Michael Vaughan today formally acknowledged that he was to retire, because younger players needed room to develop and because he had not been playing well enough to get back into the England Ashes side.
"Playing cricket has been my life for 18 years and now is the time to move on," he said but that is only part of the story. He told how he was recently bowled in his garden by his son. "When a three-year-old bowls you it is time to quit," he said, laughing at his own myth-making.
Vaughan had begun his press conference as if he might find the announcement stressful but, as you can see from that remark, he soon relaxed.
I have a sympathy with his mood because it is less than a year since I woke one morning and decided I wanted no more of travelling round the world, reporting cricket round the year and, 40 years older than Vaughan, worrying that my health might one day make me a press box liability rather than a colleague.
If he follows the path I have trodden he will miss the companionship, the gossip and the "shop" but that mood fades and I trust he will come to understand that he has chosen the right course.
A new era has begun but it did not have to be so drastic. Look at the 2005 Ashes victory and ask yourself why the men who played a big part in that victory are no longer around.
Vaughan, of course, Marcus Trescothick, Matthew Hoggard, Steve Harmison; all victims of an management team who never succeeded in finding a strategy that would keep a winning side.
They even have to take the blame for the absence of Simon Jones, injured in the first Test in Brisbane when the Australians were told not to slide on that outfield; and of Chris Read, a wicket-keeper of the highest quality who could not score the runs they demanded.
Now the responsibility for strategy, planning, selection and progress falls on the inexperienced shoulders of Andy Flower, the new coach, Kevin Pietersen, who single-mindedly is more likely to be thinking about himself, the new captain Andrew Strauss and Andrew Flintoff, who sometimes has other issues - injuries and a glass or two - on his mind.
The three Andymen had better be in tune for, from Ravi Bopara at No.3 to Adil Rashid as the second all-rounder, there are too many players in the side who would be better if Vaughan had been able to stay around for one final summer.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Sunday, 28 June 2009
Vaughan goes
You don't have to read between the lines this morning to realise that Michael Vaughan will make a formal announcement about his retirement this week.
For several weeks - as I told you at the time - he has had an offer to join the Sky commentary team for the Ashes. He has realised that there is no place for him in the England side, that Ravi Bopara is quite capable of taking his No.3 spot and deserves an extended trial and that there are young lads in the Yorkshire side who need time to develop. So Vaughan has bowed to the inevitable.
As he showed when he stood down from the captaincy, he is not one to wait around for a Cromwellian "In the name of God go." Vaughan still has the timing even if his eyesight or his coordination are letting him down.
He was never the greatest county player and in recent years his England batting performances have been scratchy but there is no question about the merit of his captaincy.
Like two other great Yorkshire captains Len Hutton and Ray Illingworth he understood all the ways of the game and kept his head when those around were in danger of losing the plot. He won back the Ashes, he won more Tests than any other England captain and only Mike Atherton lead in more Tests.
Atherton has said Vaughan ranks with the best - add Mike Brearley and Douglas Jardine to the two Yorkshiremen - and his most vocal supporters - include me in that - have no doubt that he is outstandingly the best.
So farewell, Michael. No doubt you will have a quiet word behind the scenes, perhaps one day you will leave the commentary box to be either coach or chairman of selectors. I doubt if you will ever leave cricket and in many ways I am glad you will not have to eke out a precarious life on the county scene until retirement is a matter of necessity rather than choice.
For several weeks - as I told you at the time - he has had an offer to join the Sky commentary team for the Ashes. He has realised that there is no place for him in the England side, that Ravi Bopara is quite capable of taking his No.3 spot and deserves an extended trial and that there are young lads in the Yorkshire side who need time to develop. So Vaughan has bowed to the inevitable.
As he showed when he stood down from the captaincy, he is not one to wait around for a Cromwellian "In the name of God go." Vaughan still has the timing even if his eyesight or his coordination are letting him down.
He was never the greatest county player and in recent years his England batting performances have been scratchy but there is no question about the merit of his captaincy.
Like two other great Yorkshire captains Len Hutton and Ray Illingworth he understood all the ways of the game and kept his head when those around were in danger of losing the plot. He won back the Ashes, he won more Tests than any other England captain and only Mike Atherton lead in more Tests.
Atherton has said Vaughan ranks with the best - add Mike Brearley and Douglas Jardine to the two Yorkshiremen - and his most vocal supporters - include me in that - have no doubt that he is outstandingly the best.
So farewell, Michael. No doubt you will have a quiet word behind the scenes, perhaps one day you will leave the commentary box to be either coach or chairman of selectors. I doubt if you will ever leave cricket and in many ways I am glad you will not have to eke out a precarious life on the county scene until retirement is a matter of necessity rather than choice.
Saturday, 27 June 2009
Carla calling!
Greg back guys and girls
This is going to be fairly brief. Australia draw with Sussex, the only century of the match comes from Carl Hopkinson as Sussex try to chase down the target and nearly succeed. The exciting news is that Nathan Hauritz gets a wicket which gives him 1-150 plus in the match but all in all it is not a great match for the side aiming to retain the Ashes. (Yes, we did win themback even you guys only seem to remember the 2005 result.)
As for the medical bulletin, thanks for asking, I am getting better. You see - and this sometimes happens to young men abroad, on their own and learning the ways of the world - on Thursday night I get lucky and it is not until this very pretty lady and I get up close and as personal as you can with only a short introduction that I discover that she is a man. Don't ask any rude questions. Just take my word for it that I am so deeply shocked that I run into the street and meet a player and blurt out the whole story and of course it goes round the change rooms like a bush fire. Now they chant "Did you hear how 'Greg Orry turned Greg Gay' every time I walk anywhere near. All this is highly embarrassing for a red-blood Aussie guy and I tell them 'You guys got to win back the Ashes to make me forget this dreadful incident.' They go 'No worries mate, she'll be apples' and then laugh hysterically." The worst of all is that the "lady" calls herself Carla!
Ted here
No harm, Greg. Just give us the benefit of your insights into the rest of the tour. You might get a few laughs from the England trials. Chin up, cobber, she'll (or do I mean he'll) be right!
This is going to be fairly brief. Australia draw with Sussex, the only century of the match comes from Carl Hopkinson as Sussex try to chase down the target and nearly succeed. The exciting news is that Nathan Hauritz gets a wicket which gives him 1-150 plus in the match but all in all it is not a great match for the side aiming to retain the Ashes. (Yes, we did win themback even you guys only seem to remember the 2005 result.)
As for the medical bulletin, thanks for asking, I am getting better. You see - and this sometimes happens to young men abroad, on their own and learning the ways of the world - on Thursday night I get lucky and it is not until this very pretty lady and I get up close and as personal as you can with only a short introduction that I discover that she is a man. Don't ask any rude questions. Just take my word for it that I am so deeply shocked that I run into the street and meet a player and blurt out the whole story and of course it goes round the change rooms like a bush fire. Now they chant "Did you hear how 'Greg Orry turned Greg Gay' every time I walk anywhere near. All this is highly embarrassing for a red-blood Aussie guy and I tell them 'You guys got to win back the Ashes to make me forget this dreadful incident.' They go 'No worries mate, she'll be apples' and then laugh hysterically." The worst of all is that the "lady" calls herself Carla!
Ted here
No harm, Greg. Just give us the benefit of your insights into the rest of the tour. You might get a few laughs from the England trials. Chin up, cobber, she'll (or do I mean he'll) be right!
Friday, 26 June 2009
I swear - he's vanished!
