on the pickle juice

Screechers,

If ever there was a team that needed a couple of days in the Room Full of Mirrors down there on the Balmain Road, it was the mob who lost the unloseable game against the Chocolate Soldiers at the foot of the mountains Friday. last
The new Super Coach Madge Maguire would have got the lot of them to take a good hard look at themselves in every reflection available.
In a game that was always going to be a tight defensive affair, E.Marsters leaving his kicking boots home at Mum's was the last thing the Mighty Tiges needed.
Both sets for forwards meant business, and no one had come close to going over the line in the first 30 minutes until Balmain scored two superb unanswered tries, but Esan missed both conversions by a width of a cigarette paper.
Then to fluff and spray a potential match winning second-half penalty goal that was waved away by the touch judges left them very vulnerable indeed
If ever there's a cardinal sin in rugby league it's gotta be caught napping [nay, fast asleep] and letting in a very soft try in the corner in the final minute of the game.
Never mind that it was the Panthers only try of the game or that it was converted by the pest Nathan Cleary to level the damnable thing.
And so to extra time, which had the Stats Guru diving for the record sheets to reveal Balmain's horrific loss rate in sudden-death.
Oh no. The faithful were shaking their heads in dismay.
In the denouement, it was like a self-fulfilling prophesy, as not one, but two easy shots at field goal - either could have won the game for the Tiges - were sprayed wide.
By now, the true die-hards were holding their heads with their hands, screaming at their television sets.
Travelling tragics who'd got on the Balmain Member's Bus to the ground would have been going entirely apeshit having paroxysms.
And to rub salt into a raw wound, it was none other than that poncy Cleary, N., again, who potted the field goal to get the single point on offer, and the victory, as the Tiges lost ground, and the match.
There is nothing quite as bad as scoring more tries than your opponents, and still losing - by "a bloody point".
Joisus.
After all the trash talking that went on during the week....sadly it was Balmain who ended up with egg on their faces, when by rights they should have got the cigar.
That said, it was one of the best games in the caper seen this early in the season, and the signs look good, despite letting that one get away.
Josh Reynolds, who spent almost the entirety of last season in Sick Bay in stead of being the Great White Hope, had a corker.
The forwards, in their second season together, are the real deal and the Best Leb in the Game toiled away manfully at dummy-half all day.
The Great Robbie got on with it, knows the set plays like the back of his hand as usual, knows other clever ways too; thinking, thinking, all the time with that enormous football brain of his.
The Great Benji hurt his leg early in the second half and went straight off and got into his monogrammed fur-lined dressing gown draped on the bench and had a cup of tea, taking no further part in the game, as is his rightat his age.
Unavailable this week.
That hard-man Russell Packer had a great game too, ripping into them after he'd called out last year's Balmain coach Ivan Cleary for telling the team he was pissing off to Penrith, when he always said he didn't
really want to coach his son, when in reality that's all the dupe wanted to do. Two-faced arsehole is an expression that comes to mind.
As far as Packer was concerned, it wasn't on; the bloke could not just walk away like that and leave them in the lurch, and he told him so to his face after Cleary, I. had just delivered the news.
Unimpressed with the turncoat to say the least, and for the first time, Packer admitted that he had called Cleary Snr names.
The general rancour and crankiness got a good run in the Meeja as you'd expect - there was more chit-chat on the mobile telephones - and then it was see you at the game for some special treatment, boys.
Expect the worst. No prisoners taken.
It's all still very tribal in the small world that is rugby league.
Not that the Balmain Club Secretary is all that worried, given he squeezed $590K compo out of the Panthers for pinching Cleary, which now pays for more than the first year contract fee of the new man-in-charge.
What goes around, comes around.

PENRITH PANTHERS 9. Tries: Edwards. Goals: Cleary (2). Field Goals: Cleary (1).
WESTS TIGERS 8. Tries: Thompson, Matterson.
At Penrith Stadium.
Crowd: 14,002.
In extra time. Full time. 8-8.

