The reveal of Graeme Smith

This is almost funny. As I said earlier, the RealGraemeSmith account on twitter has been suspended, and we were all pretty much over it.

But now there's a FakeGraemeSmith and they are intent on telling everyone the true identity of RealGraemeSmith. Oh no! Guess what? It's me.

Like you didn't already know. So how about I make it official? I wrote RealGraemeSmith's twitter page. RealGraemeSmith was really me. Many of you already knew, but apparently it's scandalous or something.

It isn't.

Now go about your business again and don't forget to take Albie to lunch.

You have to take Albie to lunch

Finding a few minutes to make this post. I will talk LATER.

Apparently there is a list in South Africa - the the Mail & Guardian’s list of the 300 young South Africans you have to take to lunch. And while I don't particularly know how influential or important this list is (although it does seem to have considerable weight), I will say that Albie Morkel is on the list.

Success! It's only a matter of time before he takes over the world. According to SuperSport, there are seven other cricketers who it on there, being Graeme Smith, JP Duminy, Morne Morkel, Johan Botha, Wayne Parnell, Dale Steyn and Imraan Khan.

Guess who's not on the list? Yes, it's die AB. Guess you don't have to take him to lunch. Hahahahaha, deal with that, you humble bastard.

All is not well for Albie, however, as die AB has seduced Mickey Arthur and turned him against Albie. It's true, he's bitching to Neil Manthorp about it:

Albie Morkel ranks amongst the world's best match-winning batsmen, but is his bowling a problem...? "Yes," says Mickey Arthur. "We have been trying to define his role for a year or more. Is he a frontline all-rounder or is he a batsman who can bowl a few overs? It's very important to the balance of the side that he shows his hand, one way or the other. Either Morkel bats at six and bowls as the "sixth or seventh" bowler, or he "bats at seven or eight and bowls - properly."

FUCK YOU, MICKEY ARTHUR. FUCK YOU. Okay, there's truth in that. Albie needs to work on the bowling or make it a part-time thing. But when someone whose name is "Mickey" (which is ten times more ridiculous than Albie, okay?) says shit like this, his secret relationship with die AB deserves to be called out on.

Well, at least Albie is currently the more successful brother. I don't think Morne has existed since he was swapped with Albie on the Test team in March.

Kyle Coetzer is a bloody genius

Via The Corridor, finally the footage of that excellent catch by Kyle Coetzer is available. Best catch ever, or at least in this tournament. The only thing that could have made it better is if it was die AB's wicket, and it wasn't but oh well:



The Scots are clever freaks. I like them.

Chucky

I'm not talking about Doug Bollinger here, but apparently someone over at Page 2 on Cricinfo thinks AB de Villiers would make a good Chucky.

First of all, what? Second of all, I don't exactly agree but the description is funny as hell:

AB de Villiers may not have the crazy eyes of the doll (part of a series called Good Guys) from Child's Play, but any casting director worth his salt can see how well the South African batsman with the choirboy looks would make a bone-chilling slasher by night, to go with his batsman-slaughterer persona by day. In the twilight hours, de Villiers changes his cricket whites for bloody overalls and pulls out a knife concealed in his bat handle, before going on a killing spree, targeting music critics who've been less than kind to his singing career. Yeah, AB, show them who you (really) are.

There is absolutely nothing better than taking the piss out of die AB's song.

Still, I can think of a dozen better cricketers to be perfect players by day and serial killers at night. The one that springs to mind first is Sybrand Engelbrecht. In fact, I do believe I had detailed this secret part of his life in a previous post of mine. The Ghost of the Knight, that's what he is.

The rest of the article gets a lot wrong, but points for trying. Any valiant movie watcher who combines that knowledge with cricket could come up with a better list. Yes, valiant.

The Rise and Fall of Graeme Smith

He had a tough run those few months he was on Twitter. Yes, the RealGraemeSmith is gone, his account having been suspended for what I can only assume is complete and utter awesomeness.

It just so happens that with the fall of Graeme Smith, Amy S. is now going Twitter on you. The timing of this is completely coincidental and you shouldn't read into it too much, unless of course you want to.

Will you look at that? It's the blog on twitter. For everyone who kept asking when I would do it. Maybe this way you'll know I'm still alive even if I don't post so often. Maybe.

The Perks of Being a Commentator

Anyone who knows what the title of this post is a reference to gets brownie points for being awesome.

I have often noticed that commentators, in all their retired glory, don't seem to find the actual commenting on cricket aspect of their job all that appealing, but rather, they prefer the more creative part. It lets them experiment, go wild, get their brains churning, etc.

I am, of course, referring to the nondescript commentary they provide on what is going on in the brains of the cricketers. You'd think half these men gave up their dream of being script writers from the marvellous and extensive thoughts they invent for the players. Thankfully, having retired from the game and secured a commentary position with a top notch broadcaster, they're free to pursue their long lost dreams in which they provide the voices for the puppets on the field.