Ted, not Greg:
I guess it's not a dreadful shock but Greg has gone walkabout. Disgusted with (a) the order from the Australian management that there must be no sledging on this tour. (b) Mortified by the standard of their cricket yesterday. (c) Depressed that no Aussie tennis player is mowing aside everybody inWimbledon. (d) Cold in our hottest spell of the summer.
I leave you to guess but his mobile is off, no calls, no texts, no email. Off into the Outback; or off back to Leicester. Or cutting a swathe through the Sheilas of Brighton where, to judge from a call I had on Wednesday his accent, his rough humour and the Aussie flag on the seat of his pants had gone down a treat. So he said.
In his absence I can report that Hughes and Katchich put on 93, the Aussies are 136-1 at lunch with Hughes 66. At least Hove is a quiet place where the Aussies can stick to their non-sledging policy. Me, I will believe it - but not before the tour ends.
By tea Australia are 300 in front thanks to 70-plus scores from Ponting and Hughes but where is the mastery, where are the signs of a Test series win; and the only spin coming from the Aussie camp seems to shrug off the need for anyone to turn the ball.
No spin, no sledging, no hope. No wonder Greg goes - probably in search of hope.
By the close it looks as if Australia will win easily on day four: 400 ahead, Michael Clarke on course for a century and signs of wear in the pitch. Greg thinks so too. He texts: "Back 2morrow" Will explain."
The explanation had better be good.
I guess it's not a dreadful shock but Greg has gone walkabout. Disgusted with (a) the order from the Australian management that there must be no sledging on this tour. (b) Mortified by the standard of their cricket yesterday. (c) Depressed that no Aussie tennis player is mowing aside everybody inWimbledon. (d) Cold in our hottest spell of the summer.
I leave you to guess but his mobile is off, no calls, no texts, no email. Off into the Outback; or off back to Leicester. Or cutting a swathe through the Sheilas of Brighton where, to judge from a call I had on Wednesday his accent, his rough humour and the Aussie flag on the seat of his pants had gone down a treat. So he said.
In his absence I can report that Hughes and Katchich put on 93, the Aussies are 136-1 at lunch with Hughes 66. At least Hove is a quiet place where the Aussies can stick to their non-sledging policy. Me, I will believe it - but not before the tour ends.
By tea Australia are 300 in front thanks to 70-plus scores from Ponting and Hughes but where is the mastery, where are the signs of a Test series win; and the only spin coming from the Aussie camp seems to shrug off the need for anyone to turn the ball.
No spin, no sledging, no hope. No wonder Greg goes - probably in search of hope.
By the close it looks as if Australia will win easily on day four: 400 ahead, Michael Clarke on course for a century and signs of wear in the pitch. Greg thinks so too. He texts: "Back 2morrow" Will explain."
The explanation had better be good.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
Hauritz horror
Greg here again, second day at Hove, and we are holding our breath hoping Brett Lee will turn on the heat. No such luck before lunch anyway. Old House on the Hill gets a wicket in five pretty useful overs at the start, but it is not the same Lee who used to scare the excrement out of every Pommie batsman under the sun.
Ponting declares overnight hoping to make a game of it on a flattish deck but a couple of ordinary Sussex batsmen take the score to 98-3 at lunch - that is the Aussie score yesterday as near as makes no difference - and this game has the words "practice" and "draw" written in large capitals already.
Worst of all is Hauritz. Mates, the bloke cannot bowl and goes away at seven an over. From what I see on TV Panesar and Swann and Rashid are all better bowlers. If I hear that the curators at Cardiff and Lord's are using a plough instead of a roller ahead of the first two Tests I will send them a bottle of champagne each.
He goes on in some paper I see in the gents toilet about inconsistency of selection; hey, what about a little consistency in bowling, mate? You aint going to scare anyone, See if you can get a place on the same plane at Watto even though I hear our favourite patient is going to be fit for the next match.
At tea - 219-6 - there is a sign of two of an Aussie win and a bit of a morale-booster but as for the spin department, forget it. By the time the sandwiches and scones are on the table the horror story that is Nathan Hauritz has leaked away 71 runs in 13 overs and all those dreams of him ripping into the Poms at Cardiff go up in smoke.
I'm beginning to think they should link him to Warne by wireless. No, better still, Warnie makes a name for himself texting ladies and might as well put his skills to the national good.
"You sit in the broadcast unit, Warnie," I'll tell him. "And keeping texting Horrible with orders like No More Long Hops, All Right and Try the Doozra, You Dingbat and maybe that is the way to go."
Sorry, Shane, just joking. You'd be wasting your time.
Anyway we finsih with a lead of 38, none of the Sussex guys get to fifty, and Stuart Clark finishes with 3-45 in 15 overs which means we are still a chance; especially if our No.1 spinner turns them over in the last 45 overs of the match.
Who am I kidding? There's more hope Clark will do the trick; steady, put-it-on-the-spot Mr. Reliable. Someone has got to have a serious word with the Horror of Hove, who finishes with none for 98 in 18.
Warnie, mate, you would not consider . . . no I suppose not. Quite understand, mate, but fair dinkum, this day has broken my heart.
Ponting declares overnight hoping to make a game of it on a flattish deck but a couple of ordinary Sussex batsmen take the score to 98-3 at lunch - that is the Aussie score yesterday as near as makes no difference - and this game has the words "practice" and "draw" written in large capitals already.
Worst of all is Hauritz. Mates, the bloke cannot bowl and goes away at seven an over. From what I see on TV Panesar and Swann and Rashid are all better bowlers. If I hear that the curators at Cardiff and Lord's are using a plough instead of a roller ahead of the first two Tests I will send them a bottle of champagne each.
He goes on in some paper I see in the gents toilet about inconsistency of selection; hey, what about a little consistency in bowling, mate? You aint going to scare anyone, See if you can get a place on the same plane at Watto even though I hear our favourite patient is going to be fit for the next match.
At tea - 219-6 - there is a sign of two of an Aussie win and a bit of a morale-booster but as for the spin department, forget it. By the time the sandwiches and scones are on the table the horror story that is Nathan Hauritz has leaked away 71 runs in 13 overs and all those dreams of him ripping into the Poms at Cardiff go up in smoke.
I'm beginning to think they should link him to Warne by wireless. No, better still, Warnie makes a name for himself texting ladies and might as well put his skills to the national good.
"You sit in the broadcast unit, Warnie," I'll tell him. "And keeping texting Horrible with orders like No More Long Hops, All Right and Try the Doozra, You Dingbat and maybe that is the way to go."
Sorry, Shane, just joking. You'd be wasting your time.
Anyway we finsih with a lead of 38, none of the Sussex guys get to fifty, and Stuart Clark finishes with 3-45 in 15 overs which means we are still a chance; especially if our No.1 spinner turns them over in the last 45 overs of the match.
Who am I kidding? There's more hope Clark will do the trick; steady, put-it-on-the-spot Mr. Reliable. Someone has got to have a serious word with the Horror of Hove, who finishes with none for 98 in 18.
Warnie, mate, you would not consider . . . no I suppose not. Quite understand, mate, but fair dinkum, this day has broken my heart.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Strewth! Disaster
Greg here again
I'm in Hove where my bonny Aussie lads are taking on Sussex. Special reporter, briefed by Ted, a sticker in my hat saying Knight of the Realm, hoping for the best and I'm right as little apples.
