Australia's Horror Day

To be honest, I've had a bit of a horror run myself these past few days with real sickness and flu and all. Let me tell you, swine flu has got nothing on the ordinary flu strains going around this winter. This is the first time I've been able to get up for any extended period of time in days to do something productive. But what was I saying? Oh, right:

Shane Watson missed training on Monday because he was "a little stiff". The poor thing, he was just too stiff to spread his butter on his toast, let alone bowl a few overs in the nets. And word has also come in the past few days that he is injured.

We are talking about and international cricketer here. Let the injuries begin. If all goes according to plan Watson and his glorious English counterpart should bow out first. But if you let your mind run away from you a little, consider the possibilities. A freak accident taking out Hughesy and leaving Australia with no other option but to bring Clarke in as opener.

And if Clarke is opening, then everytime he wanders down the pitch to have a chat to Kato, he's in danger of losing his life, or rather, having it beaten out of him by a cricket bat-turned-club. So when Michael Clarke dies and Ricky walks in, The Wing Commander slips a few cricket balls down the skipper's way, and Ponting is too busy wondering why spitting on his gloves isn't giving him extra grip so of course he falls right into the trap and twists his ankle.

At this stage, Hussey walks in and England don't even try to sabotage his efforts, they just bowl at the stumps and Mike is gone for a golden duck. Brad Haddin thinks he can do it but he's Brad Haddin, so he can't do it. Jimmy Anderson sends in a bouncer which takes out Haddin and indeed, one of his eyes too. It is a horrific sight, blood is gushing everywhere, but England just laugh it off.

In this situation, Australia are fucked because Shane Watson is injured and Marcus North came down with another case of gastro, so they had to put Andrew McDonald's name down. They never thought it would eventuate to this, but it has and McDonald is their only real batting hope because Mitch hasn't yet declared himself an all-rounder so technically they only bat down to 7.

Needless to say, having his hair enclosed in a helmet with only his eyes for company was never a good idea, and Andrew is blinded by his own hair as the marvellous red colour is reflected around the inside of his helmet in a freak act of nature. He is also out injured.

Then Mitch walks in. He thinks he can bat, he knows he can bat, but he slips on some Haddin blood that is flooding the pitch because nobody bothered to remove Brad's body from the field and he's gushing torrents of blood from his eye socket. As Mitch slips on the blood, his arm flails and hits the stumps. Hit wicket. He walks off dejected because he has failed his country, the sorry bastard.

Hauritz walks in after Brett Lee dies of shock after hearing his own singing voice while listening to his song to motivate himself before the game. And just as England are congratulating themselves on the best victory ever, having injured half the Australian team and bowled them out in half a day for the lowest Test innings score ever, you suckers realise that I've been misleading you all along. Because at the other end of the pitch is Simon Katich, and Simon Katich is currently one pissed off motherfucker. He wants blood, preferably of the English variety, having swum in Haddin's blood for a good hour or so.

In a miraculous turnaround Australia rally, with Katich and Hauritz stacking on the runs with apparent ease. A force field has sprung around Hauritz and despite his mediocre spin bowling skills, he is suddenly the second best batsman on the pitch, after only Kato. Nothing can hit them and you are sitting here thinking, "Amy, you bitch. What a set-up. What a goddamn set-up, I hope you die." Well, I don't. And neither do the heroes of this story.

So in the most unlikely event possible, Hauritz and Katich get the runs in the next hour, working to rectify the damage caused by England's sneaky tactics and hopefully bat for the next 5 sessions. It is a big ask, but that force field is doing the job and Katich is no longer opening the batting, he is lower down where he likes to be and should be, so that's lucky. He has scored his first run when Australia are 7 wickets down and the feeling is great.

Then, in the good old English way, the players stop and they go to lunch. The best kind of sport involves regular meal breaks, including one for tea. Bloodshed has no place in cricket, not when it's time for high tea.

Brad Haddin's blood-soaked body remains on the pitch.

England's Ashes Hopes

Lie in the hands of 16 men among whom there is no MPV or Harmison. Not that we expected the former to play.

Their training squad for the pre-Ashes camp comes as no surprise. Capitalising on their spin wickets, England have included 3 spinners in the squad, which means Adil Rashid gets his go, and what's more, Ian Bell's also in for kicks. Note Bell has nothing to do with good spin wickets.

Will he get a game? I doubt it, or at least I wouldn't give him a game myself. He can carry drinks for all it's worth.