It's pleasing to see Isaac Heeney the Cardiff Zucchini come on in leaps and bounds this season.
Always thought the kiddie was the goods - got all the skills - from the moment he strutted onto a senior football paddock as an 18 year old, after the Swans pulled a clever swifty to grab him in the 2014 draft for a song.
Injury apart, he's never been out of the team since. Now he's one of the first picked. And in this game would have easily picked up the three Brownlow votes.
A good New South Wales boy born and bred; initially he had "mid-fielder" written all over him, but SC Horse has wisely decided to push him a bit further forward with outstanding results.
He's one of those slow developers that Sydney are famous for, who would now be worth a poultice on the open market, and his footy smarts are only now coming to the fore as he pops up everywhere to put the ball on the end of a string.
Everyone knows the lad's ability to climb on bloke's backs and pull down mark-of-the-season screamers, but he also seems to have been on the pickle juice over the summer as he's bulked up considerably,after finding himself targeted and bashed from pillar to post.
It's just a pity the Zuke is now missing his fetching original "sea anemone" style hair-do, after getting a pretty ordinary barber to have a go at it last year.
Of course if he played for any good Melbourne club he'd be a household name in Victoria and would be pointed out in the streets, but here in the Emerald City he'd be lucky to get a second look.
Even if he was ever very vaguely recognized, someone might say to their friend "isn't he a musician?'
Keeping a low profile has always been inflicted on Sydney, and is now embraced as part of the renowned Sydney System.At lest it keeps the boys off the front page of the papers.
The team's more or less anonymous in their own town; the players are more well known in South Melbourne, even after 37 years harbourside.
The same can be said for one of my faves, the Papley Pearl, who's really found his niche as a classic rover taking full advantage of this year's rule changes.
Never mind that he's as tough as teak, has a great kick on him, and can pivot on a sixpence.
His classic one-two with Franklin tapping it down near the goal square and not even taking a step before his boot was on the ball punting the pill through the big sticks was poetry in motion.
Pappers comes from South Melbourne football royalty [he changed into his grandfather's No.11 last year] - he would always find a bed in those parts being the pretty boy that he is - and you have to suppose his habit of jibbering away constantly and slagging opponents and bagging umpires will stay with him, and he'll forvere be regarded by other teams as a serial pest who will just not shut up. It used to annoy me too, but so be it.
The dire predictions of the proverbial Eternal Pessimist residing in the Temple of Doom about another 0-6 start to the season has mercifully failed to materialise - as My Spy at the Ground was moved to comment "that's four Premiership Points in the dilly bag for a start off".
But the way ahead is hard and the road is long, what with The Goal Kicker from North Adelaide in Will Hayward having surgery on a busted jawbone, and old man Odd Head McVeigh doing himself a mischief.
Both will spend at least a month in Sick Bay, and the depth of the Swans roster will be sorely tested, not for the first and only time this season, you'd expect, with the new rules producing a harder than usual fast running game that old blokes will struggle with come the pointy end of the season.
Even if they had to work very hard for it, a win is a win is a win, and you'll take them any day of the week.

CARLTON: 5.4, 6.5, 8.9, 10.14 (74). Goals: E.Curnow 4, Cripps, Murphy, Walsh, McGovern, McKay, Fisher.
SYDNEY: 6.1, 9.5, 11.9, 14.9 (93). Goals: Heeney 4, Franklin 2, Hayward 2, Papley 2, Parker, Blakey, Kennedy, Sinclair.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 39,290.

Farah on Fire

True Believers,

It warms the cockles of the heart of an ancient Balmain die-hard to hear the Best Leb in The Game put in an outstanding man-of-the match performance to take the Mighty Tiges top after two rounds. Woot!

The Great Robbie Farah [above, last Sunday, aged 35] is at his best in years, throwing finely-weighted cut-out final passes - both of them pearlers - to nail two tries, and then burrows through from dummy-half to score himself; planting the ball under the black dot for some fruit for the sideboard. How is this possible? What is he on? What did he have for breakfast? Isn't he meant to be an old crock? Nah. The man is a freak. At his age his football brain isn't the size of a watermelon, it's a big as a blimp. All those footy smarts will beat the Yoof of Today every day of the week. And if that wasn't enough, The Great Benji Marshal's kicking game was on song - and it was singin' a happy toon - as the 34-year-old put on a couple of superbly judged kicks that caught the defence napping and were eagerly gobbled up some quick Balmain backs and taken over the try line, thank you very much. The Stats Guru was quick to point out that all this came after a very solid win over the Evil Silvertails, Manly-Warringah, in the pouring rain at the Spiritual Home, in the season pipe-opener. You can't get a more perfect start. Strike me lucky. "The Entertainers" are back.

The commentariat on the wireless [it was again necessary to hook the arial up on Dad's Shed for the winter, in order to tune in the live short-wave call properly all the way from the Campbelltown Sports Ground] were using a very old cliché along the lines of the Warriors being worried out of it. Yeah, right, but Balmain don't have to be asked twice if they want to sail through some pretty weak defence, while the Tiges forwards, as per tradition, took it up relentlessly and bashed the shit out of them all day, allowing their running backs to be the pretty boys that they are. That's hard.

