Match report

Some kind of match report or something

Bert writes:

On Saturday last I found myself home alone for the evening, my The Wife having gone out. Bert Jr. and his brother Ernie were in bed, fast asleep. So I had the TV and DVD player all to myself. But what to watch? I narrowed it down to two options – the Melbourne Test Match 2010, or Hot Euro Babes XXX Action.

I chose the porn.

Well, why not? There’s nothing wrong with it, and besides, it’s not something I can watch with the wife present – she doesn’t enjoy that sort of thing. Now I know that people get can all stuffy about it, but it is absolutely natural after all. Some people don’t like the way it portrays the participants, presenting them as mere objects for the enjoyment of others. But they have a choice; no-one forces them to do it, and they can make a lot of money in the process.

For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s rather full on. The action starts from the first few minutes, no preamble, straight in with the serious stuff. In essence, it is a series of, er… encounters, with one person in the dominant role, the other in the weak and submissive role. There’s normally about ten minutes of foreplay leading up to each climax, but in some cases you don’t even get the foreplay.

Take the first one as an example. It starts with a bit of fumbling around, but soon enough the big fellow rams a straight one into the throat. The result, as I’m sure you can imagine, is a bit messy. The next one involves quite a bit of slapping, which I must admit isn’t really my thing. However, the last scene is rather good – one final big slap behind and it’s all over. After that it’s a succession of similar episodes – in, out, in, out – breathless stuff. I suppose you could argue it’s a bit boring, but not when you are actually watching it. There’s something very satisfying, albeit a little voyeuristic – you are watching people getting screwed after all.

That’s the first part – after that there’s a big shift in emphasis. Now it’s two blokes doing their thing, on and on and on, from both ends! I don’t know how they keep it up for that long. There is a suggestion that there is going to be some swinging, but I’ve watched it a dozen times and there’s nothing that I would describe as swinging at all. But it isn’t what you could call straight either. There’s one really good bit that I rewind and watch over and over – it involves one of the older participants using the hot spot to get themselves all lathered up. Then this other guy joins in as well. A lot of use of the mouth and finger in that bit – fantastic!

I’d recommend it to anyone, by yourself or maybe even with your partner if you’re so inclined. I’m thinking of inviting some of my mates from the rugby club round next weekend to watch the whole thing. Should be fun.

CB40 Final match report

Sam writes:

Saturday morning, late September
Cut price tickets through a friend who is a member
South West Trains and then the Bakerloo
Tesco express for a beer or two

First to the Tavern, then to the Warner
Down to the toilets with a window in the corner
Through which you can look and what sights you can see
While you’re standing with the other members doing a wee

Forgot the suncream, didn’t bring a hat
The Somerset fans love to have a chat
Shut up will you please, the teams are on their way
It’s the last game of the season – Lord’s cup final day.

Opening with a spinner? What a novel thought
Davies gets a stumping and Kieswetter is caught
Crack open the sea salt crisps, this might not last for long
I thought it would be closer, looks like I might be wrong

But wait, look, here’s Jos Buttler – what a funny name
He might be only 21 but he plays a cracking game
He scoops it over fine leg, he cracks another four
What a super innings, you couldn’t ask for more.

We started up a sweepstake on how many they’d get
I’m not a gambling man but I thought I’d have a bet
Turns out my guess was closest, which made me warm inside
And I treated all the losers to a pint of London Pride

Sandwiches at half-time, couldn’t find a bin
Over on the Nursery Ground you could meet Steven Finn
But here they come again and now it’s going to rain
How a bit of water can cause us so much pain

We did a little circuit to keep from getting bored
And soon found out that one of us was taller than Stuart Broad
Then Duckworth and Lewis came along – are they even real?
By this stage we’d all had a few and didn’t know how to feel

So in the end it finished with a strangely muted tone
Surrey seemed quite happy and we headed quickly home
Soggy and out of pocket, but at least we could say
That was the last game of the season – Lord’s cup final day.

India v West Indies match report

Ritesh writes:

I solved a mystery yesterday. In a Test that could well see Sachin Tendulkar hit his 100th international century, only 8,000 people turned up on a Sunday to a ground that holds 50,000.

Of course such turnouts are not uncommon at marginal grounds where the BCCI insists on hosting Test matches, but this was the Feroz Shah Kotla in Delhi, where cricket has been played since 1883 and which staged its first test in 1948. Yet, what we saw yesterday were empty seats.

Sunday began as a glorious day in Delhi, with no sign of the infamous Delhi smog and the first hint of winter in the air. While reading the previews of the Test over morning coffee, my wife and I agreed that it was a perfect day to watch some cricket. The plan was to get comfortable seats in a stand that serves good food and drink, so we could read the newspaper and chat, with occasional cricket interruptions. Hopefully nothing too exciting would happen in the game to affect our plan.