And will KP be fit for the start of the Ashes? He thinks not. Then there's also Freddie who's also coming off an injury, but by now England need to have learnt to compensate for him. I give him two matches tops before he does another muscle/limb/body part in.

The squad: 1. Andrew Strauss (capt), 2. James Anderson, 3. Ian Bell, 4. Ravi Bopara, 5. Tim Bresnan, 6. Stuart Broad, 7. Paul Collingwood, 8. Alastair Cook, 9. Andrew Flintoff, 10. Graham Onions, 11. Monty Panesar, 12. Kevin Pietersen, 13. Matt Prior, 14. Adil Rashid, 15. Ryan Sidebottom, 16. Graeme Swann

Another important question is WILL THEY WIN THE ASHES? We will find out in due course. I am, of course, hoping they don't but even if I were a closet England supporter, I'd be hunted down and killed by manic fans here. I cannot take that risk just to support a bunch of inbreds... Oi!

Just look at your royal family for proof.

Laughlin's Chicken Legs

Well, I said I thought he had chicken legs and I had to do some searching to find out just why I thought so. I also promised Chris evidence. Turns out the reason I think Ben Laughlin has chicken legs is... because he does.

Behold the Chicklin Legs:

They're ridiculously scrawny, as is this post. But then again, ridiculousness is my specialty.

Spotto

This photo was sort of reminiscent of this past Spotto so I had to put it up as the Australian counterpart to the Brits. Plus, it's another chance to show Ponting looking stupid.

Spotted: Will he catch it?

On the topic of Australians, something just came to mind. Has anyone else noticed that Ben Laughlin has chicken legs?

Tokenism, Hodge can do it

Cricket Victoria and the Victorian Police hope a few generic shots of cricket will appeal to the protesting Indian student community and hopefully appease their demand for justice and protection.

Fucking hell.

Note the supposed magic formula:

Cricketer + Police Officer + Indian Representative (with credit to sponsor KFC in biggest font possible) + Random Alleyway = Bravo, Instant Success! No need to actually deal with the problem at hand.

There's a difference between using cricketing figures for assurance and as a sort of relevant intermediary in the right circumstances, but this is bizarre and sadly undermines the seriousness of the attacks actually taking place in Australia.

Unity is one thing, but this is utter rubbish.

Another Mitchell Johnson Flashback

I realise I didn't give you guys the last in the series, and you might be thinking, "well fuck, she's just posting a whole bunch of photos now, where is the substance?" but that will come another day. And if I were really posting a bunch of photos, there would be 3 spottos for today. That reminds me, if you see a Spotto and a good one at that, send it in. I like them. Since Yuvraj's manbags, the Spottos have been doing me some good. Although I do have a reserve of Spottos I've never gotten around to posting.

Alright then, here's the Mitch photo, guess the year:

He's all style.

One day I'll bring back those Michael Clarke questions. Just not now. Sorry, kids, it's how it goes.

I can't hear you

I was going to post properly, but I'm afraid that's just not on today. Work, etc.

But for those of you who were unfortunate enough to see die AB receiving the MoM award in the India match, I have good news. It didn't actually happen. It was all a FIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION.

I'm telling the truth because someone has to. And I'd never lie to you about something regarding die AB, would I? No, I didn't think so. There was a big mix-up, they actually meant A[l]B[ie] is the man of the match. Pretty good stuff for 8 runs and a shit over in the bowling, but I think we can safely say he deserved it more than anyone else did.

And New Zealand, oh New Zealand. You should have lost that one, but I didn't want you to. I really didn't.

Australia are pretending the tournament didn't happen and they're just focusing on the Ashes.

Apologies for the short post, but I am on twitter for exactly this reason. I'm not dead, just terribly busy and believe me, I'd prefer that I weren't but such is life. As it turns out, I offer amazing insights on twitter that NOBODY ELSE WILL EVER KNOW. Yes. Really.

Phil's Baggy Green Fetish

Before I allow myself to collapse in a heap of exhaustion, I simply must share this rather creepy interview with little Phil Hughes which sees his eyes zoning out for a moment as he describes in excruciating detail the ritual of sniffing his baggy green that he regularly performs.

It's kind of freaky, like something a sex-obsessed teenage boy would do, only replacing the baggy green with something far different. In an interview with The Daily Telegraph, Phil lets his alter ego poke through:

"I keep it locked away in a pouch in the top left-hand corner of my wardrobe. Every day I make sure it's there. I'll have a peek. It might be in the morning, at night, or even if I'm having a coffee, I'll walk upstairs and look at it. I'll smell it sometimes. It smells like alcohol because of the couple of wins we had in the first Tests in South Africa."

