wasn’t remotely a heavy impact, and it didn’t hurt at all, but the thing about the face is that the skin is stretched tight and it tears. The other thing is that heads bleed. A lot. It’s a surprising feeling, one minute you’re standing there, the next a curtain of red is flowing across your eyes.

From there it was chaos, lying on the ground in no pain whatever as bandages are wound round with some team mates walking away because they feel queasy. Thanks lads.

By now bound up like the invisible man, our scorer suggests a trip to hospital might be an idea. You think? And off we go.

Arriving at A & E, the first question asked is whether consciousness was lost. Answering truthfully in the negative mostly from sheer embarrassment at the situation was met with rage from my escort, who pointed out that was adding about two hours to the visit. Sorry mate.

Looking around, I could see I wasn’t alone, indeed there were about three others all with the sheepish look of the cricketer embarrassed to be seen in public in whites. Well red and whites anyway.

After debating the monumental unfairness of life at receiving stitches (eight of them for the record) from a truly stunning nurse while looking like I’d gone six rounds with Mike Tyson, we got out of the hospital and ambled back to the game.

About five miles away, his mobile phone rang. So I answered it (he was driving of course, we’re a law abiding bunch). “Um. Where are you?”. “We’re about 15 minutes away, why?”. “Oh we’re eight down”.

My driver then decided he wasn’t so law abiding after all, while I debated the irony of being potentially killed in a crash trying to get back from hospital. As we pulled in to the ground, I got out and was met by the sight of team mates sprinting to the car carrying assorted pads, gloves (those are right handed ones you idiots) and a bat. Two of them are putting someone else’s boots on me, another two the pads (also right handed – was it so hard to find my kit in the changing room?) as the ninth wicket falls.

Now by this point the opposition are doubled over in fits of laughter at the chaos going on at the boundary edge as a grown man is dressed by people who have clearly never dressed another in their lives. Their skipper stepped in, removing any question of being timed out by saying that since I had actually got there before the wicket fell, they wouldn’t be appealing. Good on him, it was a league game, he didn’t have to do that.

As any cricketer knows, walking out to the middle in someone else’s kit feels really strange. Plus having missed most of the game anyway, the whole situation felt surreal. It occurred to me I had no idea what the score was or how long was left. Ah yes, about five overs, no problem.

There was a short delay as I refused the helmet offered. On this occasion it wasn’t bravado either, for my eye was swelling up and if I put the helmet on I wouldn’t be able to see a bloody thing.

Naturally enough, the bowlers took that as a sign they could bowl bouncers, which I didn’t mind in the least as ducking those is second nature. The bigger problem was my ferret of a batting partner who had spied the 25 to win and was dead set on throwing the bat to try and gain victory. Given the league position (we were top, they were second) not losing was far more important than winning, and after a swift bollocking that I hadn’t come back to watch him get out, he eventually let me have the strike. To this day he insists he would have won it. Let’s put it this way, his highest score in 500+ matches is 20, and he has taken more wickets than scored runs. Which is quite an achievement. I didn’t have a lot of confidence in him, his finest moment was his squeal in another match when a genuine quickie flicked his calves with one down the leg side. I asked him that day if that was the quickest bowler he’d ever faced. His answer was priceless: “I don’t know, normally I can see the ball”.

The rest is entirely routine, the match was saved with few dramas. By now sweating, the next crisis came when figuring out how to shower and keep the dressing dry. Ah well.

I therefore didn’t think too much of events, it had been a bit odd, but nothing more; the pub that evening was full of people wetting themselves with laughter and getting home the same highly amused reaction was received. The day had been peculiar to say the least, but it was nothing that would merit much further consideration.

Monday was fun. I had a job interview. By this point the whole of one side of my face had swollen up, I had a black eye to be proud of and marvelled at how the body reacted so strongly to nothing other than a glancing blow.

When trying to get a job, I can recommend to everyone that “don’t worry, I haven’t had a fight” is not the best introductory line to prospective employers. Suffice to say I didn’t get it.

But it was Wednesday that was the worst day. Oh, by far the worst. For that was the day when the county wide newspaper reports on the weekend club cricket came out. And I was on the back page. The horror increased as I saw the angle taken, which was to compare me to Colin Cowdrey, using words like “hero”, “brave” and “courageous”.

It’s a sodding cut for God’s sake.

It got worse, there were 800 words describing the heroic ducking and diving against pace bowling (it wasn’t either heroic nor pacy), and that as my team mates fell to the challenge, I stood tall and repelled all boarders. Alone. Horatio at the bridge reincarnated.

The worst part was knowing this was just the start. The phone buzzed with team mates asking if I’d seen the paper yet, some total shit (you know who you are) thought it a great idea to fax the article to all my colleagues, the mother-in-law spent years teasing me about me being so brave, another total shit (and they were racking up the scores in the total shit stakes) decided to pin the article to the club noticeboard, while yet another took great delight in showing it to everyone in the pub.  Pubs. Oh God, even going elsewhere didn’t save me.
For two bloody weeks I had people coming up to me praising me for the wonderful story they’d read in the paper.  Naturally they couldn’t understand the sniggering next door from a team mate who had plainly primed them with the tale in advance. By this point I wanted to murder my captain who had spun this to the reporter with a skill Alastair Cook could only dream about.

Nearly 15 years later, I still cringe at the memory. I do occasionally get reminded of it, and have to put up with the bloody story being told yet again, with all the sarcasm that can possibly be mustered by the person telling it.  Yes, Graham. You.

All of which says that cricket might not be a gentle sport, but there’s nothing so vicious as when your team mates decide to stitch you up better than a nurse ever could.

Over to you for yours!

@BlueEarthMngmnt

The First ODI v Australia

LordCanisLupus55 Comments

Sorry for the lack of posts. I won’t lie, but really had better things to do this week. There won’t be an update until tomorrow night at the earliest.

However, we have the first ODI today and I’m sure you will all want your say! I’m a bit worn out with it all!

I have the final Ashes panel to put together, I went to Surrey v Derbyshire on Tuesday and there will be the end of season poll, including the prestigious “worst journalist” award. No nominations in advance, please!

Speak soon.

Dmitri