The story of both immortals is insane by any measure anyway. Both players left for other clubs - Robbie being shamefully hounded out by a jerk of a coach and Benj in a terrible misunderstanding over money - for what they thought would be tidy career-end pensions. Then the heart strings began to tug, and all was forgiven, and they were warmly accepted back in the fold, after appearing to be all washed up and struggling to get first grade games elsewhere. And how could they not be, after long ago being installed in the Balmain Pantheon, having played 491 games for the Tiges between them? This year marks the 14th anniversary of the Miracle Year of 2005 - when the Balmain last won the Premiership - and both Robbie and Benji played in that glorious Grand Final, for gawd's sake. There is no point following a football team if you don't believe there's always a chance of a triumphant return to the Glory Days. You have to have faith. Never mind if you are getting way ahead of yourself this early in the season. You already know how to handle years and years of bitter disappointment.
https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7910878659038594883#editor/target=post;postID=8589833171491767288;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=0;src=link
Surely the new Boss Cocky in Supercoach Michael Maguire - inexplicably known to his mates as "Madge" - has had something to do with it, bringing in some nice set plays with his repertoire. At long last, SC Madge is a Balmain coach who's actually got winning form; eight years ago he coached the Wigan Warriors to the Challenge Cup, if you don't mind. He was bought back from the Dark Satanic Mills by South Sydney for a reason, with the Rabbitoh's winning the 2014 Premiership under his tutelage. A coach who's been around the block a time or two and knows his onions. It's a fairytale; a Promoter's Dream. The Club Secretary would be rubbing his hands in the glee as the Tiges' fair weather fans begin flocking back through the turnstiles.

There's even more rumours that the famous Balmain Leagues Club down on the Victoria Road there in Rozelle will rise Phoenix-like from the ashes, after being so shamefully abandoned to wrack and ruin in 2010, with all the windows now smashed, graffiti everywhere and the interiors long gone. So, you'd hope against hope that you'd live to see the day when there's somewhere to go again for a drink after the game at Leichhardt Oval in Lilyfield. Just like back in the day. That prospect alone is enough to make the most ardent fan mist over.

WESTS TIGERS 34. Tries: Thompson (2), Jennings, Fonua, Farah, Chee-Kam. Goals: Marsters (5).
NEW ZEALAND WARRIORS 6. Tries: Maumalo. Goal: Keighran (1).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd: 9,981.

Seen at Penrith 28 June 2007

On departing the AFL heartland after the F1 GP, picked up a copy of the Sunday Age at Tullamarine, and of course with the football season starting the following weekend, there was the usual double page centre-spread detailing the pro's and con's of your side's chances in 2019, written by the rag's chief Football Guru. Eventually got down to the entry for the Sydney Swans and was shocked and dismayed to find this so-called expert's predicted ladder position at 10th. A random poll of the paper's back-page readers forecast that the Red & the White would finish 11th. WTF? Are these people naturally biased against the Emerald City? No, it seems, they're just pragmatists. If the opening round is any portent of the future, My Spy at The Ground reported the general consensus of opinion is that the Swans superstars look too old and too slow. Being held to a single goal at half time by those damnable Bulldogs gives you some idea.

This year's changes to the rules aren't kind to blokes who are getting on either, and playing catch-up football is more impossible that usual. With the new rules requiring there to be a full-forward and a full-back the goal square at the time of every centre bounce [they are even talking about enlarging the goal square], a half-way decent set play would be a clean tap to a rover with a good boot on him - say, the Papley Pearl - who then jinks, takes two or three steps and punts the pill high wide and handsome 50 yards into the arms of a strong running lead. It would be a crying shame to see Buddy left behind. A few of the veterans who are north of, or nudging, 30 are clearly two or three yards off the pace, and are prone to getting sacked cold. The Bamfords are not afraid of awarding holding the ball frees. The Blakey kiddie looks the goods as a teen, but who else is there? Clarke seems to be a common or garden journeyman and how many tall forwards do you really need if yr being beaten for the ball on the ground? The Ronke can't even get a game at the minute.

By all reports, the Bush Telegraph is alive with the hashtag #longseason. And by the look of him in the box, SC Horse may come to rue the day he decided to hang on a year too long, and go out with his perfect record of making the finals in eight consecutive years, in tatters. Only time will tell. But after this long, Longmire has certainly pulled all the tufts of hair out of his bonce.

So, in the league caper you've got old blokes out-foxing and out-muscling inexperienced youngsters still coming to terms with the complexity of the game, while in the Rules it's fading hard bastards having rings run around them by some finely tuned atheltes who are essentially still children. Go figure.

