Tag: Batting

7 Reasons Ireland Didn’t Beat England At Cricket Yesterday
If you’re a cricket lover, or if you’re following the Cricket World Cup (which isn’t really cricket) and you’re English, you might be happily going about your March 2^nd business right now vaguely aware that you seem to have had some sort of strange and improbable nightmare last night. And you’re right. It is still Wednesday and you’ve had a bit of a funny dream. I know I have. Here are seven reasons why.

This didn't happen. You dreamt this.

1.  It’s Too Conflicting. The English, as popular opinion would have it, love an underdog. And it’s true, we do. There’s nothing that the English like to do more than cheer on plucky minnows. We love to see Italy do well in the Six Nations; we love to see Scotland do well at football; we love to see Malta do well at absolutely bloody everything and, had Ireland been playing any other nation yesterday (except Malta), we would have been cheering them on with cries of “Play up, Ireland” and “Hurrah for the Patricks”. But they weren’t playing anyone else. They were playing us. And we were the overdog. This was somewhat conflicting. Because it was nice to see the plucky Irish do well during the cricket, it was heart-warming even, and to someone who fancies that he has some modicum of appreciation for the game, it was enjoyable. But then it slowly began to look like they might actually beat us and suddenly the thin veneer of being a fair-minded Englishman that appreciates a fine performance (even by an opponent) began to dissipate and I realised that I wasn’t quite the sporting chap I imagine myself to be. I discovered that I am, in fact, the sort of Englishman who would happily don a pith helmet and mow down colonials with a Gatling gun if it meant a victory in war or sport for dear old Blighty. No one needs to find that out about themselves when they’re trying to enjoy the cricket. I started the match as a good, upright, moral chap and finished it as a cruel, bloodthirsty, avaricious monster. Albeit one with a nice hat. But this can’t really have happened, because I’m certain that, at heart, I’m a thoroughly nice chap.

2.  The Irish Don’t Even Play Cricket. I know about Irish sport; I’ve seen it. There are essentially three major sports there. They play football, like we do, but with muddier pitches. They play rugby, like we do, but with muddier pitches. And they play Gaelic-bloody-hurleyball-thing – a sport I once saw on Channel Four at three o’clock one morning in 1997 – which is essentially a mass-brawl in the mud which may or may not have sticks and a ball. And a net.   None of those things even remotely resemble cricket, which is a game played in England, where children are given bats, balls and club ties at birth and spend almost every minute of every childhood summer – except when they are reluctantly dragged away to a tartan picnic blanket and force-fed cucumber sandwiches, orange squash and those Mr Kipling cakes that resemble gaudily coloured plasticine and make your teeth hurt – playing the game of cricket. And then when we grow up many of us carry on doing exactly the same thing, but with Pimm’s instead of the squash and if we’re very lucky, picnic sex. Though the infernal sodding cakes are still there. We have cricket, if not in our blood, then certainly in our souls and in our psyche, it’s a part of our national identity. We are prepared to play cricket from birth, it shouldn’t be possible to just to turn up with a horse and beat us at it. Which is good, because it didn’t happen.

3.  There Was A Horse. I’m not going to knock Kevin O’Brien’s knock*. What he did yesterday was superb. He went out to bat and did what every young boy (and grown man and woman and just about everyone who’s ever had any sporting ambition/interest/has even seen a blade of grass) has ever dreamed of doing: He took a game by the scruff of the neck and improbably – almost impossibly – won it single-handedly, against the odds. It was amazing. He was magnificent. Unlike Irish people, however, I have seen Kevin O’Brien play before, and I know this. He’s essentially a lumbering big, ginger horse in a cricket uniform. Of course he’s going to be able to slog the ball around on a flat pitch, he could probably hit balls to the moon. What we needed to counteract him was a backfiring car. They always put horses off what they’re doing, I’ve seen black and white films and read Edwardian novels, and I know of what I speak. It’s just not possible that England’s enormous – and legendarily meticulous – backroom staff consisting of hordes of people with laptops that studied P.E. at university didn’t consider this tactic, not possible at all. As the saying goes: If you fail to prepare, you prepare to get spanked around the ground by a big ginger man-horse. And that’s what happened…er…didn’t happen.

4.  It Isn’t Mathematically Possible. The Ireland cricket team represents both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. So England were playing two countries out there yesterday, and you might think that would put England (us) at a disadvantage but wait! The acronym ECB is short for The England and Wales (and some South Africans) Cricket Board, so Irelands two nations were in fact playing our three nations, all of whom are individually better at cricket than them. It’s not mathematically possible that they should have won, or geographically or historically. It’s just not possible at all, so it can’t have happened.

