Boxing day blues

I spent most of Boxing Day telling myself it was the best day of the year and the only day I felt completely comfortable doing nothing until about 5 pm when all the nothing flipped over into nihilism and self-loathing. I could only raise myself from the couch to lower myself into a bath, where I spent most of the rest of the evening. Nihilism, mmm. People say the spirituality has gone out of Christmas but I think it still packs a fair existential punch, especially with the kicker of New Year.

The cricket. Last Tuesday I looked up from the articles about Joe Burns and said: "Ed Cowan must be spewing." In a brainy, urbane sort of way, of course. On reflection, however, it is probably Chris Rogers that Ed would see as occupying his crease: the brainy mature opener in a balancing act with Warner. 

Joe Burns gives me two birds in one: he looks a bit like Ashton Agar and needs to mind his hair. Take away my lookalikes and hair talk and there's not much left to this blog.

Grumpy old men, verse 54
Jim Maxwell, Terry Alderman and Geoff Lawson have had a grand old time this series getting worked up about people who walk across sight screens. Terry threw down quite a gauntlet to Ticketek by saying tickets should not be sold in those areas to people who are not knowledgeable about cricket. Perhaps it could work like the Australian citizenship test. Never mind that these people are often ground staff. Jim was plunged into cognitive dissonance at one point when the problem turned out to be a stray beach ball, he had to reconcile his irritation at sight-screen interference with his competing irritation at overbearing crowd control policies regarding such things as beach balls. He actually showed a little forbearance.

Geoff Lawson had an unexpected spray at Quentin Hull for calling Steve Smith a "stand-in captain". The qualification "stand-in" makes him livid, Steve Smith is captain full stop. Okay, Geoff, but are you saying Steve Smith would not step down if Michael Clarke came back? So how would you distinguish someone in that position from other captains? Meanwhile Quentin Hull dealt with the stand-in-or not-stand in by finding a wrinkle in the time continuum: "You think you're getting a glimpse into the future but maybe it's just now come a little earlier than expected".

As I write Henry is making me uncomfortable by talking about "wear areas" on cricketer's boxes.

Wealthy entities being dickheads just because they can:
- The Nine network not not coughing up for HD bandwidth on Channel 9 (though it somehow manages for GEM). Would it have happened on Kerry Packer's watch?
- Cricket Australia randomly cutting off my free family radio streaming to show me an ad for paid streaming (why would I be interested?) or switching over to Channel 9 commentary.

Ads
- McDonalds appears to be advertising a new ice cream by graphically depicting what it will look like smashed and melting.
- NSW transport appears to be trying to encourage people to have a "Plan B" instead of driving home after drinking by making every possible "Plan B" look as unattractive and unlikely as possible.
- I will never not hate the Bunnings ads.

Judi, Judi, Judi!

The new Australian cricket captain received a blazer on the field, but the full secret CA regalia is more elaborate.

1. The headline on the back page of the Herald today was "Stick with Smith", which I believe could be called "backhand support". Dame Judi has always and ever had the full support of this household. I have not always been able to get behind his hair styling, but even that seems to have grown up in the last few weeks. It was probably his hair that had him once touted as the new Warnie (that was back when we still said that, before the long slow descent to earth).

2. Based on day 1, it turns out there is such a thing as a "bowling collapse". I don't understand how Brisbane can be more oppressive than Sharjah but the evidence is there. I'm glad they've picked themselves up. 

3.

Who would you have said this poor-res photo is of? It was in the TV section today and my first thought was "What is Arnold Schwarnegger doing with Sydney Thunder*? How did I not hear anything about this?" but it turns out it is Nathan Hauritz. That's not an association I ever thought I'd make. It's a long way from Charleston girl. Anyway, I'm glad he's baaack.

* Truthfully, I wondered what Arnie was doing with the Melbourne Stars, because I assumed the photo would be of someone involved in the game being previewed and that's the green team playing tonight. This on top of the resolution confirms the impression that someone simply threw an image at this article at the last minute. "Quick! Green! Cricketer! Hang on, is this Arnie? Hauritz. Okay."

