Category Archives: International

Diary of a Glamorgan Fan (Aged 25 5/8) #9 – Woe Edition

Golf Swing

Swing. Miss. Bowled.

17 hours (roughly) between the end of Sunday’s Twenty20 match with Somerset down at Taunton, and the start of the County Championship fixture versus Derbyshire. An example of ECB scheduling at its most frantic and neither of the outcomes have been to the liking of the Glamorgan Dragons.

Aware of the fact that Derbyshire also had Twenty20 duties on Sunday too, it’s a point that extends across the county spectrum and not one fuelled by frustration. OK, so it is a little bit, but where is the sense in wedging a four-day game into the Twenty20-dominated schedule during June and July.

If the ECB wants to flog the Twenty20 beast to death, continue with a two-month group stage if needs must. But is there not a concern that interrupting that with a four-day game during that period – and in such a short turnaround – will have the consequence that players aren’t easily managing the transition between formats?

I only make the point based on one or two (maybe more, that’s how exciting it is) sentiments emanating from the SWALEC over the past couple of days. I am sure, as sure as I can be (not much), that poor shot selection cropped up on a couple of occasions when describing Glamorgan wickets against Derbyshire.

Now, I can’t be there and not for the want of trying. The work of Gareth Griffiths (@gazg2000) and Edward Bevan (@EdBevanCricket) – sterling efforts all round – keep me up to speed. And by putting 2 and 2 together to get 5, I could question the sanity of interspersing Twenty20 games with County Championship ones.

And to lose to Derbyshire with a flimsy batting performance doesn’t fill one with too much happiness. They screwed up the promotion charge on the final day last year, and they might have torpedoed this year’s one ‘n all. All I want to do now is make loud, vowel-based wailing noises and bang the table like a small child.

It came after a topsy-turvy run of fortune in the Friends Life T20, but I won’t spend too much time indulging in the competition as it bores me rigid now. After a flying Alviro Petersen helped the Dragons edge to victory against Sussex, it was a rather futile effort trying to defend 166 at Taunton that came next.

T20 Highlight Of The Week: A Man Falls Over

I’ve bored myself just talking about it. And the Rubicon Moments of the Week or whatever-you-call-it video on YouTube/Facebook seems to struggle to find items of note from the recent T20 games. This week sees a Glammy shot going for four… only included ‘cos a middle-aged man fell over the fence.

But to end on a lighter note, Cardiff has been stripped of the right to host the Test match between England and West Indies next summer because of the club’s late payment of a staging fee for last month’s rain-drowned Test match versus Sri Lanka. I wonder which ground named Lord’s will get to host it instead…

ECB chief executive David Collier said: “This decision has been taken… with a view to assisting the club in developing a sustainable long-term business plan for staging international cricket.” There are alarm bells and they are going off. I can’t tell if it’s a drill or the real thing.

Glammy chief executive Alan Hamer came back with: “The ECB have agreed to extend the deadline for Glamorgan Cricket to meet the financial terms of the match agreement.” As long as the repayment period isn’t as long as the time it’ll take me to pay off my student loan, perhaps things aren’t so bad after all.

Anyway, the Test is out to tender again. ECB continues to persist with the rather ridiculous policy of getting clubs to bid against each other until the wealthy ones win and the not-so-wealthy ones reach for a HUUUUUUUGE red felt-tip pen to fill in their financial reports for the year. Don’t ever say cricket isn’t progressive.

Diary of a Glamorgan Fan (Aged 25 1/2) #7

Rain and Swan

Insert your own Graeme Swann joke

7 is, as you have probably noticed, the number of this instalment. It didn’t occur to me when I came to muse on the last… ELEVEN DAYS?! How tardy. Yet that isn’t why this reminisci-rant being brought to you by the figure 7. It is, rather, the number of overs before the end of play that I left the Test match.

This was Saturday, I should point out. Not Monday. I’m not so foolish as to leave when Sri Lanka were on the verge of an epic collapse and one that would grant a disbelieving home “crowd” the sight of an England win. However, I am certainly feeling foolish for rushing to buy my tickets six months ago.

Having forgone the opportunity to see Stevenage win promotion to League One at Old Trafford, a morning spent underneath the SWALEC’s grandstand wasn’t exactly an effective use of my time – there’s only so much you can do with a 4/6 card. And I couldn’t lay my hands on an npower hand. But I did get a flag. Hmm.