Sussex by the sea? Mate, it's more to the point that Hove is by Brighton: sin city, flea markets, more gays here than in Paddo - that's Sydney - and some very tasty ladies, cafes and weather. Heaven-on-Sea whatever your taste and I've had a ball.
The hot news is that Shane Watson misses out because he has found a new injury and they are thinking of sending for a replacement. Can't this guy read?
Every Pommie paper says "Big chance for Watson to be the real deal at No.6, bowl a bit, show what he's worth" and he gets himself injured. You cannot help some people; and just 14 days before the Ashes too.
Hot news? I don't know why we are even surprised. As I warned you a week or two ago, he has injured himself before. Go home, Watto, you're a loser!
By lunch the Aussies are still striving to get into the match. Hughes and Katich open up - hardly Lawry and Simpson or Langer and Hayden is it? - and some guy called Sandri knocks Hughes over quick.
I'm just beginning to worry that there's a misprint on my scorecard and it might be a Sandra when I remember that Hughes being here for Middlesex means every second class grade bowler knows how to get him out.
Then up steams Luke Wright - last seen being belted all round the park in the T20 stuff - and catches Ponting when he is cold and now it is 2-48 and left to Katich and Mike Hussey to get us to the half decent score of 2-90 before the hot pies come out.
Nice old pavilion, all the club servants are calling me "Sir" thanks to the label in my hat before a fat old codger comes along and says: "Excuse me, sir, but I don't wish to make a fuss but we do like a tie in the pavilion". Old world charm. I love it. If the Aussies lose the Ashes and make a return to Oz a bit of a difficult trip I could stay on for a while.
At tea there is even symbolism to add insult to injury. The Aussies are 187-5, and as even the heathen know, that is our devil number. Still no-one has fifty and if that Brad Haddin had not been defiant as usual we would be in trouble. He and Michael Clark put on 73 but there is nothing else to say except that this is a bloody awful day to be an Aussie.
Worst of all that Sandri - or Sandra - has three wickets and you can see him texting that Andy Flower tonight and giving it, "Mate, they are a pushover. You can even win with me in the side!" He's 26, a South African with an Italian passport and he is a big strong boy.
By the close things are looking better. Like Brett Lee and Brad Haddin add 117 - and still going - and the Aussies are seven down for 349. There is a fair bunch of locals in the pub by the big gates and they say: "Well, we did win the championship a couple of years ago so we were bound to put up a good show."
They did too, so well done Sussex. Me, I'm off to the sea front to see if I can do a bit more damage, maybe with somebody called Sandra.
I'm in Hove where my bonny Aussie lads are taking on Sussex. Special reporter, briefed by Ted, a sticker in my hat saying Knight of the Realm, hoping for the best and I'm right as little apples.
Sussex by the sea? Mate, it's more to the point that Hove is by Brighton: sin city, flea markets, more gays here than in Paddo - that's Sydney - and some very tasty ladies, cafes and weather. Heaven-on-Sea whatever your taste and I've had a ball.
The hot news is that Shane Watson misses out because he has found a new injury and they are thinking of sending for a replacement. Can't this guy read?
Every Pommie paper says "Big chance for Watson to be the real deal at No.6, bowl a bit, show what he's worth" and he gets himself injured. You cannot help some people; and just 14 days before the Ashes too.
Hot news? I don't know why we are even surprised. As I warned you a week or two ago, he has injured himself before. Go home, Watto, you're a loser!
By lunch the Aussies are still striving to get into the match. Hughes and Katich open up - hardly Lawry and Simpson or Langer and Hayden is it? - and some guy called Sandri knocks Hughes over quick.
I'm just beginning to worry that there's a misprint on my scorecard and it might be a Sandra when I remember that Hughes being here for Middlesex means every second class grade bowler knows how to get him out.
Then up steams Luke Wright - last seen being belted all round the park in the T20 stuff - and catches Ponting when he is cold and now it is 2-48 and left to Katich and Mike Hussey to get us to the half decent score of 2-90 before the hot pies come out.
Nice old pavilion, all the club servants are calling me "Sir" thanks to the label in my hat before a fat old codger comes along and says: "Excuse me, sir, but I don't wish to make a fuss but we do like a tie in the pavilion". Old world charm. I love it. If the Aussies lose the Ashes and make a return to Oz a bit of a difficult trip I could stay on for a while.
At tea there is even symbolism to add insult to injury. The Aussies are 187-5, and as even the heathen know, that is our devil number. Still no-one has fifty and if that Brad Haddin had not been defiant as usual we would be in trouble. He and Michael Clark put on 73 but there is nothing else to say except that this is a bloody awful day to be an Aussie.
Worst of all that Sandri - or Sandra - has three wickets and you can see him texting that Andy Flower tonight and giving it, "Mate, they are a pushover. You can even win with me in the side!" He's 26, a South African with an Italian passport and he is a big strong boy.
By the close things are looking better. Like Brett Lee and Brad Haddin add 117 - and still going - and the Aussies are seven down for 349. There is a fair bunch of locals in the pub by the big gates and they say: "Well, we did win the championship a couple of years ago so we were bound to put up a good show."
They did too, so well done Sussex. Me, I'm off to the sea front to see if I can do a bit more damage, maybe with somebody called Sandra.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
Flintoff or on?
The cafe. The sun is shining so we sit outside. The old young one bangs a spoon on the table to let the waitress know we are, well, waiting and I say: "It's all about Freddie, isn't it?"
"A coffee, a tea and a tea latte," says the waitress. "And there's no need to be banging on the table. This a cafe not bell ringing practice." The kid says: "Hey you, my mates say there is no such drink as a tea latte and you're stringing me along."
"Would I?" says the waitress. "I can get you something else but nothing will do you more good than that tea latte. And 'hey you' is no way to address a lady."
I think she is going to choke, suppressing a giggle like that. The lad doesn't notice. "No," he says, "it's doing me good so I will continue. Made hundred, collected a nice catch, captain says 'stick to your tea latte, son, and you will go far' and all the guys applaud. Because we had won like and I were man of t'match."
The waitress gives him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad," she says.
"Freddie?" says the old guy. "Looked him up this morning first thing. Batting nearly 32 from 3,600 runs, ten years in the Test side in the middle of July and, to be honest, we don't know. He does daft things, like, and not just in one of those paddle boats. Remember him tossing away that century at the Oval? Daft!"
"He's only got five hundreds in those ten years," I say and the lad goes: "I know. The guys were saying yesterday. They say all he ever wants is to hit the ball into the pavilion. Bill Sawbridge, plays snooker, says 'you can't make a century with one shot' and the captain, standing behind him says "Correct! But Freddie, he's an icon."
"Correct!" I say and the waitress says. "It 13 days before they announce their 12. Freddie - in or out?"
"In, of course," we shout.
"It's all she knows, is tea lattes," says the kid as we leave. "Mouthy bird," he says. "Knows nothing about cricket."
"A coffee, a tea and a tea latte," says the waitress. "And there's no need to be banging on the table. This a cafe not bell ringing practice." The kid says: "Hey you, my mates say there is no such drink as a tea latte and you're stringing me along."
"Would I?" says the waitress. "I can get you something else but nothing will do you more good than that tea latte. And 'hey you' is no way to address a lady."
I think she is going to choke, suppressing a giggle like that. The lad doesn't notice. "No," he says, "it's doing me good so I will continue. Made hundred, collected a nice catch, captain says 'stick to your tea latte, son, and you will go far' and all the guys applaud. Because we had won like and I were man of t'match."
The waitress gives him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad," she says.