In fact, they practically shit themselves when the captain walks up to his bowler and has a nice long chat with him. "Brilliant!" the commentators exclaim. "What might they be saying? Ah, I know..." At which point he proceeds to describe in painfully boring detail what the on-field conversation is. Sometimes they come up with thoughts/dialogue for the players that are outlandishly far-fetched, turning a slightly grim expression into an "OH NOEZ!!!!1!!! WE R FCUKED!!!" But it's all part of the job, really. Having unnecessarily translated a facial expression or conversation for audiences around the world, the men at the helm smile to themselves contently. The world is a better place with everyone knowing just what you think is going on in Chris Gayle's head.

Sometimes, I listen to their imaginings of conversations and I think, if they're going to offer something up, why not make it wonderfully interesting? Why not tell listeners that the reason Vettori is looking so unhappy out there is because he's cheating on his wife with Baz? If I were offered the opportunity to deliver such truths to listeners, I wouldn't stop at anything. I would exercise creative license to turn a word of congratulations between players on opposing teams into reason for calling them out on match-fixing or batting for the wrong side, and literally this time.

Unfortunately, all we have is a bunch of smug old men inventing a completely unfunny line of dialogue for Sehwag and then chuckling at their own cleverness. The power of commentating, if it rested in other hands, could be put to better use.

New Zealand

New Zealand.

They just gave Umar Gul the first five-for in T20 international history. So, like, ever.

They are also intent on losing this match. What the fuck.

This is extremely embarrassing, and I'm not even a Kiwi.

The best search ever

Glad to see there's someone in the world who doesn't like die AB. The following search ended up here:

fucking ab de villiers

And I believe it is said in a vehement, anger-filled way. A "fucking AB de Villiers keeps being an overtly humble prick" kind of way. Not a "I'd like to know how best to go about fucking AB de Villiers way".

At the same time, I have terrible searches leading to my blog. Take, for example:

jacques kallis muscular

Oh yeah. Take care not to vomit. That reminds me, there's a question I've been pondering for a while. Is there anyone in this world who actually likes Jacques Kallis, and if so, why the fuck do they?

South Africa set a record

Most consecutive T20 International wins ever. But wait, was anyone actually surprised they won against the West Indies? On rolls the South African juggernaut as they flatten teams on their way to the finals.

Despite Chris Gayle's valiant attempts to distract them with some ultra-cool sunnies, the saffas did not budge. They've had good practice at this, especially after Stuart Broad's attempts to deliberately distract the South African batsmen. Also because once their eyes lock onto the missile, also known as the ball, they do not take their eyes off it, not even to look at Broad's delicate hands.

You know what's creepy? As I check Cricinfo for Kallis' bowling figures because they're pretty fucking funny, I see they have also spoken of the "South African juggernaut rolling on. I don't write for them, just in case you were wondering. My singular brain is on par with their collective brains, however. Jacques' figures are 2-0-23-0 by the way. Hahahaha, that's far too good. Fingers crossed he'll stop playing T20s.

I won't mention Albie's figures because this is my blog and I can do whatever the hell I want. You want fairness? Go somewhere else. He was brilliant, just brilliant. A wicket on a no ball which is better than no wicket at all, and a small error involving a wide which ended up costing 5 runs. BRILLIANT.

Wayne Parnell had to do even more this match to finally get the MoM award. 4/13 is the result of his mastering the art of bowling yorkers and actually bowling at the stumps. With all the creative shit bowlers are trying to come up with, it seems everyone forgot that simply bowling at the stumps and waiting for a wicket is remarkably successful.

Lendl Simmons is the only batsman on the West Indies side who should be walking away from this match with a smile on his face, although he might not be smiling because they still lost despite his 77. Seriously, the things some people have to put up with...

And now I come to Albie. You were waiting for it all along, I know. That 10 off 8, especially after the perfect opportunity presented itself when die AB got ahead of himself and got out on 17. After being promoted up the order to actually come in before the 16th over. That was amazing, that last bit. Everything was set in place for Albie to kill someone, preferably with his bat. He didn't, but the very clever Jerome Taylor was behind it. The smart bastard bowled a few bouncers and then nailed Albie with a great yorker. Even Albie appreciated that one. Super Shades Gayle had instructed Taylor to go about targeting Albie with bouncers and this is CLEARLY him going after the most dangerous batsman on the side. I mean, obviously. For this reason, Albie's dismissal was alright. He felt the respect as he walked off that field.

I think Nasser Hussain wants to marry die AB, just like every other commentator out there.

And in the current match, New Zealand are killing me. Dan the Man is playing but... they're killing me. They really are.

What I am going to do today

Today I am going to set aside a good five minutes to laugh at India.

I will then laugh at Dhoni for an extra special reserved period of time.