4. More on non-lookalikes. It's not a pre-Christmas cricket match without bad memorabilia and here's a sample from yesterday:

a) Warnie. Doesn't look like that. Shouldn't look like Jeff Thompson. The below seems to tell part of the story, but also suggests further Frankenstein shenanigans, to the point where one wonders if it's more about photo rights than flattery.

b) Sachin. Doesn't deserve this. Shouldn't be wearing clown pants. This is obviously nothing to do with flattery, I thought his bum was back to front. But what is it then?

Olympique Lyonnais

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Well, God bless Nathan Lyon. I felt for him. He got 5 wickets in the first innings and then the collective goldfish did a circuit of the bowl, fixed him with a googly stare and said: “Who are you? Remind me again why you're here?” Then the collective elephant whispered: “If you don’t win this for us you will will mess up the whole 'we're doing it for Phil/he's doing it for us' thing. You will have dishonoured the memory of Phillip Hughes and all we have achieved in this game in his name. No pressure.”

Nathan has done the responsible thing, hair-wise, severing all connections with the past. Warnie however has made me a liar and reintroduced his hair to bleaching agents somewhere between Macksville and Adelaide. I can hardly complain at the return to sanity, though I was sort of looking forward to some on-going flabbergastion.

Poor Virat Kohli. 

Back in 2001 on a proto-Batsy website I suggested that if we were teaching human emotions through cricket, V.V.S. Laxman was an object lesson in Dismay when he was caught out in Kolkata. I don’t remember now how Laxman looked, but I suspect it was something like Kohli, who was a veritable powerpoint presentation in Distraught with an edge of Nausea. 

For a team who famously reject the DRS, India sure get a lot of dud decisions. They can only resort to the ancient and totally ineffectual technology of the Stare. To be fair they are very good at it.

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Test 1, Day 1, Adelaide

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Well, God bless Davey Warner. I have described him as an emotional counterpoint to Phillip Hughes and boy was he that today. Pure sunshine, always a joy when he’s... I’ve been sifting through the descriptors. ‘In form’ is stepping too far back, ‘on song’ seems like something you build up to, they don’t work for Warner’s immediacy. He’s easy and explosive, soothing and entertaining, today every boundary cleared some of the cloud, a salve to the collective wound.

On Grandstand, Rahul Dravid talked about the ego adjustment he had to make when batting with Virender Sehwag, because the crowd would cheer the singles that brought his partner back on strike. Rogers has always seemed happy to fade into the background when Warner is... being Warner, though perhaps not quite so far back as the pavilion. But despite the ‘meh’ of his 9 and Watson’s 14, and even with one batsman retired hurt, 2 for 258 looked refreshingly respectable given our long track record of crumply starts. Not the best finish to the day, but still.

I forgot about “oooh” when considering the possible responses to the first bouncer. I thought the general not knowing what would happen would translate into a general not knowing what to do and mean not doing anything at all, a strangled silence. But it was “oooh” and a clap. Is that what we always used to do anyway? I can’t remember.

Warney thinks that with the diversion and seriousness of recent events I will either not notice or not mention his new brown hair. He severely underestimates me. I see you, Shane Keith Warne. I have seen and wondered at a great number of your hairstyles, but this one confounds me like no other. It is mystifying enough when a brunette man makes this move, a hair’s breadth away from the comb-over in its charm. But when your story is that you are a blond, why wouldn’t you stick to it and let it carry you into or over the greys? With the immense resources at his disposal, the greatest of which is the aforementioned track record as a blond, this just feels so low rent. Maybe he was bored.

I’d like to formally request an easing up on the Phillip Hughes video montages. They make me teary against my will and leave me feeling a bit... used. Hands off my heartstrings, please, I can take them from here.

Phillip Hughes

It’s been hard for a bunch of reasons to get something down about Phillip Hughes’ death. All there is in the beginning and all there is in the end is the shock and sadness. All the stuff in the middle - tweets, bats, analysis, this - is filler. It’s like there’s a little gap in the universe that opens up when someone dies, not just the person-shaped hole they leave, but the breach of faith in the universe for doing such a thing. The filling never gets to the ‘bottom’ of it. But I’m no different to anyone else in trying. Here is my handful of dirt.

