Pigeons Do The Funniest Things

Glenn McGrath has become a novelty act. He’s like an enthusiastic dog or parrot fetched onto a talent show stage and asked to bark or squawk answers to mathematical challenges. There are no cerebral processes involved, just an instinctive desire to please their audience. The hypothetical charm of the act lies in that invariably the animal bleats the wrong amount, and we all laugh at the poor dumb beast.

But sometimes its owner will ask the dog/parrot/Glenn what 1 + 1 is and it will reply with two noises. Like McGrath in late 2006, when he correctly predicted that Australia would whitewash England in the Ashes series. He’s like a stopped clock. A big silly pigeon-toed stopped clock. It tells the right time twice a day.

Twice. Yikes.

Woof......Woof

 

Monty And Jimmy And A Forward Defence Of Test Cricket

I gave up on the plan to write a daily Ashes post when I got drunk on Friday night. My friends and I drowned our sorrows and reminisced back to good old times and that halcyon Wednesday when we weren’t quite sure who was winning the First Test.

Since then until about three minutes ago Australia were Ramsay Streets ahead, and the Saturday hangover and some Sunday house removals came as a welcome distraction. But then just after lunch Test cricket became amazing again. And that is why it’s amazing. Because it can be inexorably rubbish for days and then suddenly from nowhere it’s amazing again. Light and shade. Rubbish and amazing.

England should be under no illusion. They have been mainly outgunned in this game and need to improve vastly at Lords. But they should also take heart that if Warne and McGrath were playing on that last day then there probably wouldn’t have been a last day. As we are constantly being reminded: Australia are a good team, not a great one. It’s just that maybe England are a mediocre team, not a good one.

This afternoon also gave another pleasing opportunity to hate Peter Siddle again after the Australian sponsored bat-athon. He really is a Merv Hughes for the 21st century. The facial hair may be more subtle but it’s certainly no less stupid. And he’s good enough to take English wickets, but not good enough to sit back and adopt the “actually, respect due” attitude that you might take for Warne or McGrath. Plus his mouth is an insult to orthodontists everywhere, which isn’t really reason enough to dislike the man but if you can’t take irrational umbrage against at least one Australian then there really isn’t any point in the Ashes at all. He’s probably a lovely fluffy guy off the pitch as most of these scabrous fast bowlers are, although I hear that rumours of Andre Nel’s bonhomie in the clubhouse are greatly exaggerated.

One happy moment from this weekend was that my team won their first game of the season knocking off the 93 runs we needed in just 10.4 overs. Our opener scored 68 not out. He’s Australian by the way.

I’m Vaughany All Night Long

I didn’t want to let Michael Vaughan leave without saying goodbye so here is a valedictory post in honour of the man.

I’d like to remember Vaughan as a batsman fashioned from papier-mache pages of the MCC manual. And his nonchalant accumulation of fat hundreds in the early noughties. And the systematic swivel-pull twatting of McGrath and Gillespie on the Australian tour of 2002-03. And that cover drive.

And as an captain who got the best out of his players by being nice to them. And for lifting a replica of a tiny terracotta urn in 2005. I will even miss his endearingly shit fielding.

I don’t want to remember the later years. The cringey protestations that he was looking great in the nets. And the strokes, still classical in their concept, just half an inch down the wrong line. And I want to forget the knees of an overworked washerwoman, the knees that finally did for him.

Someone once told me that in his early career at Yorkshire Vaughan would regularly frequent Gatecrasher in Sheffield and large it all night to music of the house persuasion. It was an enchanting image. That among the sweaty writhing mass of gurning ravers there was Vaughan, full of poise and elegance. Unfurling textbook dance moves with exquistive timing and confident footwork. Equally as comfortable with quicker beats or tunes of a slower tempo.

Maybe now he has retired he could go back and relive the old days at Gatecrasher. I think it’s still going. I just hope that he doesn’t waste all his best moves practising in his bedroom.