5.  Available Talent. That Ireland don’t have any sort of cricketing pedigree is self-evident. But that’s not to say that Ireland is completely lacking any cricketing talent. That would be crass and simplistic. Because there is Irish cricketing talent out there. For there is a man born in Dublin who would get into just about any one day cricket team in the world; a man who won three senior cup titles for Catholic University School; a man who has a ODI batting average of 38.03; a man whose batting shimmers with inventiveness and audacity; a man whose bold stroke-play and natural ease with a bat is admired the world over. And that Irishman’s name is Eoin Morgan and he plays for fecking England!!!! Their best player doesn’t even play for them! He plays for us, so they can’t have won at all.

6.  The Reaction. Do you know what the reaction in England to the Irish victory was last night? From people that don’t follow cricket as closely as you or I, people with children and lives and things, people that the news was only slowly filtering to by yesterday evening? The ones that I spoke to all reacted in exactly the same way with the same question. They asked, “Do the Irish even have a cricket team?” Every last one of them asked this. And in Ireland, I have no doubt that they were all asking, “Do we even have a cricket team?” I had to explain this defeat to a Frenchman last night – A MAN FROM FRANCE – and do you know what his first question was? I’ll tell you. It was, “Do ze Irish even ‘ave a cricket team?”   I can’t begin to tell you how painful this conversation was. It was several minutes before I was able to turn the conversation to the efficacy of the Maginot Line. Several long minutes. Anyway, the upshot of all this is that we were playing a team yesterday that doesn’t exist. And they beat us.

7.  It’s So Weird I Can Only Have Dreamt It. I won’t bore you with all of the details, but it’s fair to say that yesterday was a fairly strange day for me. Here are just some of the things that actually happened to me:
- I purchased Vaseline for my cat.
- I discussed the Ashes with a Frenchman.
- I witnessed a man request “A pint of the lager you have that’s most like Stella” at a bar.
- An Irish team that doesn’t exist beat England at Cricket with an orange horse.
So there you go. All of the available evidence is there and it points to only one thing: That yesterday was a really weird dream that didn’t actually happen. Any moment now I’m going to wake up and it’ll be March 2^nd again and at some point later on today I’m going to listen to England thump Ireland at cricket. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait.

*That’s the first knock-knock joke we’ve ever done at 7 Reasons.**

**The second one will be better.
March 3, 2011
7 Reasons That Ricky Ponting is the Second Coming of Christ

As I was walking yesterday, on the road to Sainsbury’s, a strange and life-changing event occurred. I strolled past a man carrying a newspaper and, upon the back of that newspaper there was a picture. An image of Ricky Ponting looking glum. Christ, I thought, doesn’t that miserable bastard ever look happy? And then, suddenly and without warning, there was a blinding flash of light and a sonorous and divine voice did appear from the sky and say, “Ah look, mate, why do you persecute me?”

I fell to the floor: “Who are you,” I stammered meekly.

“I am Punter, whom you are persecuting,” he replied. “Now rise and get thee unto the supermarket, and you will be told what you must do.”

Blimey, that was weird, I thought, and went to the supermarket as I was bidden. And, to cut a very long story short, in the manner of Saul on the road to Damascus, I, Marc* on the road to Sainsbury’s, had had an epiphany. I realised that I had been wrong all along about Ricky Ponting and had done him many disservices over the years. And now I have truly seen the light and it is my divine mission to tell the world of his glory; here are the seven reasons why Punter is the true successor to our lord Jesus Christ.

Ricky, as he appeared to me on the road to Sainsbury's.

1. The Name. If things look right, and sound right, then they generally are. And when I tried to think of a way to link the names of Jesus and Ponting, I have to admit, I struggled. But then I realised that true struggle is the lot of a disciple, and that I’d just have to think harder. And, lo, I thought harder. But other than the names Ponting and Christ being interchangeable as profane expletives in my heathen life prior to my conversion, I could find very little to link them. Then it hit me: A portmanteau word. Ricky Ponting is no longer merely Punter the cricket captain. He now has a divine and biblical-sounding title. He will henceforth be known as…The Pontychrist.

Ah, look. It's the Pontychrist!