The big question seems to have been why the reaction has been so strong and I can think of a lot of reasons. It started for me with the very graphic, public nature of the injury that caused his death. I happened to be on the SMH website early that Tuesday afternoon because I’d heard a helicopter hovering over Coogee that morning and - good on me - wondered if something bad had happened. “Warning: graphic images” is a bit like “Don’t push this red button”. The one I most wished I hadn’t seen was the one the Herald ran on its cover the next day. That has sort of set the emotional baseline for the past week, a general unsettledness that’s probably more physical or animal than emotional, like a flock of birds scattering at a loud noise or projectile.

The second time I saw that photo I (deliberately) looked at everyone else rather than Phillip Hughes, and I could see the kind of ‘tableau’ of concern, like a war photo or a Renaissance painting, the qualities that the Herald felt made the picture about more than ghoulishness. The ‘looking at everyone else’ is a big part of the sadness. When I see pictures of Phillip Hughes, I still mainly feel a blank incomprehension that there will be no more Phillip Hughes. It’s sadness, but in the form of an intellectual revolt. It’s more when I see the grief of people close to him, wholly comprehensible, that I get teary or upset - teammates at the hospital, tweets from colleagues, yesterday’s funeral speeches. And surely a great deal of the sadness is sadness for Phillip Hughes’ family in particular: sad for them in empathy, and sad ‘for’ them like an offering to them, hoping that if they know how sad everyone is it will be some comfort to them.

There are a lot of other things: the amplifying effect of social media, his youth, his status as hero and superhero in virtue of being an elite sportsperson, the fact of dying in what is supposed to be a game. None of these have much to do with Phillip Hughes himself, and the core of it for me has been that it was Phillip Hughes. If I feel so much in response to Phillip Hughes’ death it’s because I felt so much for him while he was alive. But that feeling was not of falling in love with a happy-go-lucky country boy.

I certainly see the country boy much more now that I’ve seen the funeral - God bless daggy country church services. I have no argument with cheeky, smiling, laughing Phillip Hughes. That’s the person who belongs to the people who knew and loved him. That’s the person. It’s not the persona I saw at the crease, the member of my imaginary cricket menagerie. Phil Hughes only appears in my archive as a troubled figure, fretful and fretted for. That’s ‘my’ Phil, it’s who I remember, and however unreal he is, it’s who I feel for and who I’ll miss and why his death has a heaviness it would not have if it had been someone else.

It’s like he had an ability to elicit emotion, to make people care. Mr Batsy tells me Michael Slater had something of this too, you saw him and worried about him. It’s the background of pathos that magnifies the tragedy. But it’s ridiculous to separate this from the circumstances: the horrendous on again-off again relationship with the selectors, the mythology of Phillip Hughes that was well under way in his life time. The domestic prodigy who had either never been given the chance he deserved or who had been way overindulged. Whether or not this was to do with personal qualities, people felt strongly about the “case” of Phillip Hughes, I can’t think of anyone else whose selection or non-selection aroused that kind of intensity of debate. I have no insight into Phillip Hughes’ batting skills and flaws, but I had no trouble picking up the drama, to the point that I wonder how much of my perception of Phil was a projection of my own performance anxieties.

The death of anyone young involves the sadness of unrealised potential, but with Phillip Hughes this is compounded by the sense of unresolved issues. I’m very fond of ‘my’ Phil Hughes, but I'm sure he would have preferred not to be seen the way I saw him and that’s part of what’s so unfair.

The ODI of Things

A 5-match ODI series against South Africa, you say? Two of the top ODI teams in the world, you say? Yes, okay then.

1. 

I hope it’s becoming clear why in this house we call James “F**k Off” Faulkner, James “F**k Off” Faulkner. The vultures are circling, the coyotes closing in, the end is nigh and James stands up, waves a fire stick and shouts “Just f**k off! Gawn, git!”