"Freddie?" says the old guy. "Looked him up this morning first thing. Batting nearly 32 from 3,600 runs, ten years in the Test side in the middle of July and, to be honest, we don't know. He does daft things, like, and not just in one of those paddle boats. Remember him tossing away that century at the Oval? Daft!"
"He's only got five hundreds in those ten years," I say and the lad goes: "I know. The guys were saying yesterday. They say all he ever wants is to hit the ball into the pavilion. Bill Sawbridge, plays snooker, says 'you can't make a century with one shot' and the captain, standing behind him says "Correct! But Freddie, he's an icon."
"Correct!" I say and the waitress says. "It 13 days before they announce their 12. Freddie - in or out?"
"In, of course," we shout.
"It's all she knows, is tea lattes," says the kid as we leave. "Mouthy bird," he says. "Knows nothing about cricket."
Monday, 22 June 2009
Squad training
No Vaughan
Treat this squad with scorn
"He needs a score"
Don't be a bore
Miller, Selector Beware!
You will have to dare
When batters go wrong
And he's on song
His time will come
Ere the Ashes are lost or won
+ Michael Vaughan is not among the 18 who will train at a special camp ahead of the Ashes
Lasses come last
Just a couple of points before we get back to the more serious business of the Ashes.
* The best piece of cricket in either T20 tournament came from Claire Taylor for her semi-final innings. I cannot remember any man looking so much better than his contemporaries than she did that day. Perhaps Brian Lara in the mid-1990s.
* Sadly, the conventional men of the media did not get it. England women won their world title and now hold the Ashes and the one-day world titles. Yet they were placed second in the news lists of - just as a for instance - CricInfo, BBC's Ceefax and ITV's Teletext. Natural home prejudice ought to have given their success pride of place. Or is England now so multi-cultural that we must offer Pakistan to spot for winning the men's title?
* What did the Aussies make of it all, secure in their Leicester dug-out? We will not find out how they have coped until July 8 - 17 days to go
* The best piece of cricket in either T20 tournament came from Claire Taylor for her semi-final innings. I cannot remember any man looking so much better than his contemporaries than she did that day. Perhaps Brian Lara in the mid-1990s.
* Sadly, the conventional men of the media did not get it. England women won their world title and now hold the Ashes and the one-day world titles. Yet they were placed second in the news lists of - just as a for instance - CricInfo, BBC's Ceefax and ITV's Teletext. Natural home prejudice ought to have given their success pride of place. Or is England now so multi-cultural that we must offer Pakistan to spot for winning the men's title?
* What did the Aussies make of it all, secure in their Leicester dug-out? We will not find out how they have coped until July 8 - 17 days to go
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Taylor-made
Hello all you Pommie men,
Greg here again
Just a thought for you on the day after your Sheilas beat our Sheilas, you chancers. Why don't you pick that Claire Taylor in the Ashes side? She can bat better than your guys and hey, I hate to be sexist about this, but she's better looking than that Ravi Bopara, isn't she.
As a sort of exchange you could put Tim Bresnan in the ladies team. Tim? I still don't know what his Mum was thinking about, giving him a name like Tim. And him from Yorkshire too! I thought all those Tykes were born to play for England and that they went to the Headingley nets rather than pre-school.
Anyway, just 18 days to go to the Ashes, so it is time you started thinking about how to avoid the whitewash again,
Here's looking down on you from the balcony,
Greg Orry
Greg here again
Just a thought for you on the day after your Sheilas beat our Sheilas, you chancers. Why don't you pick that Claire Taylor in the Ashes side? She can bat better than your guys and hey, I hate to be sexist about this, but she's better looking than that Ravi Bopara, isn't she.
As a sort of exchange you could put Tim Bresnan in the ladies team. Tim? I still don't know what his Mum was thinking about, giving him a name like Tim. And him from Yorkshire too! I thought all those Tykes were born to play for England and that they went to the Headingley nets rather than pre-school.
Anyway, just 18 days to go to the Ashes, so it is time you started thinking about how to avoid the whitewash again,
Here's looking down on you from the balcony,
Greg Orry
Friday, 19 June 2009
Tomorrow's world
So, go on then, which of you cricket experts, men who understand betting, wise guys from around the nets - which of you nominated Pakistan and Sri Lanka to reach the World T20 final? Or Tillekaratne Dilshan to be man of the tournament?
Oh, I see, you sir. Well, well! Was it your Tarot cards, your crystal ball or the tea leaves that gave you most help?
Because it sure as hell was not studying Wisden and using your long knowledge 130 years of cricket history that led you to pick out the way this world event shaped up.
Not that I am complaining. This version of the game produces matches of the highest quality, individual performances beyond belief and the speed with which the overs rip by means that a man has just one chance to prove his worth.
It shows up the non-thinkers, sorts out the inadequate performers and reduces those with poor nerves to quaking jelly.
I am convinced that cricket has found its future in T20 and that if the various boards keep their heads it can lead the way back to prosperity anfd stability. There will be room for Tests and space for limited overs internationals but in this tournament we have seen proof of the lesson learned many years ago by another game.
When I first reported snooker in 1972 the final of the world championship lasted a week. It had no sponsor, no money and very little public admiration.
Now the final lasts two days and still makes fascinating viewing and an unforgettable experience for the spectator.
I will not earn an OBE for telling the die hards at Lord's that cricket should follow the example of snooker but they could do a lot worse.
Oh, I see, you sir. Well, well! Was it your Tarot cards, your crystal ball or the tea leaves that gave you most help?
Because it sure as hell was not studying Wisden and using your long knowledge 130 years of cricket history that led you to pick out the way this world event shaped up.
Not that I am complaining. This version of the game produces matches of the highest quality, individual performances beyond belief and the speed with which the overs rip by means that a man has just one chance to prove his worth.
It shows up the non-thinkers, sorts out the inadequate performers and reduces those with poor nerves to quaking jelly.
I am convinced that cricket has found its future in T20 and that if the various boards keep their heads it can lead the way back to prosperity anfd stability. There will be room for Tests and space for limited overs internationals but in this tournament we have seen proof of the lesson learned many years ago by another game.
When I first reported snooker in 1972 the final of the world championship lasted a week. It had no sponsor, no money and very little public admiration.
Now the final lasts two days and still makes fascinating viewing and an unforgettable experience for the spectator.
I will not earn an OBE for telling the die hards at Lord's that cricket should follow the example of snooker but they could do a lot worse.
Clearly Claire
* No-one since W G Grace has been so far ahead of contemporaries as Claire Taylor who drove England into the women's version of the T20 final much as the Old Man might have done. She is not just the most accomplished all-round batsman but an intelligent observer of the way the opposing team are defending their total, and as she showed several times in the carefully-judged win over Australia, capable of producing just the shot no-one expects. Creme de la creme.
* Of course, if you will excuse this feeble attempt to break the political correctness barrier, women's cricket is not like the real thing but they can show up the men in a variety of ways. All four semi-final teams sang their country's national anthems with gusto. Barely a word from the self-conscious men with one unsurprising exception. Kevin Pietersen, born in South Africa, belted out every word of God Save the Queen and looked as if he meant it too. Well, good for you, KP. Now win the Ashes back for us.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
Absent friends
Vaughan short of fifty
Foster, the nifty
Keeper; a sleeper
Simon Jones
Making old bones
Without these three
England will be
Bereft, much less,
Bless
Than Ned Kelly's
Yellow bellies.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
T/20 - we love it!