WESTERN BULLDOGS 4.5, 6.8, 9.14, 11.16 (82). Goals: Naughton 3, Gowers 2, Lloyd 2, Richards, Duryea, Schache, Bontempelli.
SYDNEY 1.2, 1.5, 5.6, 9.11 (65). Goals: Reid 2, Heeney 2, Blakey, Hayward, Mills, Papley, Franklin.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 32,303.

an unsolvable mistake

[England players walk to the pavilion after losing the second Test and the series to West Indies. Photo: Ricardo Mazalán/AP]


Rejoicers,

What a time to be alive. Straya at long last winning at the cricket, runtering a cracking Sri Lankan side 2-zip while at the same time the Poms were being whip-sawed, eviscerated and torn to pieces by the West Indies, and nobody's even talking about a renaissance of the mighty Windies teams of yore. On that form, looks like that Stoopid Little Urn will be winging its way back to the Wide Brown Land later this year. At a minimum, it's a change from being disappointed, and that's all that matters. Never mind that two of the front line bowlers in Starkers and Bowling Garry are now approaching or beyond the age of 30, and the stocks of genuine test match players in the lower order being at a premium at the present minute. Minor issues. Trust in Alfie to sort that by the time the Ashes roll around. Good luck with that, son.

Starkers looked a bit flaky all season, for mine, and then took a double Michelle Pfeiffer for a TenFa in the second game to regain his national hero status, and Uzzie was out of sorts for most of the summer looking like his mind was elsewhere [and ending up saying on interview after the series that the sins of the brother had indeed been messing with his head]. Khawaja, just in time to save his bacon, then got out of jail with a crisp second innings hundred at the denouement, featuring some smart smacking of the rubbish and the best cover driving of the season. My Spy at The Ground remarked that the TM Head century - a long time coming - was the first instance of a South Australian tonking up a ton since Jason "#dizzy201" Gillespie's double hundred against one of the greatest ever Bangladesh sides thirteen years ago. No doubt they'll be casting the bronze as we speak for Travis's bust to be erected at the gates of the South Gawler Cricket Club.

The poor ol' Ceylonese had jolly bad luck being forced to play their 2nd pick bowlers in the second test, after an outright laughable Pink Stink at the Gabba that was all over in 2 and ⅔ days. No matter how hard they try, the good stitcher-upperers at Kookaburra still can't prevent that damnable pinkie from doing some crazy batshit stuff at night - the batsmen, let alone the spectators, can't even see the thing as the bowlers rub their hands in glee. And a new tactical issue comes into play here, as you want to do a lot of swing bowling and as little batting as possible under lights. They've already rooterised 'tradition' to buggery, so why not play with a red pill during the day and switch to a used white nut in the twilight? You know it makes sense, otherwise why not just abandon the Pink Stink altogether as an unsolvable mistake.

It was pleasing to see Manuka Oval reach the dizzying heights of a new Test cricket venue. Been there for a couple of AFL matches in the past, and even attended a Prime Minister's X! match in a bygone era [and got to shake the hand of RJL Hawke] when someone said to me "did you know the dimensions of the playing arena here are an exact replica of the MCG?" Cant argue with that. Wide open spaces. It's a real cricket ground with a lovely park-like feel to it - a hill, terraces, plenty of shady plane trees and low-slung stands. And of course the old re-cycled MCG steam-punk scoreboard that's got all the bells and whistles, that unlike modern videoboards, tells the tale of the tape at a single glace. What's the score, Jimmy? is a question never asked in Canberra..

The most baffling thing about the high summer test series against Ceylon, was the need of the Powers That Be to again appoint, not one, but two vice captains after the previous Vice's, MR Marsh got himself dropped and JR Hazelwood did himself a mischief. What next, Fawlty? Are they going to go the whole hog and bring in Captaincy by Committee, Pommy style? Not a great move. Engerland in the not too distant past has featured a Captain and two former Captains in the same side all jibbering at each other all day, so there's never been any shortage of Vice's in the Heart of the Empire, and a fat lot of good it's done them. The Australian Vice-Captaincy has always been a poisoned chalice, and while no-one's got anything against Jobsy or Cummo, who says you need two to carry it? The Stats Guru went down some dark wormholes and dusted off some really old li'l history books only to find no trace of another time that Straya has had two deputy dogs. In fact, there is no extant comprehensive list at all of Australian Vice-Captain's through the years. Just Google It. All anyone knows is that the Vice-Captaincy has never been a reliable pathway to the top, because there's no terrific need for one, let alone two. The never-defined role of the Vice-Captain...forget "leadership groups"... does not rate a single mention in the Laws of Cricket, insofar as there must be a Captain of the fielding side on the field at all times. But that's it As far as the Laws go, that can be any old Tom Dick or Harry, just as long as there is a Captain, Acting, or otherwise, it doesn't matter. On interview before the series, Head and Cummins were asked who would Captain in the event of Paine being forced to leave the field and who would keep wickets? Both gave themselves a puzzled look and professed to having absolutely no idea at all. None. When Smiffy comes back for the Ashes as he inevitably will, he's still banned from holding "leadership positions" for a further two years, by which time he'll be getting on a bit. So he can't even be Vice Captain, let alone be seen to be advising the skipper. Leaders of men are born, not made, so what would Pup do?