They say he’s the Finisher and compare him to Michael Bevan, but... seriously? I can’t think of two more different players, temperamentally or in manner of “finishing”. I know what they called McGrath, but the Metronome always meant Bevan to me. He’d be thrown into the shit half way through the 50 overs and it was like he had a little punch card in his head that distributed the necessary runs over the available overs, 1s and 2s, 1s and 2s, a little flash here and there but nothing too flash so they don’t see what’s happening. And you’d turn around, and they’d turn around and everyone would go, hang on, what happened, where was all that shit again? Whereas James drops in at the death and punches a hole through the problem and everyone sits up and takes notice. I also call him “All Stops” in my head, as in what you have to pull out.

They both show you though that for all its reputation as fizzy, it’s coolness of head that makes or breaks you in the limited-over form of the game. But we already knew that from the second semi-final against South Africa in the 1999 World Cup. I see you, Allan Donald.

2. 

And I see you, Wayne Dillon Parnell. Sounds like a soccer player, looks like a soccer player. I have always pooh-poohed the tut-tutting of, eg, tattoos or earrings on sports players, but when it comes to the “man bun undercut” with a side of “hipster beard”, I cannot, as the Fug Girls say. The core problem with a haircut like that must be that every time you stuff up, people will blame your hair. He fluffed a fielding move on Friday, leaping on a ball that somehow bounced off him and away to the boundary, and my immediate thought was, “Well, what do you expect with hair like that?”

But here’s a thought:

Dale Steyn, of course, like all good psychos, cuts his own hair.

3. 

Okay, so the last two games were pretty good, but before that I was struggling. I knocked off three recorded episodes of Say Yes to the Dress (two original flavour, one Atlanta) in the second innings of the third ODI. Even when the outcome was still undecided, the game could not stand up to the charms of Debbie, Flo, guru Randy and a whole lotta ruching.

In the end I am just not in the mood for ODIs at this time of year. They are for the fun, wind-down part of the season after the solemnity of the Tests, and certainly only the solemnity of the Tests can launch the season. Cricket sells itself on the idea of celebrating ritual and shoes have to be put on in the right order. As far as I am concerned, these are practice games for the World Cup, the season hasn’t started, I’m not ready, you can’t make me. I completely understand why this series had to be scheduled in this way, but in return you the Scheduler must completely understand why I didn’t buy tickets. It’s nothing personal.

I do Dubai

Eunice [Burns, played by Madeleine] Kahn

Poor first test Australia v Pakistan, it was so hard to get into you. There was so much going against you: the unreality of the off season, the unreality of a deserted stadium, no well-defined rivalry between the teams (at least from the Australian end), an apparently dead track, a big first innings total that seemed to suck out the likelihood of a good result or any result, Dean Jones. 

It happened eventually, right at the end, because of the drama of all the ‘almost’ chances and because I realised how unfair it was that I was yawning at a game in which Pakistan had rolled Australia twice on that 'dead' track, had 2 centuries in each innings, one of which was made off 80 balls, two of which were made by a dropped veteran returning to save his country’s honour, plus a feisty spinner who took 7 wickets for 116 runs. It obviously wasn’t you, it was me.

Poor Pakistan. Of all the reputations a team could have, the combo of ‘flaky’ + ‘shady’ has to be the worst. Your successes are suspected of being insubstantial, your failures of being intentional. On top of that, you have to play in exile in those glittering, ghost town grounds. Is it patronising to hope this is the start of better things? Will I come to regret that sentiment?

Note to Pakistani spectators: I like your headgear and fluffy toys, but they are not helping with the ‘flaky’ bit.

PS. This is my century too. 100 posts! Thanks for coming!

Limbering up

I heard Shane Watson was playing for Sutherland against Randwick Petersham (the "Randy Petes") in a T20 at Coogee Oval today, so I went down to catch the last half hour. It’s a bit shameful I’ve never done that before in 7 years of living in Coogee and a bit weird Shane Watson should get me down there. I’ll argue that I’m a results-driven person and despite the bucolic appeal of a lazy afternoon at a weekend grade match – a thousand cricket paintings and poems make the case – I NEED ANSWERS, so the end bit of an already abbreviated game suits me well. I feel like the other kind of match is one you drop in on while doing something else. You’re out for a walk or a drive and oh look, there’s a game of cricket going on, let’s stop and watch a few overs and oh look they do a nice afternoon tea, isn't this lovely.