Better people than me (i.e. Michael Atherton) have since suggested that perhaps drizzle needn’t cause play to be postponed, so no point indulging in that further. But after the action commenced, the wicket of James Anderson was all that was offered before Alistair Cook and Jonathan Trott completed their centuries.

Leaving early was no real matter of debate. The Champions League final was on the horizon. And there was a space in Dempsey’s waiting. That choice then took me on a collision path with The Two Chucks. I’m not sure if my theory on where ‘lamb shank’ originated was requested, but I offered it anyway. They took it.

That all said (I am a frightful cynic on occasion), I hope that when Cardiff stages its next Test match, the ECB have the good grace to award a June/July fixture. I can vouch for the ‘Diff’s weather at that time of year. And getting to South Wales from London costs me less than a ticket from Stevenage to London. British Rail.

And what of the mighty Glamorgan Dragons. Well, it took them half a century to win at Lord’s. Now they have two in two seasons. It was a crushing one too. Nine wickets, with Gareth Rees failing to stick around in the game’s death throes. But the damage was done in the first innings as Middlesex wilted to 150 all out.

James Harris was a driving force, trapping the England captain in front and with a delivery that screamed “PICK ME, PICK ME, PICK ME (in future, at least)”. In response, Ben Wright’s ton anchored a mahoooooosive 522. The hosts rallied on their second outing, but left Glamorgan only needing 20-odd.

Moving across London to the Kia Picanto, another full haul of batting points saw the Dragons pile on 419 – Alviro Petersen bagging a double hundred and Michael Powell left agonisingly short on 99 after he chopped on to Jordan. The hosts saw off the threat of a follow-on, but were still eventually bundled out for 284.

Rain interrupted proceedings somewhat, but not enough to prevent Gareth Rees getting in on the century action in the 259-4 that the Dragons declared on to try and force a result. It wasn’t forthcoming though. Surrey’s openers put on 150 and made it through to the close of play with the loss of just one wicket. Momentum.

Momentum indeed. It appears to have turned on Glamorgan. Northamptonshire were unfazed in their first innings of the third LVCC2 match of the last couple of weeks. Injuries are piling up and the Dragons current three-man pace attack are all of ’88 vintage – one year before Robert Croft made his first class debut.

That’s no excuse for today’s implosion though. What’s 28 short of 100? A dismal failure. The steady hands of Jim Allenby were most definitely missing today as a Glamorgan batsman came, saw, got out. Ten times. Some things you can rely on – the Dragons are always capable of a collapse; Cardiff is always capable of rain…

The A-Z Guide Of… The ICC


"Where exactly are the Netherlands"?

Following on from the relative success (i.e. more than 5 views) of The A-Z Guide of Chokers, turnandbounce now throws itself upon you with the latest offering – Bow heads and pray silence for the I.C.C!

A – Arseholes (Bunch of)
It is only within the capabilities of the faceless, self-serving group of egits at the ICC to simultaneously alienate the fans, players and commentators of the sport it purports to serve. But whatever progress had been made in convincing the world that cricket was open for business has been blown out of the water in some style.

The illogical decision to have a 10-team World Cup in 2015 featuring just the Full Members doesn’t even ensure that the best 10 teams will compete. Ireland – at 10 in the rankings – are not invited while Zimbabwe – yep, 11th – do. Zimbabwe have played as many Tests as Ireland in the last six years. What’s in a status, eh?

But the bottom line is that Associates are excluded. Without so much as a chance to prove themselves otherwise. Hope is a wonderful thing. It is even better when you take it away from an industrious upstart who might show up the Old Guard.


B-Z – More of the same…

CricLit – Associate Farm

George Orwell

"Test Match Special? From Dublin? My arse..."

George Four-well returns with a blistering satire on the current state of the game and its relationship with those who aren’t quite as good as the rest. As if by fate, we pick up the action in Chapter (two-thousand-and) Ten…

There were many more countries in the game now, though the increase was not so great as had been expected in earlier years. Many associates had been born; to whom the Rebellion was only a dim tradition, passed on by word of mouth. Others had been bought who had never heard mention of such a thing before their arrival. The game possessed three forces now besides Kenya. They were fine upstanding beasts, willing workers and good comrades, but very candid. They accepted everything that they were told about the Rebellion and the principles of Associatism, especially from Kenya, for whom they had an almost filial respect; but it was doubtful whether they understood very much of it.