So we set off early for the 90 minute drive to the stadium. There were more policemen than spectators outside the stadium, and we played a little game of pointing out the paunchiest among them (we found at least a dozen officers of Gatting-esque proportions). When we politely asked where we could park, we were asked if we have “parking accreditation”. Since we were unfamiliar with the term, we were pointed to a location approximately 5km away, where a “park and ride” service was available.

20 minutes and much Google-Maps-fiddling later, we were parked and ready to ride. The organisers unfortunately were unclear about the “ride” part of the arrangement – we were expected to find our own rides back to the stadium, a fact that was complicated by the traffic restrictions around the parking area. But the day was still good for walking and sharing rickshaws with strangers and we had missed only an hour of play when we reached the stadium (again).

On reaching the ticket window, we were informed that the ticket window was closed because it was Sunday.

Just reflect on that. It is the first day of the only Test match you will host this year. The ground is not even one-fifth full. Yet you don’t sell tickets because it is Sunday.

The policemen (who were genuinely polite and helpful for a change) told us that tickets were also available at major banks and at least one of those banks worked on Sundays. They even gave us directions to the nearest branch, about 3km away. Of course the traffic restrictions were still in place, so again we walked. There was one person selling tickets there and at least 200 people in line. Still, we had come so far so we decided to wait.

At the counter they told us we could buy day-tickets for the concrete bleachers (exposed to the sun and approximately at square leg), but for any other stand they were selling only 5-day tickets. It was as if the DDCA (Delhi and Districts Cricket Association) deliberately wanted to keep the turnout low. We only wanted to watch the game on Sunday, but after much deliberation decided to buy tickets for all the five days because, well, we had come too far to back out now.

So triumphantly we walked to the stadium for the third time since the morning. By this time the game was midway through the second session. We were hungry and dehydrated and the missus was growing irritated, but hey we at least had tickets. Unseen treats awaited us on the other side of the security barrier.

Then the metal detector beeped. Our new tablet computer was the problem. According to the fine print behind the ticket, you are allowed to take phones and digital cameras to the ground, but there was no mention of tablets. I gave a full technology demo of my tablet, sent a text message from it (to prove it was a phone) and took a picture (to prove it was a camera). But it fell somewhere in the twilight zone of technology products and the final decision was no.

We had a choice – we could go back to our car (which was parked 5km away), keep the tablet there, walk back and catch maybe 90 minutes of play. Or we could cut our losses and run. We ran. We had spent half a day and several thousand rupees already, and not even the enticing prospect of watching part of Umesh Yadav’s Test debut could bring us back to the stadium.

I guess we were insufficiently committed to Test cricket. With fans like these, no wonder Test cricket is dying in the subcontinent.

England v India, Edgbaston Test match report

Ged writes:

We were all set for our (almost) annual visit to Edgbaston for the first two days of the Test. Charlie “The Gent” Malloy had arranged everything. Front row seats in the Raglan Stand, digs at Harborne Hall, nets the night before the start of the Test at Harborne CC – even tickets for day two grub at the Spice Bizarre Indian Buffet (in honour of the Indian bowling attack).

This year, there were to be just the three of us; the third man being Nigel “Father Barry” White. Nigel is one of the elders of our Edgbaston visiting troupe, known as The Heavy Rollers, tag line – “causing havoc at Edgbaston tests since the 1990s.”

On the Monday before the game, I took a call from Charlie. “Bad news, Ged. It’s 50-50 as to whether I’m going to make it.”

I thought he meant that he was probably dying. “Chas, what on earth has happened?” I asked.

“Something gastric”, he replied. “More runs than Rahul Dravid.”

“Surely you mean that you have the Jonathan Trotts, Chas”, I quipped. He didn’t laugh.

We agreed that Charlie would cancel the Tuesday nets and try to join us later in the trip if he was able.

Nigel and I soldiered on. We had a tasty Chinese meal on Tuesday evening, cunningly avoiding the riots by remaining in Harborne. But it wasn’t the same without Charlie. We called him on the Wednesday morning.

“I’m feeling weaker than the Indian bowling attack”, he said. “I’m not going to make it today.”

So Nigel and I went to the supermarket and, at high speed, bought enough picnic food to cover all eventualities for the next two days (22 minutes, beating last year’s Ged and Chas supermarket picnic time trial by nearly an hour).

We got to the ground in good time to see the warm ups and settled in for the day. Later, we went back in to Harborne and enjoyed some tapas and wine. But the Wednesday had not been the same without Charlie.

Thursday morning, Chas called us just as we were setting off for the ground. “I’m feeling as weak as the Indian batting line up minus Dravid,” he said. “I’m not going to make it at all, fellas.”