I confess that I have enjoyed every ball, every stroke, every minute of the World T/20.
I realist that it will mean I am never again invited to Buck House for cucumber sandwiches, that my hope of a place in the House of Lords has slipped away and that I may have to return my Lotto winnings and my Malaya campaign medal.
Because, judging from the conversations I have heard around the nets, it is the view of my superiors that T/20 is still for oiks. This viewpoint was underscored at Lord's on Sunday when the seats at the front of the pavilion were empty while nearly 30,000 cricket lovers elsewhere in that lovely old ground where in extasy.
You don't need me to help you visualise the conversations around the stately homes, the posh clubs and the places where the gentry meet so that we cannot get at them, but the line "I would not be seen dead at a Twenty-20 game" must have had plenty of airing.
If that is the extreme traditionalist view I am glad I am on the opposite wing, cheering each bold stroke, laughing out loud every time I correctly anticipate the fall of a wicket and as joyous as any patriotic fan watching some of the most spectacular fielding of my lifetime.
There is no justification for the view that this is tip and run, devoid of genuine skill, relying on brute strength and good luck to obtain a result. Some of the captaincy has been in the Mike Brearley, Ray Illingworth, Steve Waugh class and much of the play has been imbued with a deep understanding from men who have served their apprenticeship in Tests.
I thought I might have that opinion on my own until I rang a friend who has served the game with his own brand of batsmanship and leadership. He is conservative who deplores those who abuse the game's finest virtues and intolerant of shifty tactics or cheap shots.
"How has the T/20 been for you?" I asked, expecting to be told the man, now well beyond threescore and ten, had rarely seen such rubbish.
"I have seen it all; sometimes at the ground, sometimes on the box," he said and went on to dissect every nuance. "I'm going tomorrow but I will go home and watch the second half on TV. You see more," he admitted.
So it is not just the racuous Asians, the kids and the supporters of the underdogs who have had a good time in the last fortnight. My friend and I - who have each devoted more than half an adult lifetime to cricket - love it so much we want to see more.
Perhaps by the time the next World T/20 comes round Lord and Lady Toffeenose of HQ may see the value in this short form of the game too.
Although I have my doubts.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
5-0 says Greg
The cafe, with 23 pre-Ashes days to go. We are joined - uninvited - by Greg Orry, wearing a hat complete with corks, shorts with an Austalian flag on the backside, holding a crocodile skin wallet full of Aussie dollars and "as happy as a wallaby with two dicks."
"Mate, it's all meant to be ironic," he says.
"By the way, don't tempt me, I am not going to say a word about an England team that cannot find a middle order hitter, even though they have one sitting in their change room. Out of respect because you did better than the Aussies."
We order coffees and the young guy's tea latte. The old pro asks: "So what level cricket did you play, Greg?"
Greg has another chuckle. "Oh, mate, C teams in the Sydney grade - top county level," he says. "I would have captained Australia but somehow in my teenage years shagging women and drinking grog seemed a much more attractive proposition."
The waitress brings the drinks and says: "Is he going to nominate the result of the Ashes like the rest of us?"
"Oh, no need to ask, mate. Oz 5-0 or as many Tests as the weather in this cold, overcast and damp climate allows," he says.
She says: "That is silly. You haven't got a spinner worth emailing home about and I know that there will be spinners' pitches at two of the five grounds."
"'Cuse me," says Greg. "How do you know so much?"
"'Cos I am seeing the groundsmen at three of the venues and believe me they talk in their sleep or soon afterwards," she says. "Have you got the same sources of information."
"No," says Greg. "I am proud of being the only hetro Aussie male and frankly I prefer it that way. Just to prove the point - are you going anything more important this arvo?"
"I'd rather lose the Ashes," she says and turns to go.
"Just a minute, sweetie," says Greg. "I have another question. What the hell is that mess you give the kid. It looks as if it came straight from the slop bucket."
"It's tea latte," says our pet youngster, "and the lads in the dressing room - ask the waitress, she knows most of them - says it is good for a growing lad and budding athlete."
"One final question," sighs Greg. "How the hell did a country full of smart arse women, dumb young guys and with the weather forecasters from Hell build such a huge Empire?"
"You don't know anything, do you?" we say in chorus.
Sunday, 14 June 2009
Good show
* I hear that in one Twenty-20 match last week "the quarter seam was coming away from the ball big time" and that "the atmosphere on the pitch was poisonous". How nice that no-one complained and that all the team spokesmen behaved like gentlemen afterwards. Jolly good show.
* It is also the day when romance goes out of the window. Sri Lanka, led by their elegant batsman Mahele Jayawardene, edge their way to victory over the Irish who boldly thought they might find a place in the semi-finals. England, set aside their belief that the young leg spinner Adil Rashid can influence the outcome of a key game, bring back Ryan Sidebottom and - relying more on bouncers than googlies - send the holders India home.
* Just 24 days to go to the start of the Ashes, with Andrew Flintoff fit, Graeme Swann talking the best game anywhere on the planet and the Australians bogged down in Leicester. If England were to win the T-20 next week-end that might create a new betting market and one that would not amuse Greg Orry and his mates.
Saturday, 13 June 2009
A bet,anyone?
Hello Limeyland,
Greg here again.
Just wondered if anyone wanted to place a bet on England for the Ashes. I have a couple of bucks burning holes in my money belt and I thought - I hate to mention this but it was really funny - that after the magnificent way your lads fought against Holland and then - very unluckily - lost to South Africa there might be a few mug - oops, sorry I meant deeply intelligent cricket lovers - who fancied staking a fortune on their heroes.
I know you are a bit paranoid about our sneaky habits - like sending Phillip Hughes here to test the strength of your bowling - but as my friend Ted pointed out the other day it was a chance for you to get wise to him.
You've also recruited John Buchanan to learn the inner secrets of the Aussie success. Well, I hope he hangs on until he gets his big fat cheque before he says "Mate, we just have better players than you guys". Even Buchanan - never one of our favourites - knows that is the truth.
You will have seen how we timed our exit from the World T20 so that we can practice. In Leicester? Any relation to the jockey? I hear it is real quiet, just the place for meditation, tactics talks and getting fit. I hear also that one or two of the Sheilas there are, how shall I put it without offending Premier Brown and the Archbish of Canterbury, cooperative, which is what every red-blooded Aussie needs in the build-up to a big series.
So nobody's interested in a little bet? Pity. You would not want a bludger like me to have to rob a bank just to keep going, would you? Sorry, I forgot. Your banks are empty. Credit crunch, gambled all their cash on Manchester United winning that Euro Cup. Sorry to mention that but it does show what a sad sporting state you guys are in.
Still keep making the most of that Italian guy showing you how to beat the Andaman Islands, Papua New Guinea and Waziristan so you can compete in the World Soccer Cup bun fight next year.
You'll be able to keep that World Cup in the same bank as the Ashes urn and Andy Murray's tennis trophies. Plenty of room in their vaults for the Rugby World Cup, another stack of lucky Olympic medals and whatever you get for winning the Boat Race.
No-one from overseas can take that away from you, can they?
Keep rowing, Poms
Greg Orry
Thursday, 11 June 2009
Carefully Kallis
Just before he resigned Michael Vaughan and I met over a couple of hot plates in the hotel breakfast room. I commiserated with his bowlers' frustrations in trying to bowl out South Africa. "The trouble with them is, they just bat," he replied. His implication was that they never tried to be adventurous and he was right.
