ICC World Twenty20

So the ICC World Twenty20 comp has started. Just as well too, it has been far too long since the last Twenty20 competition. Other people have reviewed the tournament way better than I could, so I don’t really need to add anything. Plus, I really don’t have the energy.

I do, however, have the inside scoop on some of the odds being offered on the tournament.

The chance of England will suffer an ‘unexpected‘ loss to a minnow – against Ireland $2.50  – in the semi finals $75

Chance of Graeme Smith breaking a finger – $1.50

Chance of lil davy warner proving Darwin’s theory of Natural Selection $1.80

Chance of me getting out of bed at 3am to watch games $30

Chance of an Australian not saying “Aw look” during a prematch and/or postmatch interview $1.20

Chance of Pakistan feeding Shahid Afridi 7 large Hawaiian pizzas, 5 chicken kebabs, 19 litres of peppermint choc chip icecream, 23 granny smith apples, 12 raspberry lollipops and 8 footlong pepperoni subs before every match, just in case $2.30

Chance of Australia being knocked out in the first round $3.60

Chance of me caring about the tournament should Australia be knocked out in the first round $780

Chance of Dirty Dirk being absolutely awesome $1.01

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Filed under Tournaments I won't care about if Australia doesn't win

IPL – just not cricket?

In principle, it sounds amazing. Some of the world’s best cricketers, formers foes recast as team-mates, Indian stars of present, past and future, recently retired Aussie sloggers, all competing in Twenty20. The cricket of the 21st century. Rock and roll cricket. All excitement and cheerleaders and fireworks and wow! Then why the fuck does it bore the fuck out of me?

I love cricket, I really do. I like Twenty20, I’m not mad for it, but I got excited when Australia took on the Saffers last summer at the ‘G and lil davy warner exploded like a firecracker. Or an over-excited teenage boy. It was awesome, you had the ‘G, the most magnificent ground in all of world cricket. Yes, I’m Victorian. I’m not Shane Warne. Or Bill Lawry, but I sure as hell wish I was. Plus, it was a really hot night, and it although I watched it on TV, I could feel the electricity, the excitement, the pure, unadulterated awesomeness of the whole spectacle. Not even Jessica Maulboy could ruin the atmosphere.

Last year I watched I lot of the IPL. Every Rajasthan game at least. I have a massive crush on a Rajasthan player. It’s not Shane Warne. It seemed perfectly logical to sleep for a few hours after dinner, then get up, watch IPL and sleep for a little while before getting up at 5.40 for work. Or, if it was the late game, go to work straight after the conclusion of the match. Rajasthan sucked, but it was worth it. I think.

This year though, I just can’t bring myself to care. And it’s not because my crush has diminished. Is it overkill? The commentators? The time difference? DLF maximums? Or bloody Lalit Modi?

When I sit down and think about it, which I have done an alarming amount recently, considering I’ve just embarked on the most academically-challenging endeavour of my (albeit) short academic career, I think it’s because I’m just not that into Twenty20. Sure, the occasional game is good value. The only thing I enjoyed more than lil davy warner was AB de Villiers and Mark Boucher being Taited. And my number one ambition in life is to throw my undies at Dirty Dirk. Preferably with me still in them.

When I was a kid, we lived in the country, about a three hour drive from Melbourne, so we used to go to the third day of the Boxing Day test match (Day 1 was feral, and you couldn’t gamble on there being a Day 4, to say nothing of Day 5). Sometimes my Dad could be convinced to take us to a ODI. The best memory I have is of a Michael Bevan innings that was so epic, that I’ve retold so many times, like all the great stories of history the details have become slightly hazy. So, roughly, Australia were in an awful bind. It was a triangular series. I think NZ was involved. Must have been around 2001-2002. The details aren’t that important. We had played awful cricket and hadn’t qualified for the finals. It was the last game, dead rubber, nothing to play for. Australia had collapsed, awfully, the current team could only dream of such a collapse. Michael Bevan walks to the crease to face a task so insurmountable that it was beyond the realm of possibility that even Micheal Gwyl Bevan, the man who was born for such impossibilities could do anything to save face. Well, we had a long drive ahead of us, so we decided to leave early. As we left our seats and started the trudge up the aisle, MG Bevan hit a four. Dad thought we may as well watch until Bevan got out. So, we stood up the back, behind the people too cheap to spring for proper seats, and watched. And waited for Bevan to go out. Instead, we watched as the man who had triumphed time and time again picked the gaps, nurdled the ball for a single, turned the ones into twos and punished the bad balls to victory. When he hit the winning runs it was truly momentous. We knew we had witnessed something special. That one day a blogger would recount a hazy memory of this day in history. My point is, it remains one of my favourite victories, and I’ve seen some amazing Aussie victories in my day (I miss them terribly). It was a claw back from the brink of oblivion victory, and any sports fan will tell you they’re the ones you remember. That you cherish.