Nigel and I got to the ground in good time, ate the remains of our supermarket picnic and just before tea we feasted on the bizarre Indian bazaar buffet. Very tasty. Later, we went into Harborne for some wine, but no food – we was stuffed. But the Thursday had not been the same without Charlie.

I called Charlie on the weekend to find out how he was feeling. “I’m feeling almost as weak as the excuses in a BCCI press release,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m on the mend. You’re still up for the Edgbaston trip next year, aren’t you?”

Middlesex v Surrey Twenty20 match report

Ged writes:

Ged Ladd & Co Ltd quietly works wonders for world cricket. People from all manner of countries where cricket is barely played (e.g. Bulgaria, Switzerland, Nigeria, Russia, Belgium, USA, Italy, China, Germany, New Zealand, South Africa) have been introduced to cricket through our company scratch matches and T20 visits. Indeed, the annual works outing to a Lord’s T20 game or two has now become a bit of a tradition.

This year my American business partner, Timothy Tiberelli, decided to bring his lovely wife Elspeth and their delightful young daughters, Heavens-To-Mukti-Yoshke-Leopardess-Pansy (age 13) and Chakra-Howdy-Doody-Tigress-Rosebud (age 10) to the T20.

Timothy bumped into the recently estranged wife of an eminent good friend of his. The wronged woman took the trouble to describe at length a quarter century of scandalous and scurrilous hurt. I can’t imagine why News of the World journalists ever bothered to hack phones and bug rooms when they could simply have turned up at Lord’s for T20 matches and opened their ears for a while.

The Tiberelli girls were not finding any of this conversation very interesting, so they went off to play with their diabolos.

When they returned, I (foolishly) said to Timothy: “Oh, I thought the girls were going to demonstrate their diabolo skills to me later,” at which point he packed me and the kids back off to the Coronation Garden for an exhibition and a chance to shine. The girls were very good diabolists, especially Rosebud.

They let me have a go. I was not very good.

Some other youngsters were bowling at the batsman statue with very limited success, so I asked them if I could have a go or three – I hoped to redeem some pride. I bowled at the statue with even more limited success than the youngsters, at which point I graciously bowed out of the garden games.

I suspect that Pansy would have bowled better – she had managed to keep my batting in check during the previous week’s scratch game using the fiendish tactic of bowling from a low trajectory and straight at the stumps.

2,000th Test match report

Our mum writes:

As a thank you to KC’s dad for the loan of his DIY skills, a friend gave us two tickets for this historic day.

There is nothing like a day in the members’ stand at Lord’s to make one feel young. We must have considerably reduced the average age, and as a female I felt like a collector’s item. We had excellent seats in the second row and evidently a streaker or pitch invasion from our stand was considered unlikely as there were no stewards deployed in front of us.

The tickets stipulated ‘dress regulations apply’. This seemed to mean ‘wear mainly garments of clashing red and yellow stripes’. Fortunately KC’s dad’s polo shirt was deemed acceptable, as he has only worn a tie three times since he retired – one wedding and two funerals.

We thought we had a decent picnic. I particularly enjoyed being able to take in a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc. However the party of eight gentlemen to my right worked steadily through a four-course repast, with accompanying beverages, including a choice of chocolate mousse or cherry clafoutis for pudding – most had both. The waste bin near us was full of empty champagne bottles by noon. Fuller’s London Pride at £3 a pint went down very well, whereas a short walk at lunchtime revealed that the hoi polloi were paying £4.20 a pint for smoothflow – no real ale available to them.

Rain stopped play at 4pm but nobody seemed to mind and I presume the carousing continued until long after we left at 6pm.

You will notice that this is a return to the original format of KC match reports – not entirely unconnected to the fact that not a great deal happened on the field of play.

Surrey v Middlesex match report

Sam writes:

Angry clouds greeted my arrival at the second day of the Guildford cricket festival. A colleague had promised a press pass would be waiting for me “at the gate.” Predictably, no such pass materialised, and said colleague was incommunicado, away on an all expenses paid trip to Spain. Something to do with pre-season training for a non-league football team. After much faffing, the stewards let me in, pointed me towards the media tent and told me to “get set up.”

A friend of mine arrived, we did a circuit of the ground, it rained for a bit. At lunch we went and got some beers from the beer tent. A pint of TEA for him and a pint of On The Rails – a strong, dark ale – for me. I purchased a cheese and tomato sandwich tightly wrapped in cling film for £2, and a slice of lemon drizzle cake for another £1. We also had some Pringles and a Twirl.

There were some corporate tents. They had words written on them like ‘Investec’ and ‘Allianz’. The Mayor of Guildford seemed to have one, and he appeared to be entertaining the chair of the town’s Chamber of Commerce. Lots of men were standing around in suits and pink shirts. They didn’t appear to be very interested in the cricket.

