I have seen the future

Purists,

I have seen the future.
Very happy indeed to count myself, along with the good lady wife, among the 23,737 punters in attendance at the Olympic Stadium last night for the T20 game NSW v QLD which was billed as Ohh Aah’s Last Hurrah.
Some bright spark at the NSW Cricket Association had figured out that Glenn McGrath had retired from test cricket a full twelve months ago and still went on to play in the World Cup, but had never really had a proper send off wearing the Blue Bag.
Sydney cricket fans voted with their feet.
First got wind that something was up when I got to Lidcombe station from Strathfield and found the Olympic Park platform absolutely jammed packed.
Thankfully Shitty Rail had the decency and sense to put on a train every ten minutes to shift the crowds.
When I got to the Novotel bar it was like a Sydney Swans match crowd – except they were in either blue or maroon state of origin style – one bloke had contrived to dress up like Marcel Marceu, a couple of refugees from the Sydney test match had slipped on colourful summer frocks over their hairy manboobs, and I was expecting to see people in monkey/gorilla suits – but there were none that I saw.
And a crowd of that size can make some noise in that fishbowl!
Cold, full strength beer and hot pies were on tap; something unheard of in this day and age.
There was even a mob of speed daters in on the middle deck.
Whenever a wicket fell or a six was scored , the boys moved along one seat to the next girl, and all repaired to the Cauldron Bar for some shitfacedness after the game.
The game itself was a quite curios affair on an even curiouser drop in pitch that made scoring difficult.
When NSW found themselves five wickets down for not many on the board, Katich sent out the edict that there would be no heroics under any circumstances, and the aim of the game was to bunt singles and make sure you scored off every ball.
Queensland pretty much tried the same tactic in the conditions and only fell just short in reply.
The great McGrath had an excellent game with one wicket and two catches, although he thought he’d lost the game for the Mighty Bleeeeews when he grassed a sitter late in the QLD innings.
Moped around at third man slapping his thigh
Not to matter.
Had them all out on the last ball of the match anyway.
Ooh Ahh would be hurting this morning – he’s been in a good paddock since retirement.
SPD Smith, a hitherto unknown NSW 18 year old right arm leggie, known to his mother as “Steven”, to his team mates as “Junior”, and to everyone else as “Smiffy”, took four wickets late in the piece to snare the man-of-the match award
Smiffy has the weirdest run up in world cricket for mine.
He takes three small steps then literally stops [!!] mid stride, then somehow gets going again by dragging his left foot and then three more sort of strange loping steps to the crease and then he’s into his delivery stride.
No one could have possibly coached him to do it that way.
Any batsman seeing that would be going “What the…?”
Trades on the surprise factor.
On interview after game:
Ground Announcer: “that would have been the biggest crowd you’ve ever played in front of”
Smiffy: “oh, yeah, right, yeah, it was”
GA: “you must have been pretty happy with your own performance”
Smiffy “um, yeah, I was just happy to get a game”
GA: “must have been great playing with Glenn McGrath”
Smiffy: “oh, yeah, erm, yeah, a fantastic legend”
End of interview.
Dave Warner from the Suburbs also turned out for NSW and the nickname in pink on the back of his shirt read “Wee Man”.
I couldn’t help wondering if he is related to the late, great “Trough Man” of Oxford Street fame?
The more you look at it, the more it becomes apparent that it is a fielder’s game, best played by kiddies.
Whoever is best at short sprints and accurate throws do the best.
While I consider myself something of a purist, I fell in love with T20 from the moment I first witnessed it at Hurstville Oval, maybe four or five seasons backs now.
I am sure it would simply horrify the good folks who invented the caper, particularly the blokes from the Hambledon CC who perfected the art in Hampshire all those years ago.
They imagined the game as a long, languid, liquid pursuit that was frequently punctuated by long breaks in play for drinks and meals, something still reflected in the long form of the game today.
Very happy when not much happened.
But Hambledon’s utter refusal to change ultimately led to the club’s oblivion, and the control of the game being thieved off them.
They would take one look at T20 and say “What the!! You haven’t even got time to fart!”
Strangely, the game was played in the spirit of the game, and I thought the umpires swarthy GA Abood and the fat boy RD Goodger both put in creditable exhibitions.
Especially the Abood, who gave a very close run out decision against Queensland – the Bamford was crouched like a close in catcher and had his hands on his knees taking a close look at the action from a shortish square leg, and when the appeal went up in a flurry of arms, legs, bat, ball and flying bails, he had no hesitation in jumping to his feet and raising the finger.
Respect.

a golden duck, golden bollocks and a gold watch

Denizens of the bleachers,

What a test match!
Had everything.
No less than five fine centuries, including an absolute sparkler from The Little Master, spectacular batting failures, some top notch seam and spin bowling, some bowling that could hardly be considered even first class standard, a wicketkeeper with a fit of the iron gloves, dropped catches, grassed catches claimed as fair, the worst and most appalling exhibition of umpiring seen this century, rain delays, pitch hammering by the ground staff, foul play, foul language, bald-faced cheating, sledging, racial vilification, petulant captains, and they even had a monkey roaming about the field unharrassed by security!
Just a pity that for various reasons I was unable to attend the ground for the test match for the first time in more than a decade, particularly as I am the sort of bloke who doesn’t mind a drink in a crisis.
After MJ Clarke’s first innings failure, he fronted a sportsman’s breakfast the next day and described the shot as an “aberration” [nope, not a lapse in judgement].
You’d certainly hope it’s not a harbinger of the bad old days when he was getting himself out leg before on a regular basis due to a technical deficiency.
Remarkably, up until the second innings, MJ Clarke over the course of 46 innings had never made a test match duck, so it was only fitting that he should go the whole hog and score a golden duck, and do his bit for charity.
Just when I was about to write off the kiddie‘s contribution to the match as absolutely zero, what happens?
Ponting [labeled by a Sky News sports producer who shall remain nameless as “a little cockhead” for ‘declaring too late’ on the fifth day] pulled out the last trick in the bag - after Pup had been asking to bowl all day mind you - and put on his left arm dibbly-dobblers, and he goes right ahead and wins the match singlehandedly in a matter of minutes after more than 33 hours of play!
Never mind that his second wicket was patently not out.
On interview after the match he quipped that he had taken more wickets than made runs, but was gracious enough to admit that his match winning effort involved “more arse than class”.
Captain Cockhead said after the game that Pup is now being called “Golden Bollocks” by his team mates – a moniker that may well stick.
After telling them that they are fools to themselves and a burden on the community, the powers-that-be should see to it that the Bamfords are punted for Perth [preferably with Stevie “Wonder” Bucknor sensibly taking the gold watch option] and The Turbinator rubbed out for three matches, perhaps we can now just forget all the nonsense of the past couple of days and start afresh with a clean slate in the west?
Somehow, I think not.
More like going for each other’s jugulars from the off.