As a phrase it lacks the power of "We'll fight 'em on the beaches" or the old boxing complaint "We should have stood in bed" but it stuck with me so that as Jacques Kallis dot-balled his way to the conquest of England in the World Twenty-20 last night Vaughan's words kept swelling up in my brain.
Kallis may well be the greatest one-paced batsman of all time but no complaints. That beautiful technique, that impassive face, that safe-as-houses defence, those impeccable drives; he is the man, he is in charge, none shall pass.
I guess he is coming to the end of his career. Remember how he started as the dumbest kid on the block. His nickname used to be "Kalahari" after the southern African desert - "because there is nothing there." He is supposed to have asked Bob Woolmer, their coach, if the sea was always at sea level. My, how we laughed.
Fifteen years later we are not even giggling when he comes - a pound or two overweight admittedly - to the crease. Did the soldiers at Dunkirk laugh at the Panzars? Of course not.
Kallis is the lynch pin of a side filled with cricketers, athletes and thinkers who disposed of England, not the worst side in this tournament, as if they were a bunch of over-ambitious schoolboys trying to take on the adult Old Boys.
Graeme Smith is the most authorative captain around, especially since Vaughan and Stephen Fleming quit, AB De Villiers is most destructive batsman day-in, day-out (a previso made necessary, by the life force that is sometimes Chris Gayle), Stein is the leanest and fastest over by over, and for this event they have found spin bowlers of quality.
But their rock, rolling out the runs on schedule, is Kallis - "just batting."
Phillip fillip
* More complaints about the new Australian opening batsman Phillip Hughes playing for Middlesex and learning all about English conditions ahead of the Ashes. Surely keen-eyed cricket people like Angus Fraser and Andrew Strauss - isn't he England captain? - will have learnt just as much about Hughes' strengths and weaknesses. That and the hiring of John Buchanan to give us a few tips is making me feel more comfortable about England's hopes of winning back the tiny urn.
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Be patient Freddie
Ready Freddie?
Steady on
The Sun
Your voice
Of choice
Stays mute
Not a toot
It's not too late
We'll wait
Until you're fit
Even if it
Means you rest
More than one Test
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
Phil the flauter
There are 28 days before the Aussies need draw on their pads for international cricket again and, apparently, they will spend most of those days in Leicester, a place with a history but no soul; much like the current Australia.
As for England, still in the World Twenty/20 competition, there is only the prospect of a dismal day against South Africa for whom I obtained a generous 3-1 before the tournment began and who seem to be a class ahead of the rest. I'll ignore my stupidity in expecting Holland to repeat their success against England as they faced the infinitely variable Pakistan.
India might run South Africa close but no other side has such power in batting, bowling and fielding, nor such confidence after almost unbroken achievement.
It would be good to see the Irish make sustained progress. They have discipline but they also have style and elan and gusto; it must be the Guinness.
No, rather it is the influence of the coach Phil Simmons, who was Mr. Cool before Chris Gayle grew tall. No-one walked off a field of play more slowly or more wistfully; he wore a threatening cloak around that huge body, while casually chewing on a cocktail stick, talking slowly and wearing a huge grin.
He once arrived at a charity match chewing, kissed my partner without removing the toothpick, batted ferociously still chewing, shook hands with a former Prime Minister (who was still in pain an hour later) and sauntered away, seemingly without a care in the world, still chewing of course.
Simmons tried with might and main; his best feats were five one-day centuries and an average of nearly 29 plus 43 wickets. Perhaps he was unlucky to play in the 1990s when West Indies were moving from world domination to their present state of torpor.
Just below the international level Simmons was a mighty performer. I watched at the Oval when he outwitted Surrey in one of his rare days at Leicestershire captain but I had a truer insight at a charity match in Trinidad.
We got lost and arrived a minute or two late. Simmons greeted us with an offer of a Seven Up. "When will you bat?" I asked. "I batted already," he sighed. "But it's only the second over," I protested. "Yes, just the two balls," he admitted and pointed to the scoreboard. True to himself he had hit a six and got out.
Simmons is as Irish as any man of Belfast or Dublin, the ideal leader of their mixture of pros, amateurs and part timers; wholehearted triers all. He had to work in a factory before cricket gave him a better way of life and when the cricket gets tough he remembers those days.
It's a union made in heaven. Bless.
Monday, 8 June 2009
The Broad view
How good is Broad
Worth an award?
Quick, lively, bright
Often getting it right
Naughty like his dad
A family trait that's sad
Watch him with care
This is no Teddy bear
Stuart's tough, Broad's well hard
Two metres high, quite a card
Only 22, still sprouting up
Best of breed even as a pup
He may be the new Richard Hadlee
We'll have to wait - sadly
The beanpole has what it takes
So long as no-one applies the brakes
Worth an award?
Quick, lively, bright
Often getting it right
Naughty like his dad
A family trait that's sad
Watch him with care
This is no Teddy bear
Stuart's tough, Broad's well hard
Two metres high, quite a card
Only 22, still sprouting up
Best of breed even as a pup
He may be the new Richard Hadlee
We'll have to wait - sadly
The beanpole has what it takes
So long as no-one applies the brakes
Sunday, 7 June 2009
Cricket 2009
We - that is the right thinking, church-going, Telegraph-reading, sober, honest British natives - are thoroughly cheesed off with those alternative shots on Sky of lots of Indians shouting, screaming, gesticulating wildly.
Can't they be like us, get the missus to pack a few cheese and tomato sandwiches, take our golf umbrellas "just in case", wrap up warm even if May is out, settle in the same part of the ground that Dad brought us too all those years ago, and applaud quietly when fifty or a hundred comes up?
Cricket in this country is a sport - not like rugger, certainly not even remotely like Association Football with its transfers and those dreadful managers - made for the retired middle class, clinging to a tradition that goes back at least until the 1930s. In those days you could take a copy of The Guardian, read Neville Cardus - on music if necessary - sip your vacuum flask tea, and still take enough notice of the game to make an intelligent comment if one came across an old friend in the tea bar during lunch.
Sadly it has all changed. Sky, for a start. We think at the start of every summer that they will quieten down - remember those long silences from Jim Laker when cricket was quite properly on BBC - that they will not flash statistics - or stats as the 2009 generation has it - on the screen for a fifth of a second and then whisk them off and that they will tell David Lloyd to talk properly instead of doing a passable imitation of the lad who used to cut our lawn.
We had to get rid of the part-time gardener; nothing seems to make Lloyd go back to Accrington or whereever he first saw the light of day.
No, it's not like the old days.
Sometimes though we watch those gloating, hysterical, sub-continental faces full of joy at the sheer marvel of the action in front of them and wonder if we might have a stronger, winning England team if they had support like that.
Perhaps not. The game's the thing. Winning is not necessary for enjoyment at a cricket ground any more than a big price is part of the love of art, of opera, or the Telegraph crossword. It's all about tradition, debating David Gower's cover drive, or John Arlott bon mots, or what E W Swanton said in 1956.
As for showing your emotions, that is beyond the pale. Don't you just hate it when spectators demonstrate to anyone - absolutely anyone - that they care.
It is easy to blame the trade unions because they are responsible for all the changes in society. Cricket is just part of the damage that has changed lovely, quiet, peaceful England into the chaotic mess it is today.
Emigrating might be the answer but then we're told things are worse abroad. Take Australia for instance. Full, door to door, of Vietnamese and Thais and Greeks, compulsory voting, radio announcers apologising when the temperature is "only 19" and grown men wearing shorts and no ties.