Then I will bake a cake, for reasons to be explained later in this post.

Next, I will watch Jacques Kallis get out for a duck, followed by another duck from die AB.

After this, I will watch Albie Morkel hit the ball out of the fucking park and pillage the same Windies that beat the '07 champions.

As I am doing this, I will cry tears of joy and blow out the candles on the cake, all 28 of them. I will say "ya did well, kid" to the television as Albie goes on to make a half century.

Then I will watch New Zealand destroy Pakistan.

All in a day's work.

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.

Albie gobbles up KP

Gobble gobble. You'd think the same too if you saw the following:

He was just really happy is all. That's how 28 year olds look when they're happy, like the innocent bliss you feel when you don't know that later in the day you won't get a chance to bat because a fat fucker hogs the limelight. That same man then goes on to be MoM when clearly it should have been Albie getting it, JUST BECAUSE.

If I had to nominate the best South African bowler in the England match, it would be tough. Because there was no clear winner, they were all great. Oh fuck it, one of them was clearly the best.

Have a guess. Go on, guess.

If you thought Wayne Parnell, get the fuck off this blog.

I'm talking about the REAL star whose efforts went unnoticed, even though he bloody well bowled the best he ever has in his life. Yes, it was Albie Morkel the 28 year old. He went for no runs at all in his spell, his extremely long, hard fought spell. The one over spell which took concentration far beyond that which any other all-rounder in the world possesses. It wasn't just a maiden, it was a wicket maiden, as Albie ran down the pitch and gobbled up KP with his large mouth.

I'm sure if Albie had bowled more overs, he would have repeated exactly the same thing. That would silence all his critics.

England were... well, they were England. I'm sorry for them, I really am.

How I stalk my pubs halfway across the world

Catching up on more emails now. Phew.

There's a little something that I do that is unique to me, and it revolves around a rather strange fetish of mine, being to map the locations of every single pub in England on a giant world map stuck to my bedroom wall. I've got all the relevant pins in Cornwall, which is why it's such a travesty that I do not have any pubs located in London stuck there. It always disturbs me to know that.

That was before I discovered the Snaptu fancyapint app, and by extension, the Snaptu Cricinfo app. How it changed my pub-stalking life. Simon sends in the words that may have changed my life forever:

Chris Gayle - there's a cricket ball in my pint! - an anonymous report from the Dog House pub at Kennington Cross near the site of our disgrace (it exists by the way).

As I sat dismally in the Vauxhall End Stand at the Oval today reviewing the match scorecard and cricinfo’s commentary of the last over on my mobile phone I thought sod it - I'm out of here, find me a decent pub.

Luckily I use Snaptu's cricinfo app on my phone and guess what, it has the fancyapint? London pub guide on it too, so before long I was swallowing hard. It also has Twitter, so I was also swallowing hard as I read the banter coming in when I looked at the #WT20 tweets flooding the network!

Ah, here comes Ricky… his round I believe!

Apart from the fact it was useful for completing my pub world map, it's Cricinfo and it's on my mobile and I damn well like it. You might like it too.

But best of all, it's free. You'll go smiling to your grave.

Spotto

I'd almost forgotten about my email, but after a long time, I checked it and lo and behold, Q had sent in a rather funny Spotto involving Shahid Afridi and Umar Gul. It's the Pakistani enthusiasm they radiate that really gets you.

Spotted: A cosy feat of athleticism and strength.

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.

Spotto

Just very quickly, and I know this is not soccer, but damn, would you expect them to win anything except the encouragement award for freaks?

Spotted: Misfits FC

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.

One of those posts

In which I deliver news of some kind. This time it's not entirely positive, I'm afraid. In fact, it's rather disappointing for me to have to say this, but say it I must. It seems I might not be able to carry on continuing this blog for much longer, or with the detail of past. The new job is, well, to put it simply, exhausting. Exhausting beyond belief, and a real life commitment that eats away at your time demanding the dedication that my previously flexible job did not. And it's to be expected, of course. Working for the people that run your country is always going to be a soul buster, and perhaps even a dream job.

Which is why I find myself in a dilemma and at a crossroads, because while I may normally have been able to do my job, run my life and also blog, now it's a little more difficult to continue blogging. I do think I would be able to perhaps blog once a day in a post which encompasses just about everything I'm thinking or what I'd usually say, but would it even be worth it? I'm putting that question out to anyone who cares enough to answer it.

So that is the news, and this is the post. Good day to all you folks out there who read this blog. Or goodnight. Either works.

Also, a quick look at the blogroll tells me that apparently it's Albie's birthday today. Poor guy, he's already 28 and he's only played in one Test. You're not getting any younger, Albie. And why on earth did he fail to capitalise largely on die AB's loss in the match against New Zealand? Damn you to hell, die AB, cursing Albie's chances all the time. I know it was him because who else would wish Albie ill?

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.