Archive for March 2011
Here’s something to cheer all golf followers. It’s the Masters next week. This is normally also good news for all followers of flowers but I have heard grave news from across the Atlantic waves. The peculiarly high temperatures have thrown the Georgian flora out of whack, and some of the area’s most lurid azaleas and dogwood have bloomed a week ahead of schedule. Apparently this means that some of Augusta’s attendant foliage may be past peak blooming stage come Masters week. I know. I should have told you to sit down first.
Anyway to soften the horticultural blow I’ve got £100 worth vouchers to spend at American Golf to hand over. American Golf isn’t actually American, it just pretends to be. It’s the Christian Bale of golf stores.
I haven’t actually got the vouchers. A nice man at InterCasino has. But he’ll give them to one of any of you who can be bothered to send me an e-mail with the answer to the ludicrously facile question below:
What colour jacket is presented to the champion of the Masters tournament?
Just drop me a word at email@example.com with your name and address by April 30th. And your answer. That would help.
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This is what I wrote on Wednesday night:
This sentence encapsulates everything you need to know about why I am sitting here on a sofa with a laptop gently microwaving my balls and not over in Chennai or Bangalore or wherever bringing insightful and enlightened commentary live from the action. I’d like to justify it as an exercise in fate-temptation but it’s not true.
I hope I wasn’t the only one floored by the England’s team selection against the West Indies. I’d assumed that the management had forgotten who Tredwell was. I thought that Tredwell himself had forgotten who he was. Together with the inclusion of Luke Wright and Chris Tremlett it felt like the management had already banked on England’s exit from the tournament and were just giving some of the other boys a go. It’s a concept I’m very familiar with from my school days. In fact it turned out to be a provident choice, as Tredwell and Wright performed like players unfettered by the previous one-day tribulations.
England are going to win the World Cup. Oh hang on, England are almost certainly not going to win the World Cup.
Whenever I see the England cricket team come together in a huddle I always picture Tredwell running around the perimeter seeking a way in, leaping up on someone’s shoulders to try and get himself involved in the discussion. He appears to have been the victim of a malicious practical joke, invited to a party only to be kept out on the pavement watching the festivities longingly through a window.
In his few international appearances so far Tredwell has maintained the craven demeanour of a man who knows he doesn’t belong, like a player who knows he’s only selected as the result of a series of administrative blunders. Perhaps he’s been found out after all.
There is no point dissecting England‘s defeat to Ireland today. The form book has been thrown out. The rule book has been thrown out. In fact England have piled up every piece of literature or article written about cricket and torched them. There is hardly any point in typing words because England will take them and drop them to the floor and burn those too. They like dropping.