2. Miracles. Jesus was famed for his making of miracles. Specifically, for eking out very little, to make a lot. He turned water into wine, and he fed five-thousand people when equipped with a small quantity of bread and fish; a situation in which a lesser bearded-man – such as Captain Birdseye – merely invented the fish finger. And, in the manner of Jesus, Ponting (who, though not bearded of face, is bearded of arm), the new saviour, is attempting to win the Ashes with a mere nineteen runs from the first two tests. And when he pulls it off, it will be hailed as one of the greatest miracles ever seen. Greater, even, than when he takes a stroll across Sydney Harbour without using the bridge after the fifth test, and greater than when he turns Toohey’s into wine. Or Beer into a world-beating bowler.

3. Serendipity. This current Ashes series began in almost an exact word-for-word replay of one of Christ’s most famous quotes because Australia opened the bowling in the first test. And so it was that he, who is without spin, cast the first stone (or ball, as we call them these days). In fact, like his famous forebear, Ponting tries as much as possible to live a blameless life where lesser men (England) are happy to live a life of spin. In the grand tradition of divine saviours, The Pontychrist is more spinned against, than spinning.

4. The Devil. There would be no need for the coming of Ponting if it weren’t for the presence of darkness among man. Who then, is his nemesis, his bête noire, his archfiend, his foe, the Mephistopheles to his Good Shepherd? It can’t be Andrew Strauss; he’s too nice, he is a mere instrument of the devil. For Beelzebub himself is cunning, yet is vain, and so gives himself away through his choice of name. I ask you, what rhymes with horn? That’s right, many, many, many things but, specifically in this case, Vaughan. Behold The Antipontychrist! For though he has now been banished unto the commentary box for the duration of the series – which if the final test ends on day three will have lasted for forty days and forty nights – (which is both biblical and mathematical proof ), he is surely the puppet-master that the righteous Punter does battle against.

The name of the beast is The Antipontychrist and his number is 6-0-0 (and he doesn't look very well)

5. The Blood of the PontyChrist. In Christian religions, those arcane churches that we had before the birth of Pontianity, especially in Roman-Catholicism, (where the head of the church will, when Ponting is acknowledged as the second coming, be known as The Puntiff) the blood of Christ is important. Jesus, we are told, bled for our sins, and so, in the present day, has the Pontychrist. Here he is bleeding, so that our spirits may be lifted heavenward. And who amongst us can say that this image of his selflessness doesn’t fill their heart with joy?

We have redemption through his blood…in accordance with the riches of God's grace.

Yes, this one's just gratuitous.

6. Iconography. And, much like Christ, when so many of his teachings will be open to the whimsical and wilful interpretations of man, many years after he has passed, so the Pontychrist’s visage will be used, in the millennia to come by men warning others to follow his example and to live without sin. He’s omnipresent, they’ll say, he can see everything that you’re doing, they’ll say. And they’re right. In this portent of the future he seems to be staring into your very soul. And, now that you have seen this picture, you will know, that Ricky can see your every thought and deed. He will know if you think ill of the French. He will know when you’re masturbating. He will know when you’ve eaten Twiglets that you shouldn’t have touched. He knows everything: For he is omnipontent.

He can see into your soul, you bad, bad person.

7. Reflection. And later, on reflection at my conversion to Pontianity, I had a moment of doubt, the sort that afflicted people 2000 years ago in Jesus’s time. I wrote this piece yesterday, but when I woke this morning, I found myself questioning things. In short, I had a crisis of faith. I might have taken too much of my flu medication yesterday, I thought. What if I’d dreamt it? I’d look a fool. I’d be mocked and cast asunder by my peers. I decided that, on reflection, I may have got carried away and resolved to discard what I had written and start afresh with a new piece, after I’d had my breakfast. And then I saw a sign:

It's a sign! (a tasty one, too).

So, in summary, I’m buying myself a ute and I’m going to fill it with corrugated iron and tambourines and head off to the hills to build the first (of many) Puntecostal churches. Who’s with me?

*Henceforth to be known as Parc.

December 15, 2010
Special Guest Post: 7 Reasons I’m Backing Us To Win The Ashes

Hello! It’s Wednesday, and regular 7 Reasons (.org) readers might be surprised to find a guest post here. But today is special. Because today is the day that The Ashes begins, and I can’t begin to tell you how excited the 7 Reasons team are by this. Well, I could begin, but I’d never be able to stop myself and we’d all miss the cricket while I babbled on and on. So, joining us on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Sir Straussy who has taken time out from his busy cricketing and tweeting schedule to explain why he’s backing us to win The Ashes. And by us, I sincerely hope he isn’t referring to the 7 Reasons team; that would be a disaster.