The mental image of Phil furtively sniffing his cap is not one I'd like to keep. If this is what he does to his baggy green, what would he do if he ever got his hands on the Ashes urn alone in a room? Actually, don't even think about that. You might say he's just enthusiastic about living the Aussie dream, but the great Australian dream is to own a house with a decent-sized backyard and I don't see anyone else humping the playset in the backyard. When you start sniffing things, I think it's safe to say you're going a little overboard. Or when you publicly admit to sniffing something.

So while Phillip guards his baggy green under lock and key, occasionally springing surprise checks on it to make sure it hasn't escaped his clutches, I can't help but wonder whether there have been similarly enthusiastic cricketers in past years.

He wants to touch it all over.

The thing about Shane Watson

Okay, I might as well get this out of the way. I've refrained from doing so previously because it's weird in a very strange way but now I really just have to say it. The thing about Shane Watson is that I cannot dislike him and there is a very specific reason for that.

It is because of this photo:

You might think that's well and fine, and that there's nothing particularly special about the photo, that in fact he looks a little retarded, but you see that expression? I know a three year old who makes the exact same expression. And I like the kid.

So you see, therein lies the predicament I am in. After making the initial association with a tiny little midget belonging to a friend of mine, I am doomed to forever make that association with Shane Watson. And while he most certainly does not look the way he does in the photo, I can't help it, I immediately think of cute kids. And that makes it all the more difficult to dislike Shane.

In that way, while he may not be my favourite cricketer, I will be unable to dislike him either. It is the way of the world, I have no hand in it. And that is the end of this explanation. So for future reference, just keep this in mind. I am rendered incapable of disliking the man and it will show.

The first mention of DLF Maximums in the World T20

It really happened, and the man to do it was none other than the evil die AB. I'm not taking into account the nights I spent shouting "Hit a DLF Maximum you bloody arsehole" at the television because that was just the awe-inspiring ability of Lalit Modi to win me over with commercialism.

I didn't, really. I'd kill myself before I started calling a six a DLF Maximum and even then, there's a catch involved with that. Can you guess what it is? I'll tell you what it is. The catch is that I'd already be dead so I wouldn't have to DLF anything from my grave.

Funny joke, Amy, you say. I agree wholeheartedly.

I'm deliberately not talking about the matches won or lost in the tournament so far because it is of little importance in the grand scale of things. Even falafels are more important than Ireland setting themselves up as everyone's bitch, and I don't particularly care about falafels.

What was I saying? Right, it's die AB deciding to drag poor Albie's name through mud and link him to the horror that was DLF Maximums:

After the three-hour coach ride up the M1 motorway from London, we gathered at the hotel and recognised Albie Morkel’s birthday. He is now 28 years old, and let’s hope he celebrates a day late with one of his trademark bursts of strokeplay, boundaries and DLF maximums.

Oh, what? What is that? Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? It's die AB bringing the IPL to its home-schooled cousin, the ICC World T20. And what's more, he's suggesting that Albie Morkel would commit the atrocious act of hitting a DLF Maximum and thus downgrade his own integrity while AB remains the good cricketer who only hit boundaries and sixes.

Putting the DLF Maximums aside, yes, I do hope Albie tries to knock Stuart Broad's bobblehead off. That would mean another player would be out injured, or in Broady's case, out headless. It appears any player with half a brain has decided this World T20 is not worth it so why not say "fuck it" and get yourself injured in order to avoid playing. Whether it be your groin or your Achilles tendon, everything's looking good for these smart cricketers. Judging by this rule, though, New Zealand are therefore the smartest team of all, so the accuracy of such claims needs to be revised.

In other news, this is the best headline ever. Becuase John Buchanan is so disgustingly evil that it hurts to look at him. And he really is going to work with the enemy. For everyone who thinks this is Buchanan spying on England for the Aussies, no it fucking isn't. It just isn't. Will you look at the slimy bastard? While England smugly find scraps of paper which just happen to be lying on the dressing room floor with Australia's Ashes secrets written on them, the Aussies have responded in the only way they possibly can, and that is to reject the English in any way possible. In this way, Derbyshire have "been successfully humiliated", according to an exclusive secret interview with Ricky Ponting. It's typical Ponting, mistaking a charitable offer from locals doing their small bit to save face for Australia in the face of their embarrassing defeat in the World T20 as a desperate attempt to absorb some of Australia's "glorious charisma" through osmosis during a one day match. Instead, Ponting hopes to do shit all in Leicester before the Ashes.

