[Cricket, with the Lord of Byron]
Day One
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To Brisbane for the first time in 33 years and though I wasn’t actually going there to attend the match, I was damned if I wasn’t going to drive right past it. The first things one sees are the light towers and the evocative road signs. Vulture Street. Stanley Street . “It’s the Gabba, it’s the Gabba, Gabba, hey”, I say, though I should have known better. |
We sail on over the Storey Bridge and park in Chinatown . There is no radio reception in the car park and I am unable to read the Chinese cricket headlines, so off to the CBD. We finally find a smoking pub, but it doesn’t have a TV. There are plenty of unwatched, silent TVs in the almost empty smoking section of the tastefully seedy casino, but none of them show the cricket. Is it because nobody cares? Quite probably. What do they think this is? Bush week? Other than us, there were only a few teenage girls, sipping lurid daiquiris from the fascinating, whirling dispensing machines.
I suppose I could have requested that they change the channel, but being a bit new to all this, I wasn’t totally sure whether the cricket was being ruthlessly suppressed in order to boost attendances; a la footy. I have since discovered that this was a somewhat fanciful idea.
Time to drive home before it gets dark, so back past the Gabba, this time in heavy traffic and on the right side of the road, enabling a much better view of the ground. I’m very impressed with the beautiful stands. The stands that footy built, indirectly. The Brisbane Lions signs are certainly overt, but not in a tacky way. Still, I cannot claim to have developed a profound insight into to nature of the stadium.
When I was last there, watching a Sheffield Shield game in 1971, it was all tumbledown wood; even more rundown than Lord’s. It was a little sad compared to the MCG. The poor banana benders of that period also had to put up with the humidity and the Country Party. Times have changed.
I slow down sufficiently to ensure that we stop at a red light just outside the ground. A few early departures stumble dazedly into the traffic, oblivious to the changing lights. The drivers are oddly tolerant and patient with this behaviour. They must have great admiration for people who attend Test Matches. I refuse to even consider that they are viewed simply as holy fools. I try to read the score in their eyes, but with no success.
In a Gabba induced reverie, I end up in the wrong traffic jam, enabling me to have a quick fumble and grope with the tranny. Can I find the score? No.
So, we leave Queensland completely ignorant.
Day Two
Forget Clarkey for one minute; England arrived in Namibia to general apathy due to the Presidential elections being foolishly scheduled to clash with the arrival of the team. It reminds me of the US folly, when they put the elections on just after the Melbourne Cup. Will these people ever learn?
The English then encountered rain, wind and the eating of mystery food in the power cuts of Windhoek . They managed to beat Namibia in their two one day practice matches, despite lacklustre performances from the bowlers.
Now that the important news has been imparted, I’ll get back to the Gabba. Cricket there may well be a wonderful thing, but the light can be a problem. It gets so bad that sunglasses may have to be removed three overs before the end of play. As was mentioned on ABC radio, if the umpires took the players off every time the light got that bad in England , they’d never play. It is just as well they are not playing under Queensland time.
I like what I see of this Clarke pup; he has dash and a twinkle in his eye. Reminiscent of Trumper in his heyday, or so I am told. Now, Punter and Martyn may be classy and skilled, but one can hazard a quick loo visit when they are batting. Not so with Clarke. One just jigs up and down.
Good to see that Langer doesn’t subscribe to this walking fad. Nobody dared suggest that he should of course. Who’d want a karate chop to the eye socket?
Boofa had better improve in the second innings - if he gets one. I know he had the sound of mans-laughter on his mind (i.e. Hookesy) and is trying to get fitter, but in times of stress, everyone knows that one just can’t do better than fags and booze. Well, not with mandatory drug testing around anyway. So, Boofa: get back to what you know. You know it makes sense; at least until booze and fags are listed as performance enhancing drugs. You may laugh (please), but it wouldn’t surprise me. Dope is on the list I believe, though I can’t imagine how it enhances performance.
I’ll leave you with something to smile about: Cronje the Movie (external link).
Day Three
It appears that a batting star of the future has been discovered. Step forward Glenn McGrath. We all knew of the Dizzy skills, but some have overlooked the blossoming lower down. Naysayers may well say: yeah, nay; he only ever scores in a small arc on the onside and stronger sides will exploit this, but the supposed genius of Stephen Fleming was unable to defeat him.