Disclaimer: The views expressed by the England Captain are entirely his own and do not represent those of 7 Reasons (.org)*

1. It’s In The Toss. This is nothing new, but Ricky Ponting and I are tossers. We have to be. It’s in the contract. To be a captain you must be a tosser. And I am very proud to be both. So is Ricky. The difference between us is that, while I’m a good tosser, he’s a useless tosser. The stats don’t lie. Using the motto ‘tails never fails’ I have won 59% of tosses as England captain, Ricky has won a mere 49% in his role as an Australian tosser. And with the toss being so crucial these days, that 10% will give us the edge. But, I hear you ask, what happens if tails fails? Is that it? Shall we give up? Forget about this Test? No, certainly not. Again, let’s examine the stats, in the 41% of matches in which tails never fails has gone tits down, I have led England to victories 64% of the time. And as for Punter? Well, under his tossership, Australia have won just 30% of the Tests in which he has lost the toss. So, just remember, if my tossing goes wonky, don’t worry, I still produce results.

2. Younger, Fitter, Stronger. Assuming we go into the first Test with the team I want and Australia go into the first Test with the team I want, the average age of the England team is going to be twenty years lower than that of our counterparts. And even if Australia don’t go with Dame Edna Everage and Bill Lawry, our boys will still be younger on average. If the probable teams that have been bandied about in the papers for the last few days are to be believed, we’ll step onto the field with the average age of 28 years and six months. Australia will wheel themselves onto the field averaging 31 years. That age difference means we’re much fitter. Just take a look at our bodies. No one can tell me Dougy Bollinger is fitter than pin-up sensation Stuart Broad. Or Simon Katich is fitter than Brighton favourite Jimmy Anderson. Or podge-face Punter is fitter than the hairy-armed version of myself.

3. The Hair Apparent. According to the internet, the American writer, actor and comedian Larry David once said, ‘Anyone can be confident with a full head of hair, but a confident bald man – there’s your diamond in the rough’. He was talking about Matt Prior. The one player in world cricket whose surname inexplicably can’t be used with an O or Y to form a nickname.

4. Names. And talking of nicknames, should you wish to use ours on the Scrabble board we will score you an average of 9.5 points per player. That’s a staggering 0.9 points more than the Aussies. When you also throw into the equation that this includes the nickname-less Prior, it almost defies belief. How is this going to help us win the Ashes though? Well, it’s not directly, it was more an observation I made playing online scrabble with Lady Straussy. But it did get me thinking. Us English and South African-English just whack a Y on the end of a surname and be done with it. We then get on with the cricket. The Aussies though, well judging by some of the nicknames for their players, I imagine they spend a great deal of time in the middle trying to think of something wondrous. That must be why Haddin is called BJ, Bollinger is called Eagle, North is called Snorks and the 27 year-old new boy, Xavier Doherty, is called X. You need to concentrate on the game in this game, not faff around thinking of schoolboy nicknames. In some ways this is why I hope Usman Khawaja plays. Though I suspect he’s called Koala.

5. The KP Factor. With his Movember challenge nearly at an end – a contest Monty has dominated from an early stage – and his blindfold cricket ‘viral’ video for Brylcreem out of the way, KP now has the chance to concentrate on what he loves. And, talking about love, the other day the lads saw that the fat lad Warney had said KP needed loving again. So that’s exactly what we have given him. Lots of it. Aussie, watch out.

6. Midge. That’s the nickname of Mitchell Johnson, presumably because like a midge he has no sense of co-ordination. Anyway, he has vowed to make me crumble. Which is lovely. I’m looking forward to it at tea. But Midge has also vowed to make me suffer under a bouncer barrage. This goes back to the 2006/7 Ashes where I fully admit I got out hooking twice. Midge wants to exploit this perceived weakness. Given that I was caught behind four times in the same series, one could be forgiven to think I am far more susceptible to the one that pitches in the corridor of uncertainty and moves a fraction away off the seam. Mind you, Midge’s corridor of uncertainty is only slightly smaller than Steve Harmison’s, so perhaps that’s what he means anyway.

7. We Are England! To paraphrase Hugh Grant, ‘We may be an England cricket team, but we are a South African one too. A country of Allan Lamb, Basil D’Oliveira, Tony Greig, Robin Smith, Robin Smith’s brother. Nasser Hussain’s index finger. Nasser Hussain’s middle finger come to that. And a friend who bullies us is a Commonwealth country that wants to become a Republic. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward, I will be prepared to whip out my guns more often. And the whole of Australia should be prepared for that.’ Actually, it sounds much better like this.

