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.

which side their bread is buttered on

Pooch pamperers,

Another very tidy test match performance from MJ Clarke.
You can’t argue with a match aggregate of 93 runs on a dreadfully woeful pitch.
His first innings 20 was too cautious for mine, if you spend 82 minutes scratching around the crease trying to get your eye in.
Was checking a few of his shots and eventually got out to an absolutely awful stroke that would have had him kicking himself all the way back to the pavilion.
The second innings 73 was as good as it gets, considering as the kiddie explained on interview after the days play that he had a lot trouble reading the reverse swing.
Certainly had the dancing shoes on to the slow men, and pulled out a few cracking trade mark off cuts and cover drives.
Thankfully, I was fast asleep on the lounge when he got out, but if you are using the twinkle toes, there’s always the risk of missing the ball, in which case you will almost certainly be out stumped.
Take the $6.50 currently on offer about Pup making the highest Australian first innings score on a decent deck [read four lane highway] in Sydney.
Has to be a certainty, surely?
On the coverage on the crystal bucket, also noticed from time to time that Punter was giving Pup a few tips in the slips on the fine art of field placings.
More grooming?
No sign of Our Lara in the stands – she was probably on Xmas duties in the Shire.

By no means surprised to see the Great Gilly overtake Heals record for the most number of wickets snared with the gloves.
I’ve always rated Gilly as one of the best, if not the best, all rounder in the modern game.
It’s always had me puzzled that for years that the Chairman and the Three Wise Men have been on this futile and ultimately fruitless search for a “genuine all rounder”, when they’ve got Gilly batting at number seven, for chrissake!
And while we are at it, what’s the point of having the finest cricket stadium in the world, when the pitch is no where near up to test standard?
First grade suburban cricketers would have been within their rights to complain about it.
Maybe they should reinstall the permanent wicket square, and make the footballers suffer like they did in the olden days?
Too much to ask; footballers are precious little things, and the fools who purport to run the MCG would be the first to tell you that they know only too well which side their bread is buttered on, and that the AFL does all the buttering.

a cheeky shiraz from the Scoreboard Bar

Canine fanciers,

The kiddie can do no wrong…
In his first game as captain of a senior Strayan team what does he do?
Wins the toss and sensibly elects to bat, opens the batting himself with his Vice-Captain, clubs a boundary off his first scoring shot, then bangs away perhaps the best six of the match, decides to get out to allow Roy to get on with the job, like he’d told him he should, then spends the rest of innings on the sideline benches clapping and cheering with the crowd, as the boys do the business for him in the middle.
Then presides over some very useful first up fast bowling, sees the opposition top order back in the sheds in quick smart time due to some fine catching including an absolute dead set screamer by his V-C behind the stumps, and finishes off the night with an easy as you like victory next to his name in the column headed “wins as Captain”.
He must be thinking there’s nothing to this Twenty20 caper!

Thought the advent of the dunking machine at the WACA was an excellent innovation.
Few things better than Kiwi fans copping it in the drink.
What else was going on?
Did they have Wolf Blass Wenches to fetch you a cheeky shiraz from the Scoreboard Bar?
Would have gone down a treat with the “gourmet” hot dog
Did notice on the crystal bucket; various clowns, wandering minstrels, a fire stick juggler, and a brass band!

Right up into the 1930’s at the Sydney Cricket Ground, there used to be brass bands at either end of the ground playing during the test matches.
And they didn’t just do some polite oom-pa-pa work during the intervals, on no siree, they thundered on all day; the competition was fierce as they tried to out do the opposing band for repertoire and stamina.
Stitch that sound into the cacophony of a large, well lubricated partisan crowd watching a hard fought game – now that’s my idea of fun!

“make no mistake, Ricky Ponting is still the Captain of Australia”

Fellow boosterists,

At long last, the Chairman and the Three Wise men appear to have come to their senses and seen the light when it comes to one MJ Clarke.
For two full seasons there they studiously ignored my repeated calls to pick the kiddie in the test team [in the end they got so sick of it, the selectors wouldn’t even pick up the phone] and when they finally did pick him he scores a century on debut.
Then relatively soon after they give the bloke a major league fright by dropping him, and then only reluctantly recall him only on account of injury to the extraordinarily brittle Shane “figjam” Watson, and then he goes on to pretty much win the Ashes off his own bat.
Now, if you believe the musings coming from influential mouths in Strayan cricket circles, Pup is by every account being groomed for the captaincy.
Der.
That was pretty obvious from the moment he stepped up to the plate, and he didn’t skipper the under 19’s, or Australia “A” on occasions, for nothing.
He’d better play better than he did in the 20/Twenty World Cup, and it’ll be interesting to see how he goes as skipper, as it’s by no means an easy format to captain.
There’s more tactical goings on and more thinking on your feet than is generally assumed by most spectators.
Interesting to note during his “humbled but honoured” acceptance speech, Pup was at pains to point out “make no mistake, Ricky Ponting is still the Captain of Australia”.
What?
Does that mean he won’t be the first to inflict multiple knife wounds to the back as soon as the bloke falls over?
Or will he just let others do it for him on his behalf?
I, for one, needless to say, will be in his corner.