saved by gloom

[Australia's next Great White Hope. Will Pucowski, 20, on scoring his first first-class century. Photo/AAP.]

Aghastee's,

Breaking news! Shock! Horror! Marsh Bros. dropped! The bemused nation cries as one: "about bloody time!" Off they go. To the wilderness. When the Chairmen of the Three Wise Men, TV Hohns, says of the Marshes "the door is certainly not closed" it's code for the thing being well and truly slammed shut, and out the back door you go without so much as a sausage. The Stats Guru has been complaining long and loud about their continued presence in the team. We know that. But he was quick with the abacus to prove his point. SE Marsh has washed up with 38 matches under his Baggy at a very poor batting average of 34.41, while the "all-rounder" MR Marsh has a worse average at 25.39, while his bowling was all but useless, taking a grand total of 35 wickets in 31 games conceding 44 runs per wicket. The only question now is who is going to get the compromising photographs of the selectors that the Marsh Bros. were given by Shane "Figjam" Watson? Who, by the way, still holds the world's record for the most number of times out in the 40's and 90's. Australia hasn't had a genuine all-rounder since Keith Miller. And they sure could use Smiffy at No.3, just quietly.

The new face of the batting lineup, Will Pucovski is an interesting sort of character; the Good Lady Wife says he'll be popular with the Ladies, he suffered a nervous breakdown while scoring 243 for Vic v WA in the Shield, then took a break to deal with his demons, and he's also had a habit of being donged on the bonce by fast bowling too many times and being ruled out with concussion on more than one occasion. He's now reportedly been heavily reminded of the No.1 coaching tip for young batsmen..."watch the ball". And "Pucks" is not yet 21. Good luck to the kid, he'll need it.

You'll remember Perth as a low, slow [match average run-rate? 2.69] quirky aberration in the uncharted territory of a new ground where the curator could do little more than put the pitch out of its misery with the heavy roller, while the Boxing Day Test was just plain baffling. Only two wickets had fallen by lunch on the second grinding day, then 15 bit the dust on the third. My Spy at The Ground shot through a telegraph message at stumps that day in Melbourne "Can someone please tell me WTF happened today?" Nup.

Did note that during the Sydney test, MJ Clarke said on Indian television that Cheteshwar Pujara reminded him of Brian Lara and Sachin Tendulkar. Hello? Has the great man gone mad? Has he been looking at an entirely different player than me? What kind of drugs are you on Pup? What ever they are - don't want them. Or is he just pandering to his teeming legions of newfound TV fans? More likely. Mr Grand Poobah Sir is not even remotely in the same league as those two legends of the game, not by a very long shot - you never hear anything about his style & grace at the crease, because he's got none. He's known as the New Wall for a reason - in reference to his predecessor Rahul "The Wall" Dravid. Ian Chappelli was quoted as saying after Pujabs had tonked up his big ton in Sydney, "he is the best blunter of any bowling attack in the world today". Chetters is just about the most mind-numbing player to watch, and he encapsulated his view of the game on interview after his SCG hundred saying "my job is to score runs, and that's all that matters to me". If only DJ Trump! knew about the New Wall as a cost effective solution to his current difficulties. Purajra could stand on the Mexican border with bat in hand, and there would be no way in the world he'd let any Mexicans, let alone Chinamen, through his defences, he'd just flick 'em all away to the leg side and roll 'em over the boundary.

A personal note of contrition here; all good intentions and genuine attempts to see Test cricket at HQ this year were yet again thwarted at every turn.