Just before tea we got some more pints, then it rained again. We guessed that would be it for the day, so headed to a pub which boasted a ‘gentleman’s corner’ and a locked door that had the words ‘the back room’ written on it. Then on to a cider festival where there was a battle of the morris dancers competition.

We thought about going for a curry but we were tired so we went home.

England v Sri Lanka first Test match report

Nobody make a Jon/John Lewis joke about this match report. That will not be acceptable.

Dandy Dan writes:

I was just about to leave work and head down to Cardiff when Mr Puffin asked if he could come too. I said yes and so off we went.

We got to the airport and were dismayed to find our flight had been delayed by an hour but Mr Puffin enjoyed watching the planes land and take off.

That evening I went out and drank too much in Bristol with some friends. Mr Puffin stayed at home as he knew it wasn’t a sensible idea to stay out late when we had to get a train early the next morning. He made the correct choice.

When we arrived at the train station Mr Puffin stared in amazement at these track based beasts. Planes were much more of a sensible idea to him, naturally.

When we arrived in Cardiff we met up with my friend Becky and her father. Inclement weather delayed our arrival to our intended destination so we wandered around Cardiff centre. Becky’s dad took a significant amount of time studying different picnic hampers in John Lewis.

We decided to have lunch in Jamie Oliver’s Italian restaurant. This was very nice and even more pleasant when Becky’s father insisted on paying. Even if I had paid, it probably wouldn’t have been much cheaper had I bought lunch at the ground, and it was considerably nicer. A slightly elderly Welsh couple sitting next to us who were also going were slightly amazed that I could find out the start of play time on my phone. Insert your own gag about backward rural communities here.

We got to the ground and Mr Puffin saw a silly man riding a silly horse.

After it had all finished we went out in Cardiff. I got very tired and begged Becky to take me home as I was staying at her flat.

We did make it onto the TV though.

England v Sri Lanka Twenty20, Bristol | match report

D Charlton writes:

It was my brother (G Charlton)’s stag do. We went to Bristol and watched the Twenty20. As is customary, he dressed as a morph. And he made some friends.

By the end of England’s innings, the bloke at the back had said: “You’re allowed peanuts in, Orange, you don’t have to smuggle them.”

By the end of Sri Lanka’s innings, the bloke at the back had said: “I would. I would do Orange, I would.”

This was Orange’s view of the cricket.

Match report of garden cricket at the Frangipani Tree near Galle

Ged writes:

On arrival at the Frangipani Tree, we couldn’t help but notice the cricket bats and stumps mixed in with tennis equipment and swimming gear. “Oh yes”, we are told, “the staff are always up for a late afternoon game of cricket if any of the guests request it”. “Where do they play?” asked Daisy. “Over there.” A vague wave of the hand indicated the direction of the tennis court and several villas.

The next day was the start of the World Cup. We requested a game of garden cricket and the staff seemed delighted. There was another English family around and they expected that the young man of that family, Chris, would also be up for a game. He was. “Do you play?” I asked him. “A bit,” he said, which turned out to mean, “a hell of a bit more than you, Ged Ladd”.

The field of play was a little unusual. One side of the tennis court was basically the pitch. You could only score in front of the wicket. A villa provided significant fielding cover from square leg through midwicket and you were allowed only one run if the ball failed to clear that villa, six if you cleared it.

Clearing the villa required a near-perfect combination of direction, upward trajectory and some power. The straight “V” was relatively normal, apart from the tree hazards, with the swimming pool making a very natural boundary. Apart from the net of the tennis court, the off-side was pretty hazard-free, with the perimeter wall of the resort designating the boundary.

The playing conditions were also a little unusual. Five players a side. Eight overs per team. Eight8, I’m thinking of calling it. It’s a terrific marketing idea, because it eliminates those rather dull, formulaic overs between over 4 and over 17 that seem to me to be blighting conventional cricket these days.

Chris and I opened the batting for our team with a respectable stand of 40-odd, of which I contributed about 15. The pitch had tennis-ball bounce, which makes sense really, considering that the pitch was a tennis court and the ball was a tennis ball.

It did make it possible for me to time and place my shots for once in my life. I mostly placed them in the direction of Daisy, who was playing for the oppo (once she put her camera down), as you needed to go aerial to avoid the hazards but also needed to avoid getting caught.

Our team managed 89-3 in our eight overs, which seemed like plenty until the oppo’s secret weapon, a big left-handed waiter named Sanjay, demonstrated the use of an asymmetric field designed to force off-side shots for right-handers but which allowed full-heaves to leg for the left-hander. Daisy scored a run off my bowling, which I’m still hearing about.