I knew I was at a local grade match because they sold Samboy barbecue chips at the kiosk, the sixes hit trees and there were no replays. Samboy chips! My stand-out memory of Samboy chips is seeing the H.R. Pufnstuf movie in the 70s and holding a packet up in front of my face during a stressful scene involving Witchiepoo. Sixes hit trees! Three good ones while I was there: hitting a tree, into the car park and into the street. No replays! Not long after I arrived (Randy Petes on 0/47 in the 9th over chasing 97) there was a wicket taken with a very good slips catch that I was looking forward to seeing again until, well, realising I wouldn’t… I started pondering the fact that almost all events plunk into the universe and immediately evaporate never to be seen again. Well, der, but it felt a bit freaky. I wasn’t stoned.

The Randy Petes had it and further to the local grade match vibe I could hear them singing their team song in the dressing room on the way out, to the tune of Little Peter Rabbit Had a Fly Upon His Nose. Sorry, Glory, glory, hallelujah! But presumably the Rabbitohs team song is to the tune of Little Peter Rabbit Had a Fly Upon His Nose.

P.S. No Shane Watson in the end! Not while I was there anyway. Not that it mattered.

My thoughts from the Australia v Pakistan ODI series

1. Shahid Afridi and Manu Feildel

It was really hard to find a picture of Manu Feildel looking moody and really hard to find a picture of Shahid Afridi looking cheery.

2. Anwar Ali and Rufus Sewell

Look for a picture of Rufus Sewell and prepare for a thousand bedroom eyes. I've tried to avoid that here.

3. And I saw Footloose for the first time a couple of weeks ago, so...

It's the eau de ferret.

4. Dean Jones was a bit of a trial as a commentator. He was irritatingly agog during the last over of the last match when Maxwell clinched the deal for Australia with a double wicket maiden. Come on, I thought, it’s not like it’s the final over of Australia’s second semi-final against South Africa in the 1999 WorldCup. Although there was a touch of the Hanse about Afridi’s dark looks from the sideline. I don’t mean in that way.

I see ICC

It was probably worth Australia being knocked out of the ICC T20 competition just see Chris Gayle's impeccable cool abandon him completely when his team won.

First he fell over in his rush to get on to the ground, then he did a very awkward haka-style interpretation of the Gangnam style dance and generally carried on like a pork chop. This was after an innings of some amazing "talk to the hand" fours and sixes, flicked like lint off a new suit.

Speaking of off-field antics, they showed some footage of Sunil Narine being playful during training, including some very accomplished cuddling, and Harsha made the comment, "Oh those Trinidadians", which makes me think the talent for cuddles displayed by TNT native Adrian Barath could be a national trait. Now that I think about it, one of my earliest Cricket Love memories was a touching embrace between Ricky Ponting and Prince of Port of Spain Brian Lara. I have an old map of the West Indies above my desk, from which I know that Trinidad is home to the largest natural asphalt lake in the world. Could there be a little oxytocin in those fumes?

Commentary commentary II

I knew Ravi Shastri must be in the box when someone used the word "cognisant". Even Harsha said he hadn't heard that word in a while. Despite my whinges last time I've enjoyed the cosmopolitan approach to the commentary roster, with mostly Indians and South Africans calling the WI vs AU game, plus a bit of Warnie who sounded like he had a sore throat. These tournaments are probably like conferences. So much chatting!

Minnow winnow

I was probably more excited by the prospect of the qualifying rounds for this competition than the main event. Who is not overcome with curiosity at a fixture between Nepal and Hong Kong? Turns out Nepal has a very dashing-looking captain and Hong Kong has some pretty boys who can't catch for nuts. Nepal's Sagar Pun stood out, a very nifty batting-bowling-fielding package, and bowler Shakti "Shaggy" Gauchan who celebrates like a footballer. 

My heart was lost however to Afghanistan's portly, turbulent Mohammad Shahzad ("Shazam" around here), who suffered the indignity of getting out to the first ball of the whole tournament but was fortunate enough later on to be skying balls around those Hong Kong boys. The first one went so high he was pounding the pitch with his bat in frustration for some time before realising he'd been let off. It's been fun.

PS. This is Shazad's English Wikipedia page. He also has pages in Bengali, Pashto, Tamil and a very thorough one in... Vietnamese. I want to know who wrote that page.