The fifth day of the game dawned bleak here in Sydney's Armpit and stayed that way all day. There was a wash of an all pervading grey, as a low cloud cover hung over the megalopolis, and first thing the GLW said to me was "mmm...the light's not looking good". A summer sea fog had drifted in from the coast, meeting moist air rolling off the mountains, and the really bloody annoying result was a fine 'mizzle' - the air misty and the ground damp - but it's not actually raining. Not much cricket had been played anyway since a memorable third day [weatherwise, only], as Straya's batting collapsed in the extreme 38 degree heat...then a swarm of small powerful thunderstorms swept over town, the mercury dropped 15 degrees as a Southerly Buster blew thru', and some parts got two inches in the rain gauge. Prior to that, the care factor in watching the most boring batsman in the known world poke and scratch around for the first two days was less than zero, plus the ground would have been swarming with flies it was so fookin' hot. Call me weak if you like, a "fair-weather fan" [like all Sydneysiders], but that was that.

Called off after tea on "moving day" with India's 600+ on a belter a no shit winning score as thunderbolts and lightning very very frightening boomed and flashed all over the Emerald City as if we were in the wet season tropics. Hardly any play was possible on the fourth day due in most part to the poor light, and not a ball was bowed on the mizzly fifth. A "weather-ruined" test match as far as the Swami Army goes - they wuz dead-set robbed blind of certain victory in the dead rubber - but they went absolutely apeshit on Royal Antler anyway, in the knowledge that the coveted Border-Gavaskar Trophy was already in the dilly bag at 2-1; the first time these Indian gentlemen [with the notable exception of their Captain Kunting King Kohli, to whom the honorific does not apply] had ever won a series, ever, in the Wide Brown Land in 70 odd years of trying. And in the final paralysis, all it took to do it was the suspension of the Strayan top order.

As for the Australian "B" side, well, after being asked to follow on for the first time in Sydney in 31 years, they were miraculously saved by gloom. Nuff said.

An unsatisfactory end to an unsatisfactory start to the first double-header test season in yonks. Simply can't remember the last time a Test match was scheduled for the third day to be played on Australia Day [not in Adelaide tho', that "tradition" is so long gone now it might as well be back in the Dark Ages], let alone a Test in February. Cripes! Who knows what The Lankan Filling Station will dish up at the Gabba and at Manuka? In the current climate of doom, only The Shadow knows.

on the back foot

Time wasters,

What a crappy little Test match in Adelaide to start off the summer - a dead-as-a-doornail drop in pitch, shocking over rates, extremely poor run-rates, and the standard of umpiring was simply appalling. Any other complaints or excuses? OK, it was tough on the first two days. 38+ degrees? Meh. Good beer drinking weather to be sure, but try playing for five days in Madras. Just ask Deano, he'll tell you. At least it went the full five days, unlike recent Pink Stink's in Adelaide, that were lucky to make three.

The new owners of the game - Channel Seven - were desperately trying to stave off the boredom and slumping ratings with the commentaors constantly saying "isn't this great...a return to the much loved good old days of Test cricket".

My arse. Wot? Go back to the days of say, Geoffrey Boycott and chums, who were about as exciting to watch as the grass growing around their feet. People forget that back in the days of eight-ball overs, the over-rates were very good, and the run-rate was quick. The Donald [as in Bradman], for instance, never ever "ground out" an innings in his life. Never mind the alleged artistry of his stroke-play, Bradman was so popular simply because he scored his runs so quickly [and rarely got out], compared to the average Joe Blow.

The Stats Guru was quick to point out that the unsung hero for India was R Ashwin, who bowled an astonishing 86.5 overs for the match, took six wickets, but most importantly, conceded well under two runs an over. Tied them up in knots, he did, which wasn't that hard on that deck. In the view of the man with the abacus, he should have been man-of-the-match...Mr Poojah's 246 ball century didn't cut the mustard in the grand scheme of things.

In the entire match, the run-rate never came even close to three runs an over in any of the four innings. The punching power of Burbs and Smiffy are long gone, and India are more than happy to go into the trenches and battle out a game of attrition. Straya's problem is they fell into the trap of playing the game the way the opposition wanted them to play. At no stage did they even remotely look like taking control of proceedings. Constantly on the back foot, so to speak, with an inexperienced Captain, who at various crucial points in the field, looked fairly clueless.

In the final paralysis, the 15 run first innings led was priceless, as is a 1-0 lead in a four match series. Straya now have to win a minimum of two of the next three games to reclaim the much esteemed Border-Gavaskar Trophy, which one random punter of sub-continental extraction tried to explain to a TV camera outside the ground "is much bigger than the Ashes these days, you know". Gawd...if England were playing, Adelaide Oval would have been as full as a boot on, they would have been hanging from the fig trees for all five days, rather than less than half full.