Sad, really. I don't know what the old folks would have said if they had been forced to sit next to someone at a cricket ground who never opened his Telegraph but just watched the game and screamed - yes, screamed - every time a four is struck.
Disgusting.
Can't they be like us, get the missus to pack a few cheese and tomato sandwiches, take our golf umbrellas "just in case", wrap up warm even if May is out, settle in the same part of the ground that Dad brought us too all those years ago, and applaud quietly when fifty or a hundred comes up?
Cricket in this country is a sport - not like rugger, certainly not even remotely like Association Football with its transfers and those dreadful managers - made for the retired middle class, clinging to a tradition that goes back at least until the 1930s. In those days you could take a copy of The Guardian, read Neville Cardus - on music if necessary - sip your vacuum flask tea, and still take enough notice of the game to make an intelligent comment if one came across an old friend in the tea bar during lunch.
Sadly it has all changed. Sky, for a start. We think at the start of every summer that they will quieten down - remember those long silences from Jim Laker when cricket was quite properly on BBC - that they will not flash statistics - or stats as the 2009 generation has it - on the screen for a fifth of a second and then whisk them off and that they will tell David Lloyd to talk properly instead of doing a passable imitation of the lad who used to cut our lawn.
We had to get rid of the part-time gardener; nothing seems to make Lloyd go back to Accrington or whereever he first saw the light of day.
No, it's not like the old days.
Sometimes though we watch those gloating, hysterical, sub-continental faces full of joy at the sheer marvel of the action in front of them and wonder if we might have a stronger, winning England team if they had support like that.
Perhaps not. The game's the thing. Winning is not necessary for enjoyment at a cricket ground any more than a big price is part of the love of art, of opera, or the Telegraph crossword. It's all about tradition, debating David Gower's cover drive, or John Arlott bon mots, or what E W Swanton said in 1956.
As for showing your emotions, that is beyond the pale. Don't you just hate it when spectators demonstrate to anyone - absolutely anyone - that they care.
It is easy to blame the trade unions because they are responsible for all the changes in society. Cricket is just part of the damage that has changed lovely, quiet, peaceful England into the chaotic mess it is today.
Emigrating might be the answer but then we're told things are worse abroad. Take Australia for instance. Full, door to door, of Vietnamese and Thais and Greeks, compulsory voting, radio announcers apologising when the temperature is "only 19" and grown men wearing shorts and no ties.
Sad, really. I don't know what the old folks would have said if they had been forced to sit next to someone at a cricket ground who never opened his Telegraph but just watched the game and screamed - yes, screamed - every time a four is struck.
Disgusting.
Friday, 5 June 2009
Waiting to bet
The cafe. The veteran phones me and the kid and says he wants to discuss the defeat by Holland. Remember he starts life in Yorkshire, he is as keen on saving a penny as anyone in history and he makes two phone calls. Wow.
"We thought we would use these chats to work out who is going to win the Ashes, maybe have a little bet, you put it all on line," he says pointing to me. "But losing to Holland - at Lord's - changes everything. This England will not beat any Australian side, no matter who they send home."
"It's not that bad," I say. "In the Ashes Wright, Shah, Morgan, the Irish lad with the Welsh name, Fletcher and Rashid will not be playing and the England team will not be surrounded by people telling them the matches don't matter. Flintoff and KP may be back and I hope the whole nation will be up for it. And Collingwood will not be captain. I am his greatest admirer but he is not a captain."
"He's all right, is Colly." The voice of youthful ignorance. "He makes a big hundred against us at the Riverside and never puts a foot wrong. I say so to him that night and he keeps buying my beer. All night. He's a great man."
"Proper use of captain's expenses," says the veteran. "Make many next day?"
"I had a hangover, didn't I," says the youth. "Colly greets me at the wicket, asks how I am, I say a bit rough, he takes the next over and, well, I didn't know he could bowl that quick."
"I suppose you will learn - one day," says the old guy. "He is a hero but the selectors will have to take him aside and explain. Sorry, son, you are not a captain."
"I don't know why they got rid of KP," I say.
The kid goes: "He's all right is KP. He tells me that when we play against Hampshire I have to bully that Demitri Mascharanas. Go straight after him, KP says. What do you reckon?"
The waitress brings the kid's tea latte. It looks revolting. The kid drinks it and says to her: "Go on then. You've usually got something to say. What do you reckon."
"Me?" she goes. "Me? All I know is that with your talent and half the brains in a pork pie you could be the new Don Bradman. And by the way before you old 'uns start putting your pension money on England, just have a word with me and I might give you the benefit of my wisdom. All right?"
"You know nothing about this game," we say in chorus. But I am listening, just 31 days before the Ashes ignite.
"We thought we would use these chats to work out who is going to win the Ashes, maybe have a little bet, you put it all on line," he says pointing to me. "But losing to Holland - at Lord's - changes everything. This England will not beat any Australian side, no matter who they send home."
"It's not that bad," I say. "In the Ashes Wright, Shah, Morgan, the Irish lad with the Welsh name, Fletcher and Rashid will not be playing and the England team will not be surrounded by people telling them the matches don't matter. Flintoff and KP may be back and I hope the whole nation will be up for it. And Collingwood will not be captain. I am his greatest admirer but he is not a captain."
"He's all right, is Colly." The voice of youthful ignorance. "He makes a big hundred against us at the Riverside and never puts a foot wrong. I say so to him that night and he keeps buying my beer. All night. He's a great man."
"Proper use of captain's expenses," says the veteran. "Make many next day?"
"I had a hangover, didn't I," says the youth. "Colly greets me at the wicket, asks how I am, I say a bit rough, he takes the next over and, well, I didn't know he could bowl that quick."
"I suppose you will learn - one day," says the old guy. "He is a hero but the selectors will have to take him aside and explain. Sorry, son, you are not a captain."
"I don't know why they got rid of KP," I say.
The kid goes: "He's all right is KP. He tells me that when we play against Hampshire I have to bully that Demitri Mascharanas. Go straight after him, KP says. What do you reckon?"
The waitress brings the kid's tea latte. It looks revolting. The kid drinks it and says to her: "Go on then. You've usually got something to say. What do you reckon."
"Me?" she goes. "Me? All I know is that with your talent and half the brains in a pork pie you could be the new Don Bradman. And by the way before you old 'uns start putting your pension money on England, just have a word with me and I might give you the benefit of my wisdom. All right?"
"You know nothing about this game," we say in chorus. But I am listening, just 31 days before the Ashes ignite.
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Now who's bitter?
Hello you double dealing Poms,
Greg here again,
So you won the first battle of the World Twenty-20. You manage to persuade poor Andrew Symonds to take a sip of one of your own amber liquids - he probably writes it off as rat's piss - and before he can shout "all Poms are at it" he is on the plane home.
It's a big blow, I'm not going to make any bones about that. We needed Roy and now the chances of us winning the Twenty-20 have gone right down the dunny. We even thought that if he gets through this tournament without any problems we can tag him on to the Ashes party. You've spoilt all that.
I don't mean Roy can make up for the loss of Warne, McGrath, Langer, Hayden and Gilchrist but he is a fantastic all-rounder. Now you have got him sent home and we are left with Shane "Ouch It Hurts" Watson.
My guess is that it won't be long before Watson and Flintoff are in some sort of competition. If the two of them miss the same number of Tests there will be a play-off and the winner will be the guy who is in too much pain to lift the urn.