Forward March

Now I have pay-to-air television, I can't really pretend those non-Ashes overseas tours don't exist and I don't see them. Turns out they do and I do!

So, the South African series. After the first one followed the same pattern as the Ashes tests I thought, again, is this just how it's going to be from now on? Every time we win the toss? Dodgy first innings with lower order save of top order, crunching bowl out of the opposition, effortless second innings piling on ridiculous lead, crunching bowl out number two. It was interesting seeing the new boys, and Phil Hughes trying to look pleased at Sean Marsh's 100. Alex's Doolan's aggressive 5 o'clock shadow reminds me of this character.

The second test was a relief from the Groundhog Day perspective, though it wasn't strictly necessary for the variation to go so far as losing. We sat on the couch on the last day watching Rogers and Warner do their thing and said "They're going to do it. They're going to bat out the day." But then I thought, when was the last time we did it? Are we batters-out by nature or even inclination? I thought the English loved of a gritty last stand, but obviously they have nothing on the South Africans who, as one commentator put it, seem to veritably "wallow" in the prospect of a good ole stonewall. I read today there was no television in South Africa until 1975, which somehow seems relevant.


Commentary commentary

I became unreasonably irritated by Mark Nicholas this series, which reached its apogee when I flew into a rage at some innocuous comment about the spectacular view from the Capetown ground.

Unreasonably, but not quite unaccountably. Firstly, how few Australians were commentating this series on TV and why? There was Tom Moody, the prospect of whom slows the pulse down considerably. Only Glenn McGrath is more dismal a prospect. We'd just started making jokes about Tom Moody always mentioning what would have gone on in the "team meeting" and then of course he never did it again. Maybe there'd been tweets. Why did the South African media get Andrew Symonds and not us?

Secondly, I've enjoyed the more relaxed boysy commentary style of the Foxtel folk, which was taken to the next level by Channel 10's BBL coverage, and suddenly Channel Nine commentary, or Channel Nine-style commentary seems unbearably genteel and stuffy and paternalistic. Mark Nicholas personified all of that. He was brought in to take up the Benaud baton, and it made me think about the influence Benaud has had on the feel of the Channel 9 coverage historically and whether it was time to let that go. Packer was of course the opposite of genteel and stuffy and paternalistic, but Benaud played a mediating role in that whole affair and was no doubt a reassuring plus ça reste le même presence for the benefit of the disgruntled ABC-viewing public. Nicholas is no Benaud in any case, whose gentility has a sort of mystery and glamour about it - sphinx-like with a certain camp.

Warner

I saw a Foxtel "ProFile" piece on Warner after the twitter hoo-ha that was obviously an attempt at some image reconstruction and came away from it with a worse impression of him than I had going in, which is either a comment on the competence of the producers or the nature of the beast. He's just a 13 year old boy on a school excursion, which is the problem but also why you forgive him. Take away the stupid send-offs and I am comfortable indulging the rest. He's becoming a bit of a Warne: the must-see player, the freak, the animal cunning on the field and obtuseness off it, the rhino hide and thus the fall-guy role he plays for the team, who can benefit from his boorishness while letting him absorb most of the flak for it. That said, the transition on the letters page from "Our team: hopeless losers, it's a national disgrace" to "Our team: ugly winners, it's a national disgrace" has been instant.

Last word for today on South Africa series: Faf du Plessis & Jay Mohr

 

BBL floorsweepings

I have some old notes about the BBL on a piece of paper that's now being a bookmark. "Coulter Socceroo" This was me thinking Nathan Coulter-Nile is too good looking to be an Australian cricketer and may have picked the wrong code. "Gilly straight man" is obvious, Adam Gilchrist was the good boy among the old boys in the 10 commentary box, though got in a sly dig now and again. "Birt Bopton" I have no idea what I was getting at there. Oh wait, it's "Birt Boston". Travis Birt: should be a baseball player. PS I'm going to see the Dodgers v Diamondbacks game at the SCG, very excited. "June" This is what Mark Waugh's nickname has become and just makes me think of June Carter.