That useless Pommy Bamford NJ Llong had an absolute shocker - got no idea how many of his decisions were overturned by DRS - but these days Umpires, it seems, couldn't care less. In this day and age of hyper-surveillance, if they get it wrong, it will always be righted by God Television. The fundamental age-old concept of "The Man in White is Always Right" has now been totally undermined, even though they forget that the camera always lies. And as one of my Spies at The Ground astutely observed, the Bamfords have completely given up on looking at the bowler's footfall - stacks of no-balls were bowled, and went undetected. Now that's cheating, plain and simple. Again, the Stats Guru backed this up...of the 66 sundries entered in the scorebook, only five were no-balls. Five in five days. And they must have over-stepped by a country mile.

In this new age of Straya playing all gentlemanly-like, y'know, not too soft, not too hard, there was still plenty of chit-chat, and of course that Viral Rat Kohli just cannot help himself, once again proving to be beyond doubt the worst kind of serial pest. The freak should have been fined at least 25% of his match fee, for mine, just for being goose.

Kohli's gobful of a send-off for Finch when he was cleaned up by Sharma on the second day was an utter disgrace. Strayan coach Alfie Langer was quoted as saying his charges would've been called “the worst blokes” if they indulged in that kind of nonsense. Don't you hate it when there's one rule for some, and another for others? What a sqwarking dickhead, who did nothing with the bat, Kohli was constantly chirping away at Paine and getting in his face when he was at the crease, and the Indian skipper instructed Pant to get right up our Token Muzzie's nose from behind the wicket, reportedly saying to Uzzie "Not everyone is Pujara out here, mate." That's a very cheap shot, if ever there was one. Lucky that kind of stuff rolls off Khawaja's back...he's heard it all before.

So, what would Pup do?

At least Straya proved that they are competitive [the losing margin was about right], if timid. Nothing wrong with the bowling attack, they are much better than India in Strayan conditions, but Lord Crikey the batting is a worry. You might as well set fire to 1-6 in the batting order and start again. But of course that'd be the last thing the Chairman of Selectors and the Three Wise men will do. All they'll most likely do is drop the HandyComb and reinstate the Vice-Captain so Marsh Jnr and Marsh Jnr Jnr can play in front of their home crowd at a brand spanking new stadium. Haven't gone through the arduous task of checking all the latest Sheffield Shield scores - but on the word of others who have - no-one is crying out "pick me! pick me!"

Sheesh...the way it's going, it's gonna be a long and lazy summer, with plenty of chances to take a nap between lunch and tea.

too soft

Cut-throat Thugee's,

Everybody knows the Super Kat has been wanting to strangle Pup, again, for the last nine years, but it takes MJ Clarke to say the "S" word on commercial radio to get on the news these days, now he's a gentleman of leisure on account of he's "one of the most polarising figures to have worn the baggy green in recent times". [Never mind that Pup will actually be calling the upcoming Test matches for Star TV from a studio in Mumbai, while he's enjoying the cocktail circuit and shagging "mystery blondes" in his spare time. "Sorry Kyls, won't be home for Xmas"].

The quote at issue being "we're not going to win shit".

He's right of course, and you have to concede, the man does have a point. No-one wants to win a turd.

Now that "winning at all costs" has been strictly forbidden by the Powers That Be under a thing called the Player's Pact, with recommendations to the MCC that new Laws be introduced designed to limit sledging, and umpires be issued with yellow cards, and such like, plainly, the good old days have gone away. Testosterone-fuelled aggression has been banned outright. Condemned well and truly to the lil' history books. Now that you can't call a ninny a ninny, some of the great sledges of yore will be consigned to the musty shelves of the Lord's Library under the Dewey number for "pearls of wisdom". Do they have a collection of tampered balls in the Lord's Museum, along with other illegally altered equipment, like Dennis Lillee's aluminum bat or Javed Miandad's cast iron floppy hat?

No more is Straya permitted to grind Poms into the dust for days on end - which used to be one of the finest sights in world sport. Banned. No more finely sandpapering the Seth Efreaken's until you have an lovely effigy of a kaffir-kicking Boer. Illegal. No more calling a spade a spade in the West Indies. Not kosher. No more sticking it right up those bloody Indians, because, let's face it, the Indians don't like it up 'em. Don't like it at all. The Paki's have always been the Paki's, who were unsurpassed in days gone by for their deviousness and sharp practice. Straya never plays New Zealand or Sri Lanka or Bangladesh or Zimbabwe or Afghanistan or the Netherlands, so they can go suit themselves. But now, the Strayan players just have to put up with it all. Never mind your mother's sexual history being called into question, if some-cunt calls you a-weak-cunt - then what? You're now expected to cop it on the chin? Turn the other cheek according to the gospel of Matthew, Holy Jesus style?