PS Noted a quote from Our Lara midweek “before I became Michael’s boyfriend, I knew nothing about cricket”
It’s probably best left that way.

a gloaming misty sea fog

Bleachermen,

Wandered aimlessly into the cricket ground yesterday morning just in time to see a couple of overs before they went off for a brief shower of rain, and then took an early lunch.
You could have cut the humidity with a knife
After the covers were lifted, NSW quickly mopped up the TAS tail, with without doubt the ball of the day coming from Doug “Champers” Bollinger.
Krejza decided not to offer a shot to a vicious inswinger that cut back a mile in the air, which not only made an ugly mess of his off stump, but his middle stump as well!
With TAS in deep doggy do on the first innings, Katich had no other option but go for the jugular and enforce the follow on.
And then a most extraordinary thing happened.
Champers very first ball of the 2nd innings did some weird and crazy stuff, both off the pitch and in the air at pace, and Dighton had absolutely no idea – the ball just pegged him, neatly removing the leg stump!
TAS 1/0
Matthew “one test wonder” Nicholson then bowled a maiden.
Third ball of Champers second over he had Di Venuto offered a simple chance to the keeper, next ball trapped Marsh in front, missed the hat trick, and then with the last ball of the over, Bailey hit it straight to gully!
Three wickets in four balls – I’m pretty sure that that feat has its own section in the record books -- being the next best thing after the hat trick.
TAS 4/11.
Just a pity there were only 23 punters in the lower deck of the MA Noble Stand [yes, I counted them] to witness such a thing.
The man and his dog were out the back having a smoke at the time.
Never rated Bollinger as much more than a perfectly serviceable first class bowler in the past, but he appears to have found a yard of extra pace this season, and crikey! always been a fan of good, straight, fast bowling.
No one can argue with ten wickets in the match, and the number of scalps he’s already taken this season
Darren Goodger made his first class umpiring debut in this match, and I am here to tell you, the bloke rivals Porky Parker in his absolute hugeness!
If you lined up Porky and Gazza’s beer guts next to each other, there’d be nothing in it!
Left after tea, as the light began to fade considerably, when a sort of gloaming misty sea fog came in over the ground, pretty much from the direction of Kirribilli House.

PS the new Hill Stand is in a sorry state. The concrete for the concourse in front is finished, and they were putting in the seats. They will probably try to sell those for Jan 2. But as for the rest of it, I counted 16 steel fixers crawling all over one third of the first deck, the foundations appeared to have just been poured for the middle third, while the other third – well there‘s just nothing there! They will be very lucky to have the thing finished for the start to the new Sydney Swans season; more like in time for the last game.

no pumpkin sitting on his shoulders

Big hitters,

You have to feel sorry for the inform bats who are going around in first class cricket at the moment, given that none of them have a snowflakes chance in hell of breaking into the first XI this season, the way the top and middle order is traveling [admittedly, against a pop gun attack].
For blokes like Simon Katich [currently averaging 178], who is driven by fear and loathing, it must be particularly galling to know that you can go around the country and score big runs at will on all types of pitches against all types of bowling, and still your name won’t even get past the Blue Coat guarding the door at the meetings of the Chairman and the Three Wise Men.
Pomersbach [2nd in the averages] has managed to rule himself out, after finding himself “suspended indefinitely”, for some kind of mysterious encounter with the demon drink.

MJ Clarke’s 71 in Hobart was almost a cameo appearance.
Apart from smacking a bit of rubbish and a couple of cracking cut shots that sizzled through point, no one really noticed that he was even there until one bloke in the crowd turned to the bloke next to him and said ‘did you see that? Pup’s about to make a half ton”, and then the kiddie sheepishly raises his bat to the dressing room as he duly knocks up the 50.
But it does go to show that that’s no pumpkin sitting on his shoulders; he’s got a mature cricket brain for one of his tender age.
The whole purpose of the exercise was to push and nudge the ball around for singles square of the wicket on both sides in order to constantly turn over the strike to let the great MEK get on with the Serious Business of making a Big Test Match Hundred.
They did exactly what they did in Brisbane – carefully and methodically, not to mention ruthlessly, bat the opposition clean out the game, and for Pup the only self interest was pretty much just keeping the average tidy.
But he must have been disappointed with the way he got out; putting a glove on an absolute nothing ball, only to turn around in time to see the keeper take a screamer.
You have to admire Jacques stellar start to the resumption of his international career.
Just reward for all those endless days in all those endless seasons that is English County Cricket.
They are very hard yards to hoe indeed, and his colleagues don’t call him “Pro” for nothing.

Can’t let the moment pass without some comment on the disgracefully shabby hounding out of first class cricket of the great Boof.
The fools and jokers who purport to run the South Australian Cricket Association should hang their ugly heads in shame.
It’s them that should be run out town, not DS Lehmann.
Did not the SACA CEO comment that it was an “excellent time” for Boof to retire?
Talk about sinking the slipper, and then twisting the knife.
Boof will remember the name Deare.
And as for that chairman of SA selectors Nobes; if me and me mad Redbacks supporting mate had anything to do with it, he would be one of the first lined up against the wall and shot at dawn when the revolution comes.
The least of his many outrages was to install as captain a bloke who no one had ever heard of [the immensely talented Adcock] who averages about 20 in first class cricket batting at number five.
Crikey!
Boof retires with an outstanding first class average of 57.59.
Only god knows how many runs Boof scored for Yorkshire, but it must have been plenty, has he is one of the very very few non-natives to have been installed in the Yorkshire Hall of Fame.
One wonders if he will be accorded the same accolade by the utterly appalling administrators in Adelaide?
Surely now we can forgive Boof for his only major sin -- being Hookesy’s best mate.
Found his retirement media conference quite moving, with the old fella in tears for much of it.
It was all classically understated, but the oblique reference to Rod Marsh was in reality a good shot from the rocket propelled grenade launcher fired from the shoulder.
Let’s just hope it found its target.
At least the just reward for the SACA will be to preside over their team coming stone motherless last this season.
One of the most tawdry affairs witnessed in many a summer without doubt.
At least Boof can now take himself on a long fishing trip and start enjoying life again, but mark my words – he’ll be back – as the Chairman of the National Selection Panel in a couple of years time, where he can continue to be an ornament to the game.
Vale DS Lehmann.
Phew.
Glad to have that one off my chest.