*Unless he makes fun of Ricky Ponting or the French.

November 24, 2010
7 Reasons That a Cricket Bat is Preferable to a Baseball bat

Hmm. What’s the best bat to keep around the house, you’re probably wondering. Well, I have both, and it’s definitely the cricket bat. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Perception. When you stroll down your nice, quiet unremarkable street with a cricket bat tucked under your arm, you fit in. To passers-by and onlookers you are that nice chap (or chapess) from number 29 on his way to participate in a genteel and respectable game which involves a break for tea, and a lunch which perhaps involves a home-made cake or two on a picturesque village green somewhere.

2. Perception. When you stroll down your nice, quiet unremarkable street twirling a baseball bat you do not fit in. In fact, you are a harbinger of evil, bristling with menace and exuding undiluted violence. Suddenly, in a scene reminiscent of a cheap western, everything will become silent. Young women shield young children behind their voluminous skirts; old women scuttle away in terror; middle-aged women…er…er…(I’ve never even seen a middle-aged women in a cheap western, why is that?); men (of all ages) suddenly become incapable of eye contact, because there’s a madman with a baseball bat on the rampage. Never mind that in your other hand you’re carrying a mitt and a baseball because the people have seen the bat and the panic-stricken-nitwits have been rendered incapable of rational thought. They will blindly assume that you’re off to break someone’s kneecaps or smash a car’s door-mirrors. And that won’t help you get an invite to your next-door neighbour’s birthday party. It may, however, stop trick-or-treaters visiting.*

3. Certainty. Cricket bats, like some of the more successful and big-headed practitioners of the game itself, are doughty, resolute and they stay where you left them. If you put a baseball bat on the dining-room floor, however, it does not. The baseball bat is an inherently flighty creature and, like a hollow-headed flibbertigibbet, it will just disappear from where you left it, merrily rolling away without a care in the world. Eventually, of course, it will turn up, usually while you’re stumbling around in the dark or when your wife is entering the room carrying a glass of orange juice, a plate containing two cheese and real-ale-pickle sandwiches and an apple. Or something.

4. Arms-length. Ever had to pick something up that you really didn’t want to pick up? Something that you wanted to keep at further-than-arms-length? Something with many legs, perhaps, or with steam emanating from it. A cricket bat is ideal for such an eventuality owing to its flat blade. A baseball bat is not. In fact, there’s no way that you’ll be able to carry your friend’s pet “hamster” that you’re looking after or that god-awful smelling bowl of onion soup on a baseball bat.

5. Flour. I have never returned home to find my cricket bat covered in flour. I have, however, returned home to discover my baseball bat covered in flour on several occasions. And, as I’ve tucked into the pie that my wife has prepared for me, I’ve often thought, funny that. I didn’t leave it anywhere near the flour cupboard.**

6. Air-guitar. Try miming along to the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion or Led Zeppelin using a baseball bat and you’ll look like a pillock. Do it using a cricket bat and you’ll look like an eminently sensible and respectable chap (or chapess), suitable for a post in the foreign office, perhaps, or as a school governor. No matter how bad the music or the miming, if you use a cricket bat you’ll always maintain a thin veneer of respectability. Until you fall off the table.

7. Visitors. When you entertain foreign guests from non-cricketing nations in your house, a baseball bat is just a bat for baseball. A cricket bat, however, is a strange thing of wonder which they will enquire about. And fairly soon you’ll find yourself explaining – at length – to your blankly-incomprehending friends the finer points of the game of cricket. And they’ll love you for that. Really. And, after several hours talking about cricket, you may even find that they close their eyes in concentration as you explain the finer points of leg-spin.

*Topical top tip.

**The flour cupboard is not exclusively for flour. It contains other things such as; homemade blackberry vodka, homemade limoncello, half a packet of raisins, three packets of linguine, a jar of treacle that may or may not pre-date the Crimean war and a sake jug.

October 18, 2010
7 Reasons International Cricket Captain 2010 Let Me Down

This week, one half of the 7 Reasons team will be revisiting their childhood. (The other half may or may not join in. We like living on the edge). Today we start off by looking back to the summer of 1998. As a 15 year-old, I spent much of my summer holiday playing, watching and indulging in cricket. Part of this indulging was many hours spent on International Cricket Captain. A PC game that does for cricket what Championship Manager does for football. Except that Championship Manager was good. Anyway, International Cricket Captain 2010 is out these days. It’s bound to have got better. At least that’s what I thought.