When did the "rot" set in, before or after the greatest batsman of his generation resigned the Captaincy? That's a concept up for debate. But Clarkey quite certainly wasn't involved in any ghastly ball tampering this year, so he is entitled to take umbrage, and forget the inconvenient truth that Strayan teams on his watch were rather famous, by and large, for being loud-mouthed hard bastards with a penchant for night-club violence. He reminded folks that they do tend to forget how he let his bat do the talkin', and the worst he got down to was threatening "to rip the bloody arms off" some completely insufferable Pom. But by Michael's reasoning, with victory by any means now outlawed, the Strayans will have to play for the honourable draw for the time being, and with the First Test just six days away in Adelbrain, it's well worth backing at $4.50.

The Super Kat jibe was water off Clarkey's back; as Simon says himself, their relationship amounts to "less than zero" - but then Gerard Whateley, who's well known among the ABC cardigans for selling his soul to the devil, had to wade in to say that Pup had "missed the point". The point being that winning a turd isn't the point as the authorities have unilaterally declared that it's all changed and different now, with atonement, redemption, deference and respect making a comeback to a more mythical gentlemanly time. The so-called Spirit of the Game must be invoked at all times. There wasn't much deference or respect in Bodyline, was there? Same as it ever was. Pup couldn't let that pass and blew his top. And the former Captain also couldn't resist calling the radio caller names, describing Whateley as a "headline-chasing coward" and inviting him to take his coat off and meet him outside.

Warnie and Vaughnie are in Pup's corner, and even Haydos reckons you don't play Test cricket to get a Masters Degree in being a "good bloke". Just ask that Viral Rat Kohli, he'll tell you, because he is not a good bloke, and will take every opportunity to get under the Strayan's skin now that winning for them isn't everything anymore. Conducting yourself with the utmost decorum is far more important. The Strayans are now required to take even the lowest of low provocations, at which the Indians are specialists, in their stride. Be prepared for some surprises. Endless niggling with any comeback now strictly verboten can get to a bloke. Just ask Smiffy. Kohli is solely responsible for doing SPD Smith's head in in Poona, leading directly to many moments of madness. Pup had nothing to do with that.

Perhaps it's best to leave the last word to the newly crowned Strayan coach Alfie Langer, who told the press "I don't know what you people want. We were too aggressive and probably stepped over the line, and now we're being called too soft."

Glad the coach knows what's going on. No-one else does.

a heavily redacted document

Whingers,

Can some one please tell me just what-the-fuck is going on? Nothing else.

Cricket Australia chairman David Peever was quietly 're-elected' for another three years on the cocktail circuit as Chairman of the Board last week, just before he's savaged [by implication] as an "arrogant" sponger and "dictatorial" bully by his own 'Ethics Review'.

Yesterday, I got a thoughtful e-mail from the card-carrying-cunts at CA entitled "An Open Letter to you, our Australian Cricket Family", claiming that Good Ol' Peevsy had come up with an "honest and heartfelt response to the current state of play", and what a heartfelt bit of spun-up total poppycock it is. You can read the whole miserable, sniveling thing here.

Take this line just as a for instance..."While at times difficult to read and in some instances, difficult to agree with what has been implied – CA respects the findings of the review and what needs to be done to restore faith and prompt change."

Code for, righto, we'll sweep this one under the carpet while we continue to get on with the very serious business of dudding the Australian Cricket Family, not to mention the actual players - who are now expected to conduct themselves as complete and utter gentlemen without reproach on and off the field who cannot under any circumstances whatsoever 'win at all costs'. Here's an idea. Why not have a send off rule for the foul of mouth and the doers of evil? Brilliant! That'll solve everything. Great thinking 99.

The poor, poor umpires.

Boof took the teary fall and promptly disappeared off the face of the planet, Smiffy dropped a lazy 5-10 mill, Burbs Warner remain a bit touchy, can't take a sledge in a grade game and storms off the ground, Sutherland outlived his usefulness and was put out to a very lush pasture, while that crook Peever is fully immune to anything approaching "prompt change", along with his long-standing partners in crime such as Roberts, Howard, Hohns etc etc etc et al...

You have to love the fact that the public exhibition of the 'Ethics Review' report is actually a heavily redacted document, and everybody knows the only reason documents are redacted with a crude black texta is to protect the guilty.

There would be journo's out there as we speak busily working with their alchemists to remove the blank outs, and NAME NAMES in the papers. You can bet the house on that. Until that happens, nothing, absolutely nothing, will change.

Here's one of my favourites from the 'Ethics Review's 147 pages of mumbo-jumbo...

For the long-suffering Strayan cricket fan, what a time to be alive.