Fair dinkum, I was a bit surprised that ICC allow us a replacement but then ICC are about the strangest sporting body on the planet. I mean, they have just moved HQ so they can be near a cricket ground! I ask you.
It's just struck me. Why don't you try your luck by asking permission from ICC to play Symonds in the Ashes. He's more of a Pom than Strauss or Pietersen. He is born in the land of the unused towel, he plays for some soap-free county as an Englishman and he drinks the odd pint of that bitter beer.
ICC will go for that one and you don't have to worry about Flintoff's fitness ever again.
Well, you have put one over on the Aussies by cheating. In an old-fashioned Aussie sort of bushranger way I admire that.
Good luck, you dirty Poms, we'll still win.
Greg Orry.
PS: I had this horrible dream you guys lost to Holland. At Lord's. I know things are bad in the Old Dart - greedy politicians, banks empty, wrong team in power - but losing to the Land of Dykes; I don't believe that. That loud whining noise must come from W G Grace's grave!
Greg here again,
So you won the first battle of the World Twenty-20. You manage to persuade poor Andrew Symonds to take a sip of one of your own amber liquids - he probably writes it off as rat's piss - and before he can shout "all Poms are at it" he is on the plane home.
It's a big blow, I'm not going to make any bones about that. We needed Roy and now the chances of us winning the Twenty-20 have gone right down the dunny. We even thought that if he gets through this tournament without any problems we can tag him on to the Ashes party. You've spoilt all that.
I don't mean Roy can make up for the loss of Warne, McGrath, Langer, Hayden and Gilchrist but he is a fantastic all-rounder. Now you have got him sent home and we are left with Shane "Ouch It Hurts" Watson.
My guess is that it won't be long before Watson and Flintoff are in some sort of competition. If the two of them miss the same number of Tests there will be a play-off and the winner will be the guy who is in too much pain to lift the urn.
Fair dinkum, I was a bit surprised that ICC allow us a replacement but then ICC are about the strangest sporting body on the planet. I mean, they have just moved HQ so they can be near a cricket ground! I ask you.
It's just struck me. Why don't you try your luck by asking permission from ICC to play Symonds in the Ashes. He's more of a Pom than Strauss or Pietersen. He is born in the land of the unused towel, he plays for some soap-free county as an Englishman and he drinks the odd pint of that bitter beer.
ICC will go for that one and you don't have to worry about Flintoff's fitness ever again.
Well, you have put one over on the Aussies by cheating. In an old-fashioned Aussie sort of bushranger way I admire that.
Good luck, you dirty Poms, we'll still win.
Greg Orry.
PS: I had this horrible dream you guys lost to Holland. At Lord's. I know things are bad in the Old Dart - greedy politicians, banks empty, wrong team in power - but losing to the Land of Dykes; I don't believe that. That loud whining noise must come from W G Grace's grave!
Bring back Strauss
The cafe. The old 'un has his golf clubs so we know he wont stay long. The kid says: "Two teas and a tea latte" at which the waitress smiles sweetly and nods.
"I have important holes of golf to play," says the veteran. "Captain's Day. That's me. Who's going to win this Twenty-20."
The tea is hardly on the table when he has swollowed half the cupful. "You first," he says to me.
"South Africa," I say. "I have seen them on the telly twice, they are cheerful, confident and they have Gibbs, Smith, Kallis and de Villiers to make runs, Stein is about the quickest in the world and I would not mind Morkel in any side I played in. And they are proven winners."
The apprentice hand cannot wait. "England," he says, "except I wish they had Strauss because he is a good captain. I know! When we play Middlesex last year, you know what, he says to me 'Hey young man, I am moving square leg, all right?' I say: 'All right, skipper, and you want me to give him a catch first up!' He just grins that silly grin of his and says nothing. But, and I know you wont believe this, first ball I give it a tip round the corner and that bloody square leg has gone to the 45 and catches me easy as anything."
"Proving," says the waitress, "that you still don't know your leg glance from your tea latte."
"I like India," says the old 'un, picking up his golf bag. "Lots of quality, they have Sehwag who is a thrill a minute, they have Harbajan Whatsit for a bit of nastiness and that MS Dhoni can hit from no foot movement like only a few I've seen."
"Strauss would hold the innings together," says the kid. "More than can be said for you," the waitress goes as she retreats into the kitchen.
"She's got no room to talk," the lad says. "She makes the worst tea latte I've ever drunk."
"I have important holes of golf to play," says the veteran. "Captain's Day. That's me. Who's going to win this Twenty-20."
The tea is hardly on the table when he has swollowed half the cupful. "You first," he says to me.
"South Africa," I say. "I have seen them on the telly twice, they are cheerful, confident and they have Gibbs, Smith, Kallis and de Villiers to make runs, Stein is about the quickest in the world and I would not mind Morkel in any side I played in. And they are proven winners."
The apprentice hand cannot wait. "England," he says, "except I wish they had Strauss because he is a good captain. I know! When we play Middlesex last year, you know what, he says to me 'Hey young man, I am moving square leg, all right?' I say: 'All right, skipper, and you want me to give him a catch first up!' He just grins that silly grin of his and says nothing. But, and I know you wont believe this, first ball I give it a tip round the corner and that bloody square leg has gone to the 45 and catches me easy as anything."
"Proving," says the waitress, "that you still don't know your leg glance from your tea latte."
"I like India," says the old 'un, picking up his golf bag. "Lots of quality, they have Sehwag who is a thrill a minute, they have Harbajan Whatsit for a bit of nastiness and that MS Dhoni can hit from no foot movement like only a few I've seen."
"Strauss would hold the innings together," says the kid. "More than can be said for you," the waitress goes as she retreats into the kitchen.
"She's got no room to talk," the lad says. "She makes the worst tea latte I've ever drunk."
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
Hate that phrase
When I get to heaven's gate
I'll ask each passing player and his mate
"If a batter gets a strangle
What's your angle?"
Six off mid-wicket's hand
Into the third man stand
Stumped off a wide
Down the leg side
The grubber that rolled
Leaving you bowled
The one-handed snatch
Lbw off an oily patch
It's not just,
But off you go, you're bust
Then the whole team gives it
"Unlucky sod, but we'll take it"
Don't you hate that phrase
So, with the pearly gate ajar,
I'll request of near and far
"If the batter gets a strangle
What's you angle?"
Each one who mutters
"We'll take it"
Skids to hell on a cart
No false start
Excuse me, I'm not pure,
But I'm sure
The wise old umpire, God,
Will nod.
I'll ask each passing player and his mate
"If a batter gets a strangle
What's your angle?"
Six off mid-wicket's hand
Into the third man stand
Stumped off a wide
Down the leg side
The grubber that rolled
Leaving you bowled
The one-handed snatch
Lbw off an oily patch
It's not just,
But off you go, you're bust
Then the whole team gives it
"Unlucky sod, but we'll take it"
Don't you hate that phrase
So, with the pearly gate ajar,
I'll request of near and far
"If the batter gets a strangle
What's you angle?"
Each one who mutters
"We'll take it"
Skids to hell on a cart
No false start
Excuse me, I'm not pure,
But I'm sure
The wise old umpire, God,
Will nod.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
Stepping aside
Poor Vaughan; all forlorn
Can't score a century
He will eventually
When he overcomes this lack
Will Flower have him back?
To stand in his shadow
So we must mourn
New ambition stillborn
Life on hold, no gold
It's time for change, Michael
Disrupt the cycle
Forget your past, at last
Headingley beckons
A wise one reckons
Ignore the Test, home's best
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