the baby baby Blues

Bleacherists,

Me and me mate Trev shambled into the Sydney Cricket Ground on Sunday morning fully expecting New South Wales to complete a regulation win against the hapless New Zealanders.
And so it came to pass.
But did it have to take all day?
Impressed by the 17 yo Josh Hazlewood kiddie, classical upright action, generates some good pace off a relatively short run, has a tip top yorker, and can do a nice inswinger now and then off the seam.
Was at the latrine when he clean bowled Vettori with one, but apparently the nut was an absolute pearler.
Was trying to think who he reminded me of, then thought, ah yes…a young DK Lillee.
The yearling has got a future.
A few of his school mates came into the ground about midday and proceeded to give him a right royal razz from the garden seats in front of the Ladies Stand, which must have embarrassed the poor child no end.
However they were well aware that he was playing first class cricket, and they weren’t!
When he wrapped up the NZ innings in the shadows of lunch to come in with a very creditable 2/23 there was polite applause all round, before his mates went off!
Took all morning to take the five wickets to get the Kiwi’s out, but it was only a matter of time.
19 yo Smiffy also bowled well and turned a few at right angles.
He used to have a most unusual run up that stalled and stuttered mid way through where he almost came to a stop before bowling the ball, but some coach has been onto him and straightened out his run up over the winter.
After lunch, a few crates of booze must have appeared at the back of the NSW dressing room courtesy of the visitors Members Bar tab, with a request to provide a bit of bowling practice for the rest of the day.
As it was, NSW were 2/15 after a full hours play after lunch, chasing 162 to win.
The lone barman in Monty’s Bar took a stake in the ground staff sweep on the time of the winning ball, but began to look nervous when he realized he had taken 4.37pm
New Zealand proceeded to bowl just full of a length on middle and leg and crowd the off side with field, thereby completely strangling most run scoring opportunities, a tactic that they may well employ in the test match, if they have the luck to win the toss and put on a few.
Apart from Vettori, the Kiwi attack looked fairly pop gun to me; the other 19 yo in the pack, Hughes, punched a couple of good shots, before holing out to point, and The Young Muzzie, Usman Khawaja, laboured manfully trying to run singles, but being thwarted by the field, with the Portuguese kiddie Moises “Joisus” Henriques holding up the other end.
There was some talk among stats gurus mid week that NSW had picked its youngest side ever on aggregate age, but it turned out it was the second youngest side ever, after some team NSW had fielded in the summer of 1918/19, when there were simply no adult men around.
NSW certainly looked like a bunch of kids in the field, in stark contrast to the grown men of the visitor’s side who came out field after lunch!
In the end, Smiffy and the wicketkeeper Dan “Fat Boy Slim” Smith combined to put on 83 for the sixth wicket to see out the famous victory just as the shadows began to lengthen ever the ground.
Vettori described the loss as “annoying”, but for the baby baby Blues, they must have been stoked to win a first class game.
Not that it does their Sheffield Shield hopes any good.
There was an extraordinary scene at the end of the match, when you’d expect to see tractors appear on the ground with the covers to lay out over the wicket block, but no, a lone groundsman came marching through the gate with a standard Victa lawnmower going at full pelt. He wheeled it out onto the ground and proceeded to mow the pitch up and down no less than three times, raising huge clouds of dust, in which the lawnmower operator was completely enveloped from time to time.
Never seen such an eerie thing in fading light.
The Man and His Dog were transfixed, as they still sat in the Bradman Stand.

wracked with disease

Between Seasoners,

On the Saturday of the third test match, happened to find myself in the Lord Howe Island Bowling Club for the traditional Saturday night fish fry.
You know the sort of thing; a chilled foaming frostier as you look out over Hairy’s greens, then a bottle of crisp Chablis to follow, as you chow down on great chunks of Lord Howe Island “Greenback” Kingfish in tempura batter deep fried in rice bran oil, with a wedge of juicy lemon and salt, and a token salad.
You know it makes sense.
Good with chips.
As we walked in, couldn’t help but notice that the cricket was playing on the lone television screen in the joint.
As we dined, remarked to The Good Lady Wife, “we’ll look at that, will you, it looks as if my bloke is well on his way to a ton!”
and sure enough, MJ Clarke made it to triple figures to save the game, shutting the gate long after the horse had bolted clean across the plains of Rajasthan after the Debacle at Mohali.
The Chairman and the panel of Selectors have the most to answer for for mine for sending away the wrong team, and then continued with muddle headed decisions to try to justify their original ridiculousness, only to see it all fall in a screaming heap.
When Pup was on 97 the barmaid started fiddling with the remote control to try to tune in the Bledisloe Cup match from Hong Kong from across the Tasman, on account of there were a few rugby people in the club.
The Lord Howe Island Woodhens have provided just the one Wallaby – in the shape of Skeggsy.
Persuaded her to change it back just for a minute or two, and lo, the cover drive and the kissing of the helmet.
Now we can go to pigs rooting in mud, union style, love.
One of the very few highlights of the past few weeks of grisly test cricket, save the Krejza kiddie’s incredible fluke ten fa on debut!
Like scoring a double ton, and then finding yourself never picked again!
No surprise here that Cap’n’ Cockhead decided to save his own bacon in the last.
Why wouldn’t you?
No use being hoisted on your own petard, is there?
If you were The Captain of Australia, you certainly wouldn’t want to surrender the title to the likes of Clarke in a hurry, even if it was for only one match, and even if you knew Pup would do a perfectly good job scattering the chooks at the Gabba, for no good reason at all, would you?
Never mind that it’s further evidence at the disposal of the Royal Commissioner.
Never mind that the Vice Captain came back from India wracked with disease, after feigning general unwellness to get a runner on the last day of the final dénouement.
Never mind that Ponting knows well within himself that he’s now an old man in the game, who has always suffered mightily from niggling injuries.
...and so to the Wooloongabba Ground...
A little birdie is singing that there might not be room for a regulation spinner in Brisbane.
Sorry Jase. Sorry Cam.
All seam attack; play two quicks, a seamer, Roy can bowl anything you want, play Fig Jam too if you like, both handy with the bat as well, with Pup’s very odd left arm dibbly dobblers as a last resort.
Why not?
Cricket Australia sent Symonds a brand new tackle box full of barramundi lures, with a note of apology attached, personally signed by James Sutherland with a “welcome back!” PS, but he wasn’t happy, demanding “where’s me new rods?”

Bless.