Today's matches:
New Zealand over Ireland.
England over AB.
Albie over England.
England over Jacques Kallis.
ROFL over England.

And here's to hoping, everyone's favourite Kiwi gets better. Actually, that all of them get better.
As a side note, I did something very evil in this post and I don't apologise for it at all as I continue in my production of anti-AB propaganda.

A John Davison Story

I just got back from an interesting dinner in which I learnt something new about John Davison. And although I just called it an interesting dinner, it was actually shit boring because I was seated at the same table as a bunch of dickheads, all with highly inflated egos which can only come from a lifetime of boarding at a prestigious school and possibly being molested by priests because that is the way with these boys' schools, isn't it? Knox Grammar, I'm looking at you. Or was that teachers?

Innocent young boy prepares to morph into Mary Poppins.

Anyway, so while the 20-somethings discussed European politics, being highly trained in the art of being fuckwits, I found myself involved in a conversation with a woman next to me. And at a table nearby, there seemed to be a sporting discussion going on which, amongst other things, involved cricket. So blah blah, one thing led to another, and the woman ended up telling me a story of how a bloke named John Davison, who she now believes is a relatively famous cricketer of some sort, had once asked her out when she was in high school. Yes, indeed. It's that John Davison. I would like to say that she said yes, but in fact she didn't. As she told me, she was sort of different to the pack and in order to maintain her integrity (or something along those lines) she turned him down.

Why, you ask? Good question. Because he went to an "asshole-infested, sickeningly self-obsessed private school". Of course, she didn't say exactly that. I'm paraphrasing very loosely. But basically, he went to one of those schools, and as I look it up now, I see it is Saint Ignatius' College. The woman in question went to a different school, quite obviously, and she never did know whether this John guy wasn't half as bad as the other bastards that went to the school, but she said no anyway.

Apparently John Davison had a thing for redheads.

England's women fare well

Amidst all this talk of Australia's pathetic performances and the chance that two minnows may make it into the Super Eights stage, there is the point to note that there is an English side that stands a chance of winning this tournament, and it's their women's side.

The boys could learn a lot from their women who cleaned up the Kiwis in a practice match. Knowing the men's team, a warm-up against New Zealand would have met exactly the opposite result. I do believe Amy S. the cricketer played for New Zealand. Nice. I don't know why, but I inevitably end up supporting New Zealand in cricket matches. It just happens, I have no control over it. Maybe I do like the poor fellows across the sea.

In tonight's matches (or today's, depending on where you are) it's South Africa against NZ, and the Netherlands against Pakistan. Bit of a no-brainer, seeing as I've just said the thing about my inability to go against New Zealand. The Kiwis over SA, and the Dutchmen over Pakistan. The first of these because I couldn't stand die AB doing his usual shit again, and then overdoing the humility afterwards. Also because I need Dan the Man to play today and unleash the power of his spectacles on die AB. I'm all in favour of Albie topscoring for the saffas, though. Really, it's the only outcome I'm in favour of.

As for the Netherlands over Pakistan, imagine the Super Eights being comprised of A QUARTER minnows and three quarters usual teams. That's almost unheard of. Also because their uniform is orange and no other country would have the balls to do that. I mean, look at them. So many variations of green and blue it's not funny. That's why the orange trumps all, even if they only chose it because all the other colours were taken.

I'm trying to imagine just how stupid Ricky Ponting feels, but I cannot seem to accurately imagine the magnitude of it.

How I laughed

A distinct lack of postage today. Apologies for that, I had a long day in the office. Thankfully, tonight I head back to Sydney, escaping the bitter cold of Canberra for another few weeks. How I despise Winter.

There is one significant thing I'm going to mention, and that is Australia's exit from the World Twenty20. If that isn't the most hilarious thing to happen all tournament (perhaps even slighty funnier than England's loss to the Netherlands) I don't know what is. For all the time they spent not caring about Twenty20, Australia now look like a bunch of idiots. The equivalent of a team like Scotland.

To think that Australia are ranked number 1 in another form of the game.

And another thing. In the closing moments of the match, as Sri Lanka hit the winning runs, I could have sworn Ricky Ponting almost laughed. I would too if I were the captain of a shithouse team. Ajantha Mendis didn't even have to do all too much to make the Australians bow down to him.

Ireland are also in the Super Eights. This tournament is possibly the strangest thing to occur since glow-in-the-dark rabbits.