The only real blot on the Channel 10 BBL copy book was the stupid and obnoxious million dollar celebrity catch stunt, surely one of the most cynical and exploitative contests ever devised, including of the celebrity. Don't come back.

Names will so hurt me

Turns out there's more than one reason to dislike G. Bradley Hogg, Narrogin WA. He has a commentating gig on Grandstand and during a game - I remember not which - a batsman was hit by a ball in a sensitive area. Said Brad Hogg: *SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT ONCE KNOWN CANNOT BE UNKNOWN* "That was right on the tummy banana." Say it with me (now you've reached the point of no return): tummy banana. There are eight million penis euphemisms in the naked city; this has to be one of the worst. It will pop into your head unbidden and unwelcome and turn your smile into bile. I warned you.

Moving along from euphemisms, Mr Hogg also does a good line in malapropisms, though these are actually quite good and not grounds for dislike. He was talking about run outs he had known and the bad language that can go with them, and he said something along the lines of: "There would have been a few exquisitives." I like to think he meant sharp or finely crafted expletives, or perhaps, taking a different tack, quizzical expletives ("WTF", of course).

Later he said that Steve Smith's fidgetiness at the crease reminded him of Ricky Ponting, that they shared a lot of "incrasies". Incremental idiosyncrasies? (Philosophical question, Dylan-style: how many people can you share idiosyncrasies with before you can no longer call them idiosyncrasies?)

Other names

Like everyone else we've been calling Jim Glenn Maxwell "Big Show" in our house, because it's fun, but I've been looking for something else, because I'm contrary. Last night James Brayshaw said Maxwell "always brings the disco ball" to the game, so I'm thinking of switching to Disco. And saving Big Show for Jim. 

Still on the name thing. Last season we got into the habit of calling James Faulkner "Fuck off!", because we thought he looked like a bit of a dick, but over winter the meaning of the name changed, specifically when he told poor Ishant Sharma where to go with that 30-run over. Now he's done it again to England in Brisbane and we've warmed to old James "Fuck off" Faulkner, the scamp. He was compared to Michael Bevan after that game, but Bevan was more the slow, methodical burn, no? For me he was the Metronome rather than McGrath: the steady tick-tock that you hardly noticed until suddenly the impossible was in touching distance.

Brand names

I've kind of gotten used to BBL's Bunnings Warehouse Replay, but had to turn off the Fairfax radio coverage last night when we got a Power of Mushrooms Stat, even though the idea of a Ric Finlay on mushrooms was pretty funny.

Teed off

From last week's Sydney Morning Herald TV guide:

I think that just about covers all the bases. In the left corner, "It's a circus!" (frowny emoticon). In the right corner, "It's a circus!" (smiley emoticon).

I went to the circus on Wednesday. Sydney Sixers vs Hobart Hurricanes at the SCG. First, the setting. Bewdiful!

And not a bad game either, the Sixers turning around what looked to be a comfortable chase by the Hurricanes (getting to almost 100 of a 180 chase without losing a wicket) with a rain of wickets in the last few overs. There have been lots of good games this season, even though they all blur together a bit. There was the really high total one that was beaten and the really low total one that was defended, but don't ask me who was playing. 

I find my team allegiances fluctuate a great deal during the course of a match depending on individual players: I will support Katich or Hilfenhaus in the moment regardless of whether I want their team to win, though last night in the Scorchers v Adelaide game I was gunning for a little more pressure on Katich in the field just to see his captain cranky face. 

Conversely, no one much likes Brad Hogg in this house, with varying degrees of intensity. I think I've identified the problem. He looks like the brother of Tom Cruise who didn't get the looks but shares the disturbing enthusiasm, with an admixture of Graeme Swann annoying clown vibe.

  

Wednesday was a cricket-packed day. In the afternoon I was at the establishment formerly known as the Bradman Museum and which is now the International Cricket Hall of Fame. I wonder if that name change has something to do with evolutions in content: one of the largest sections of the museum is devoted to the Packer World Series revolution and is all praise. It's impressively up to date: a height chart on the wall had Chris Tremlett at the top of it and they had Michael Carberry's broken bat from the Sydney Test on display. There's lots of colour and movement and touch-screens and I learned more from one interactive display demonstrating the different balls and shots in a few minutes than I have in the last ten years.