Meanwhile, seeing the rate of the South African scoring, thoughts again turn to the marketing of the game. Maybe it is time to learn from the world of popular music and select players on the basis of their entertainment value rather than their skill. Whither Santana? Watching County hack Andrew Hall batting all week would be enough for even me to go on the nod; and not in a nice way. And don’t get me started on Graeme Smith.
In the inaugural Intercontinental Cup final in Sharjah , Canada (without their usual captain South Australian John Davison) were beaten by Scotland . Both finalists qualified as a result of ‘winning draws’ in the semis. Scotland knocked out Kenya , which was probably a very good thing, as the World Cup semi-finalists have been pushing for official Test status, but are now tearing themselves apart.
Using the theory that things need to get worse before they get better, having the likes of Zimbabwe , Bangladesh and Kenya playing Test cricket may well push things over the edge and force the ICC to create two divisions. Not that the ICC would want to consciously employ them as agents provocateurs. Anyway, that’s enough Marxist analysis; cricket politics are difficult enough to understand for those personally involved.
In State cricket, let me say this: if I was totally dependent on Cricket Australia ’s website, I’d be in severe withdrawal. Perhaps it is time for another scathing email.
The ING final looks very likely to be between Queensland v Tasmania , unless something very funny peculiar happens. As regards Victoria , I am not amused. And as for the WA v Queensland game - to quote the Cricket Australia website: “An error has occurred. This portlet is unavailable at this time.”
Day Four
So, what have we learned from the First Test? Mainly that New Zealand seem to be totally infarced. They looked promising initially, but once Gilchrist and Clarke took control it was drapes (or for those in the southern states - curtains). One can’t really see the Kiwis surviving in the next Test either; unless Hughie sends her down (in buckets). So, perhaps it is time to get one’s betting finger out.
The game became so one sided that I almost lost the will to write about it. There just isn’t enough sport to be had from Kiwi misery. I read that Fleming has asked for more out of his top order. At least he hasn’t lost his sense of humour. The NZ team seemed to be embarrassed to be on the same park as their betters. It was all a bit cruel really: a case of pulling wings off Kiwis.
[Ed: Get a grip, Byron. NZ are ripe for the taking. As Conan said: “Crush your enemies; see them driven before you; hear the lamentations of their women.”]
Warney really did look impressive in the second innings, as did the other bowlers. He’ll happily forget the quality of the opposition when he tots up his wicket tally. He even took his 100th catch: the first bowler to do so. Praise the Lord [thank you], he still creates magnetic television. I’d even forgotten that he was not supposed to be fit for the match and possibly the series. He has a great constitution, better than that of the US . Drinks and fags all round.
One can’t avoid judging the umpiring. NZ really were a bit stiff. Bracewell’s observations took just enough pith: “Clearly Hawk-Eye has been shown to be inadequate throughout this match. Some balls were hitting the stumps or not hitting the stumps, and the umpires, who aren't wrong, were in difference to that. Clearly the technology is not up to it yet, and shouldn't be used.”
‘The Great Extirpator’ Pope Gilchrist’s jihad against the infidel McMillan for the heinous sin of not walking must remind the average fan of the hypocrisy of the Fourth Crusade. Gilchrist didn’t consider walking when he was plumb LBW on 7. Nor was there a prick of conscience when he conned the umpire into erroneously giving McCullum out. Still, the intimidation worked well. McMillan was dismissed next ball. It will be interesting to see when Gilly intends to sack Constantinople . He seemed to be such a nice fellow too.
As far as I can remember (not very far), the Australian team doesn’t have a nickname. Odd, in this day and age that they’re not called the Aussie John Platypuses. Fortunately, names such as kangaroos, and wallabies are already taken. The Emus seem to be a basketball team, possums have been appropriated by Dame Edna and The Wombats represent Gateball (whatever that is). The Quokkas has a nice ring, but so does Paris Hilton. Cane toads are fast becoming the national animal though, so there’s your answer. One more problem solved.
Apropos of public enemies, I hear tell that doctors are reluctantly admitting that cigarette smoking reduces the risk of getting Parkinson’s disease. Close relatives of victims are advised to take up smoking. The correct phrase to use is: “It’s for your own good”. On the other hand, getting hit by the Manly Ferry has also been found to reduce the risk of getting Parkinson’s disease. Good news for wankers too. The undignified act may well reduce prostate cancer; especially when combined with tomatoes.