1. Run The Bat In! As a young cricketer you are told to run the bat in. Usually, this involves running the bat along the ground. Whoever designed this game obviously thinks it’s okay to run the bat in, in mid-air. And because of that, Ricky Ponting was given not out on 23, 54, 73, 75, 89, 101, 108, 11o, 118 and 122. He went on to score a match-winning 133 and the Ashes were gone. Despite Andrew Strauss’ 13* in England’s second innings. The one where we were bowled out for 46. Chasing 467.

2. Slip Positions. I don’t know about you, but I like my slips close together. If the ball goes wide of third slip, well so be it. It’s better than it flying between first and second. International Cricket Captain 2010 evidently likes a slightly more spread field. So spread in fact that I could probably drive a combine harvester between keeper and slip. If only the game had that option.

3. Aggers. I would say Jonathan Agnew is back for another stint as commentator, but I actually think it’s exactly the same utterances as he recorded 12 years ago. The only reason I hesitate in stating this as fact is because he sounds slightly more bored than I remember. I didn’t even think that was possible at the time.

4. Geoffrey Boycott’s Grandmother. If anyone has ever wondered just how good she is, I can’t help you. If anyone has ever wondered what her stance looks like, buy International Cricket Captain 2010. The batsmen – and they all have exactly the same set up – are clearly based on little old ladies.

5. Lord’s Media Centre. It looks like a hedge. Probably because it is.

6. Training. One of the things that really annoyed me about the original International Cricket Captain was that you could only train eight players at anyone time. Supposedly the rest of the squad just arsed around in the changing room playing poker and watching Trisha. I would have hoped that in the twelve years that have passed, this would have changed to accurately portray the professional era. Has it? No. I am still only allowed to coach eight players. And quite frankly, I don’t think Ian Bell listened to a word I said.

7. Attack! When a batsmen is at the crease you are supposed to be able to influence his attacking mentality. Unfortunately, some of the players seem to have a mind of their own and do whatever they bloody well like. An uninjured Flintoff deciding to block out the 19th over of a T20 against Australia for instance. I initially thought this was because I hadn’t earned his respect. That would be a nice little addition to the game and give it a sense of realism. Ten minutes after trying to work out whether this was the case, I exited the game without saving. Why did I think it would be a good idea to relive my childhood again?

September 13, 2010
7 Reasons The Brylcreem Batting Challenge Is Flawed

The Brylcreem Batting Challenge puts you in the shoes of Kevin Pietersen and tells you to smack the ball as far as you can. It sounds like fun. And it was. Until I started getting bored and noticed how much better it could be.

1. The Ball. It’s bloody huge. It should break KP’s bat. Does it? Of course not. In fact it can be hit as far as a giant India-based jelly. As we shall see in a minute.

2. KP’s Neck. He hasn’t got one. I have seen Kevin Pietersen in the flesh. And there was quite a sizable neck on show. So where the hell has it gone? If they wanted a cricketer without a neck they should have called Gladstone Small.

3. Barbados. According to Brylcreem this is Barbados. Not only is it very small it would appear that a three toed giant is buried under the beach.

4. The Giant Lizard. This lizard is just across the sea from Barbados – on a beach in St. Vincent and the Grenadines by my calculations. That’s some 100 miles away. That scale makes this lizard approximately 65 miles long. Thank goodness my shot landed in the water. I would hate to have riled it.

5. India. At least I assume this is India. That is where I thought the Taj Mahal was situated. It’s quite hard to tell though when you have the Sydney Opera House and a giant jelly in the background.

6. New York. We started in England, then we went to the West Indies, then India, then Australia. I can understand that. Proper cricket nations in a proper cricket game. So why the hell have I just ended up in the Big Apple? Where is South Africa or Sri Lanka or New Zealand?

7. The Brylcreem Zone. It is not so much the fact that I ended up in the Brylcreem Zone that frustrates me – this is the objective of the game – it’s what I get for arriving here. My style is upgraded and I get a bonus 2000 points. Is that it? I have just twatted a ball from London to the Brylcreem Zone and all I get is a style upgrade and 2000 meaningless bonus points? Where the hell is my 10% discount code? Why is KP not nodding his appreciation? Has his big head fallen off? What a waste of bloody time.

May 3, 2010