I think that’s why Twenty20, and in particular, the IPL leaves me feeling unsatisfied. There’s time for your team to fail miserably, to collapse and walk off the field humiliated and humbled. There just isn’t time for a fight back. Not a proper, gritty one. That’s why Steve Waugh never played Twenty20. Because his Stone Cold Stare of Stainless Steel wouldn’t be much use, and that, friends, is the true tragedy of Twenty20…

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Filed under Back in my day

Cricket confessions

Right, so the only cricket actually happening at the moment is the IPL, although in Australia it really happens when I’m asleep. So, to satiate my need for togetherness, love and general hand-holding… Cricket confessions! The goal of cricket confessions is clearly to make myself feel better about my own depths of obsession, so please add your own confessions. Please. It’s not just me, it can’t be.

So, my first cricket confession. One summer I taped every minute of Channel 9’s cricket coverage on VHS. Every minute. I co-ordinated the change of tapes well, so I didn’t miss anything. And I actually watched them. Perhaps not all of them, but moments. I watched McGrath dismissing Brian Lara to claim scalp number 300, then complete the hat trick hundreds of times. Almost. The worse thing is I know for a fact that all the tapes are still in a plastic tub in my parent’s shed.

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Filed under Cricket Confessions

Cricket is a game that owes much of its unique appeal to the fact that it should be played not only within its Laws but also within the Spirit of the Game

Yeah. We all love the Spirit of the Game.

I’ve considered jumping into the blogging game for ages now, but a combination of laziness, lack of time and post-Ashes depression have so far conspired to prevent me starting. Plus there’s the fact I’ve never written a blog before, I’m 99.94% certain no one will ever read it, and I just started a PhD. So, let’s just see how this goes.

I’m not sure what kind of blogger I am. If I had to describe my sense of humour I would probably say crass, obnoxious and expletive-ridden. I like giving humourous nicknames to cricketers and hacking cricketer’s email accounts. I have a secret, shameful love of the Saffers. I really love incriminating photos of cricketers, or failing that, doctoring photos to make them incriminating. I’m also a recently retired kiwi right-arm medium fast bowler. I really don’t think I have anything new to add.

Anyway. Now that I’ve established all that, me. Yes, it is richie as in Richie ‘the great man’ Benaud. When I was younger, I drove my family nuts every summer with my incredible cricket knowledge. They were so jealous. The standard response became “Thanks for that rich”, and seeing as how my family thought I had a slight tendency towards being a know-it-all, not just with things cricket-related, the response was pretty common. Now, saying I’m a bit of a know-it-all is like saying the Pope is a bit Catholic, so the nickname just stuck. I’m Australian. I’m a girl. 25. Scientist, doing a PhD. My cricket career is limited to receiving a Shane Warne Learn to Spin Ball for Christmas when I was a kid.

Anyway, I want to give my own Preamble on the Spirit of the Game. The first time the phrase impacted on me was after the 2005 Ashes. We’re all familiar with the image of the series.

The birth of the Spirit?

After this, everyone thought England regaining the Ashes was good for cricket, and that the game can be played in a gentlemanly and germane way. Cricket Australia drafted their own formal strategic plan. Sure, people may have liked us a little more. Personally, I don’t think they did. Or do. They still hate us, we’re still Australian.

But more importantly, the Australian players all got together and decided to play nicely. To adhere to the Spirit of the Game. And what was the result of this determination to be loved?

Little Andy had dreamt of this moment all of his life. He just wished he didn't have Monty Panesar to thank for it

So now everybody hates us and we don’t even have the Ashes to console us. So, with 237 days until the battle recommences, I say our priorities shouldn’t be ensuring balance in our bowling attack, buckets of runs from our batting, cunning with our captaincy or finesse with our fielding, but, rather, hardening the fuck up.

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Filed under Spirit of the Game