Flashback: Mitchell Johnson

Seeing as asking you guys to guess his age was not the brightest idea I've ever come up with, here's another funny photo of Mitch from his teen years, only this time I'll be supplying the date.

This is Mitch when he was named Sportsman of the Year at Pimlico State High School in 1998. Oh yeah:

Hahahahahahahaha. Dear me, isn't that a sight to see? He must be so glad he grew out of that look.

West Indies win

Good stuff.

Not much to say except after the innings Gayle and Fletcher had, everyone wanted the Windies to win this match.

But I do believe there should be more cricketers named Xavier. "X Marshall" is the best name on the scorecards from both of these teams. Maybe you could even change your last name to "Treem" or something. I don't know, just saying. The possibilities are endless. Isn't there a BMX rider who legally changed his name to Kamikaze? It's be just like that, only CRICKET.

I think I need some sleep. Well done to the West Indies. They beat the Aussies with 4 whole overs (and one ball) to spare. That's massive. They didn't play close to a quarter of the time the Australians did.

The crowd certainly thinks the Australian loss is very appropriate. Never have there been so many West Indian supporters in the same place, more than half not even having geographical ties to the Windies.

Australia are going to lose

To the West Indies. You would think there's something wrong in that statement, and under normal circumstances there damn well should be.

But fuck, the West Indies are batting awesomely. Those first 5 or 6 overs were like a goldmine, and the best kind too. A boundary was practically expected off each ball. Not to mention Chris Gayle's absolutely massive six.

A fever pitch crowd baying for Australian blood. Looks like that wish will come true if the Windies don't magically fuck everything up, which is looking pretty unlikely and besides, choking is what South Africans do best, not the West Indies. A win for them will also happen a lot sooner if Australia continue to bowl the same excruciatingly high number of wides and no balls.

Brett Lee goes into the record books for that over from hell, I believe. 27 runs off it, the 4th highest in T20 International history. He's also lost a bit of the ol' pace it seems. Mitchell Johnson fared no better and was brutally savaged by Gayle and Fletcher. Australia gave it all away in those first few overs.

Will Gayle get one of the fastest centuries ever?

A really shit pun

How do I even begin to explain just how bad this pun is? Found in a headline:

Peter Siddle can't wait to axe the part

It is, of course, referring to his background in woodchopping.

I know.

How old is Mitchell Johnson in this photo?

Can you guess it?

Ah, the look of youth and awkward gangly body parts which don't seem to fit together. And of fangs which will soon grow even bigger. Of looking like the check out kid at the local supermarket.

Just how old is Mitchell Johnson in this photo? I do know the answer, but I also thought I'd share the amusing photo.

The Face Of A Very Competent Captain

"Hmmm," says Ricky as his team prepares for training. "Lovely day to play cricket, is it. Nestled safely on my head as always, my VB cap is. Going to win this tournament, we are. Yes, hmmm."

"Yoda, I am."

Of utes and being sent home in disgrace

Bloody utes, they keep popping up everywhere. The new job's turning out to be a bit of a shocker, so apologies for the lack of posts. Just when I thought I'd dusted my hands of dealing with the aftermath of a particular issue, being a free ute that's causing the most controversy utes have been able to in the history of their existence, in comes the news that Andrew Symonds has returned to Brisbane today and left the airport... in a ute.

I can appreciate the irony.

Roy returned to Brisbane early this morning and was met by a host of reporters, all keen to ask him some questions about his fall from grace. He didn't answer any, but he did give a statement:

"I've got a fair bit to consider I suppose and I appreciate you all coming out here this morning and I will come out and make a proper full statement when I've gathered my thoughts and sat down with family and friends."

Queensland Cricket still want him to play for the Bulls. That's possibly the only positive in this situation.

This time Roy didn't complain about the lack of a car to pick him up from the airport as he did after returning from the IPL. He'd called ahead and gotten Joe Dawes to pick him up in his ute. Ah, the ute. The godforsaken ute I've had a tough time with. Cause for much worry and working into the night fielding calls left, right and centre. So this is how people deal with Canberra's lack of nightlife. They end up working through it.

In the meantime, we've learnt the violation of Symonds' contract was in regard to drinking in public and not informing team members or management where he was going before he headed out to watch the game. Over at The Times, David Fulton, former Kent captain, is lamenting the loss of Andrew Symonds. But then he describes him as Mick Dundee. Just as I thought Australia was beginning to brush off that image.