Two Ads of the Ashes

 

KFC

I know people wearing a KFC buckethead haven't actually upturned an empty greasy KFC bucket with bits of batter still in the bottom on their head, but the suggestion is there and it's unpleasant. As a hat it offers inadequate sun protection and would obstruct the view of those behind. Moreover, "the lampshade on the head has come to symbolize the obnoxious drunk trying to be funny—and failing".

A good thing then that it doesn't seem to have caught on. I saw one twelve year old wearing one at the T20, and he took it off half way through the game, presumably because he felt foolishly alone.

KFC is a guilty pleasure of mine and I was up for doing a taste test of the "Australian burger" vs the "English burger". I suggested it to a visiting 9 year-old but he pointed out that the burgers at KFC are crap and indeed I have always found them disappointing.

But isn't it good Mitchell worked his way up from fresh-testing duty in the locker room?

Bet365

These have been on Fox for a while. Samuel L Jackson sells his soul in every sense of the word and beams in a betting ad from Hades.

Sydney Test

Wow, that was fast. And it seems that speed made all the difference. I'm not sure how I feel about that, as much as I lerv our man Mitchell. 

I used to think that the reason spin bowling drew me to cricket was that it was more mysterious than fast bowling. I thought I "understood" fast bowling as sheer mechanical force, whereas being able to manipulate the trajectory of a ball in the air after it left the hand, and then after it hit the ground the way Warnie did seemed frankly supernatural. I didn't understand fast bowling at all of course, because it also involves all of those things, but when it is about the difference extreme speed makes I feel like it's getting back to a blunt force thing. And I don't know how I feel about that. The physical violence makes me uneasy. I probably again underestimate the level of skill involved, both in doing it and playing it. That's something that can be said for the Morgan-Lee fracas: it really showed how much skill the professional players have in negotiating those kind of deliveries and not looking like a flailing idiot. It helps not being Piers Morgan of course.

Well done him

Kerry! I didn’t warm to Kerry O’Keeffe at first because the sounds he made made me uncomfortable (I am an easily discomfited soul). Not the Muttley wheeze-laugh, the groan-whine that comes after it. It sounded a bit dirty and it creeped me out.

The turning point came in January 2003 when Steve Waugh was working his way towards his last-ball century at the SCG. Everyone was excited, and Kerry was excited to the point that he started rapping. He started chanting the chorus of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself”:

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow this opportunity comes once in a lifetime

It was excruciating in a “oh no, Dad’s rapping” way, and there was this appalled/stunned/confused silence from the rest of the box, and then it was the best thing ever. So inappropriate and so appropriate, the beauty and bravery of bringing Detroit hip hop into an Ashes Test commentary box, leapfrogging cultures and generations and classes. He wasn't even trying to be funny or clever. I was impressed.

Also impressive: the shrewd, dead-eyed biomechanical analysis. A real empiricist, all that staying up late pausing and rewinding. I understand nothing of biomechanics (see top), but I'd still love the way he'd size up players like racehorses and take them apart. It always conjured up an image of an earlier Kerry who'd spend too much time at the track, and where he came from is probably the greatest thing about Kerry. Kerry's persona is basically a loser. The loser he was/is/wasn't/isn't. It's the edge to all the playing the fool, so near and yet so far.

Kerry sayings: "Well done him", "How good?" and referring to players by their first initials and place of origin, as in "M. J. Clarke, Liverpool, NSW. Well done him".

With Roebuck gone and now Kerry, who will be the characters in the Australian commentary box?

Lookalike sweepings

I started calling Alastair Cook "Duckface" this season because he has striking bone structure like the character of the same name in Four Weddings and a Funeral, because anything with "duck" in it suits cricket glumness and because I'm mean.

I'm trying to sell the idea that Ryan Harris is the missing link no one knew existed between Anthony LaPaglia and Mathew Le Nevez, but my sounding board can't even see the LaPaglia bit which I thought was the easy sell in that equation so I don't know any more.

Would you instead be interested, as a T20 aside, in some Ben Cutting as Oliver Hudson?

Next time: the Ads of the Ashes