Archive: October, 2008

India practice ‘clown tactics’

“So I curl up behind him like this and then you give him a shove.”

India’s clown tactics were all well and good in theory, but when it came to carrying them out with an actual batsman present, everyone got confused and Sourav Ganguly ended up with a black eye.

Jason Krejza’s bowling figures

There’s a fine tradition of Indian batsmen being introduced to opposing spinners, shaking their hand before punching said spinner squarely in the face without warning. And then doing it again. And again. This usually happens before the spinner even appears in a Test.

Sachin Tendulkar instantly decided that Shane Warne was going to go and in a warm-up match the leg-spinner went for 111 runs in just 16 overs. Before that, Navjot Sidhu systematically dismantled John Emburey’s confidence with a barrage of sixes.

Jason Krejza hasn’t really got a reputation worth savaging, but the Indian Board President’s XI have set about his bowling with contempt anyway. Krejza took 0-123 off 20 overs in the first innings of the tour match and in the second Yuvraj Singh set about him to give him figures of 0-76 off 11 overs.

Whether we were intending on adopting Krejza or not is looking moot at present.

Laurence prepares for a nailbiter

It is the final match of the season. We have to win and I have been entrusted with the pivotal number 11 slot. As the last batsman, all will hinge on my performance.

Our opponents bat first and I am permitted to field from the dressing room, where I can gather my thoughts and get myself prepared for the task in hand. I take a G&T to stimulate my mind and sharpen my reflexes.

Our reply gets off to a good start, but a flurry of late wickets leaves us needing five to win off the final ball with eight wickets down. In this most important of matches, Laurence Elderbrook is not going to grace his stage.

However, the final delivery is a massive front-foot no-ball. The batsmen attempt to take a single, but the non-striker is run-out before he can make his ground. I hear the crowd silently chant my name.

I take a moment to compose myself in the mirror. Resplendent in my cream flannels, I look immaculate. It is time.

Moments like this are decided in the mind. Fortunately, my mental strength is unsurpassed. As the bowler runs in, I already know that I, Laurence Elderbrook, will win this match. It is my stage. It is my moment. Four to win.

Like all great batsmen, I have always picked up length early. On this occasion, I am perhaps a little too early and am well into my follow-through before the bowler has released the ball. The delivery is fast and straight and it takes a bail off.

Foolishly the fielders celebrate. Maybe they know that I had a free-hit due to the front-foot no-ball, maybe they don’t. Whichever it is, they still think they have done enough.

But I know better.

As I played a shot, the ball is not dead. I watch it bounce over the rope and the umpire signals four byes. We have won the match.

I have won the match.

It is at this point that I take the only option available to me. I discard my bat, throw back my head and let fly a huge, bestial roar. It is a roar of superiority. It is a roar of victory. It is the roar of Laurence Elderbrook.

Later that night, as we celebrate, I suggest to the captain that I might bat at three next season, so that the team may make better use of my abilities. He concurs.

He admires my prowess. He admires me.

More Laurence Elderbrook

Top ten Ashes players of all time

Patrick Kidd’s already started his fiendishly exhaustive build-up to next year’s Ashes series at The Times’ Line and Length blog. He asked us to supply a top ten of influential Ashes characters, so we did.

Our top ten is a personal one really. We didn’t want to produce a boring composite of everyone else’s top tens, so it’s mostly recent players and the reasons are quite disparate.

Kidd deliberately put our top ten up on the same day as his Matthew Hayden: Ashes hero post, the malicious hound.

Surrey v Northamptonshire match report

Marmazet writes:

When I arrived at Oval tube station, I had a sudden and horrible realisation that I had forgotten to buy my lunch at the local shop. Eating a BLT and crisps is the main reason for going to the cricket really, cos my mum would probably make some acerbic comment if I ate that at home.

So I was already feeling a tad grumpy when the woman by the turnstile got all uppity because I was trying to swipe my membership card the wrong way round. However, my mood improved when the guy guarding the pavilion entrance smiled at me, even though I thought his uniform was hideous.

After I settled down in my seat, I heard my name being called and looked round to see the whole of my best friend’s family, sans my best friend (apparently she was out “having coffee” with someone, but I’m not convinced) at the end of the row. A painful hour or two of conversation with her mum followed, where we talked about the weather, her son’s exam results and how difficult it is to take the rubbish out when you have a bad back, amongst other things.

I was beginning to dose off through boredom and hunger when there was a sudden standing ovation. I hadn’t missed anything. It was just Mark Ramprakash walking out to bat. Thankfully, my friend’s family invited me to have tea with them in the restaurant, so I didn’t have an embarrassing sugar-low faint.

There were lovely finger sandwiches and cakes that resembled Mr Blobby and scones and jam. The jam called itself Strawberry Extra Jam and we pondered how jam could make itself extra for at least five minutes. The actual tea, however, was served out of ghastly tin thermoses with dirty stickers scrawled with the word ‘TEA’ in capitals. We thought that the tea was sufficiently expensive that Mr Oval-Restaurant could invest in a proper china teapot.

Most of the other people in the restaurant were only there so that they could watch the Man Utd v Newcastle game on TV, although two of the waitresses were watching the Olympic gymnastics on the other screen.

I went home, made some rice pudding and sat on the sofa in my pyjamas watching two episodes of Lewis back to back.

Rob Key making the diving stop of his life

Vin sent us this. It is too exquisite for words.

Officially we should admonish Vin for the use of the pie, because Rob doesn’t like fat jokes. Unofficially, we think that if someone’s going to take the time to do a Rob Key picture of this standard, they can do whatever they bloody well want.

Sorry it’s not Isa Guha and her cat pointing at a sign that says ‘moron centre’, but we think you’ll agree, this is still pretty damn good.