The game was more prosperous now, and better organised: it had even been enlarged by two fields which had been bought from Mr. Stanford. The Dubai HQ had been successfully completed at last, and various new buildings had been added to it. Australia had bought itself a dogcart – they called it Mitchell. The Dubai office, however, had not after all been used for generating political power. It was used for milling scorn, and brought in a handsome money profit. The Associates were hard at work building yet another windfall; when that one was finished, so it was said, the dynamos would be installed. But the luxuries of which Sri Lanka had once taught the Associates to dream, the move to the ‘top flight’ and ODI and Test status, and the five-day games, were no longer talked about. ICC had dismissed such ideas as contrary to the spirit of Associatism . The truest happiness, they said, lay in working hard and living frugally.

Somehow it seemed as though the game had grown richer without making the Associates themselves any richer – except, of course, for the Full Members. Perhaps this was partly because there were so many Full Members. It was not that these creatures did not work, after their fashion. There was, as ICC was never tired of explaining, endless work in the supervision and organisation of the game. Much of this work was of a kind that the other Associates were too ignorant to understand. For example, ICC told them that the Full Members had to expend enormous labours every year upon mysterious things called “series,” “sponsors,” “central contracts,” and “Ravi Shastri.” These were large sheets of paper which had to be closely covered with writing, and as soon as they were so covered, they were burnt in the furnace of live television coverage. This was of the highest importance for the welfare of the game, ICC said. But still, neither Full Members produced any food by their own endeavour; and there were very many of them, and their appetites were always good.

As for the others, their life, so far as they knew, was as it had always been. They were generally hungry, they needed more, they drank from the pool, they laboured in the fields; in winter they were troubled by the cold, and in summer by the flies. Sometimes the older ones among them racked their dim memories and tried to determine whether in the early days of the Rebellion, things had been better or worse than now. They could not remember. There was nothing with which they could compare their present lives: they had nothing to go upon except ICC’s lists of figures, which invariably demonstrated that everything was getting better and better. The Associates found the problem insoluble; in any case, they had little time for speculating on such things now. Only old Canada professed to remember every detail of its long life and to know that things never had been, nor ever could be much better or much worse – hunger, hardship, and disappointment being, so he said, the unalterable law of cricket’s hierarchy.

And yet, the Associates never gave up hope. More, they never lost, even for an instant, their sense of honour and privilege in being members of Associate Farm. They were still the only farm able to show up England, owned and humiliated by Associates. And when they heard the crowd booming and saw the badly written placards fluttering at the Pavilion End (U WIL WIN SACHIN 4 INDIA LOL!!!11), their hearts swelled with imperishable pride, and the talk turned always towards the old heroic days. None of the old dreams had been abandoned. The Republic of the Associates which had been foretold, when the green fields of England should be trodden by minnow feet, was still believed in. Some day it was coming: it might not be soon, it might not be with in the lifetime of any Associate now living, but still it was coming. It might be that their lives were hard and that not all of their hopes had been fulfilled; but they were conscious that they were not as other Associates. If they worked hard, at least they worked for themselves. No team among them went upon last  legs. No creature called any other creature “Master.” All Associates were equal.

One day in early summer ICC ordered the Full Members to follow him, and led them out to a piece of waste ground (or the MCG, as it’s colloquially known) at the other end of the farm, which had become overgrown with weak saplings like Steve Smith. The Full Members spent the whole day there browsing at the leaves under ICC’s supervision. In the evening he returned to the Dubai HQ himself, but, as it was warm weather, told the Full Members to stay where they were. It ended by their remaining there for a whole week, during which time the other Associates saw nothing of them. ICC was with them for the greater part of every day. It was, he said, teaching them to sing a new song, for which privacy was needed.

It was just after the Full Members had returned, on a pleasant evening when the Associates had finished work and were making their way back to the Intercontinental Cup, that the terrified neighing of a team sounded from the yard. Startled, the Associates stopped in their tracks. It was Ireland’s voice. It neighed again, and all the Associates broke into a gallop and rushed into the yard. Then they saw what Ireland had seen.

It was India walking at its own behest.

A little awkwardly, as though not quite used to supporting its considerable bulk in that position, but with perfect balance, it was strolling across the yard. And a moment later, out from the door of the farmhouse came a long file of Full Members, all walking at their own behest. Some did it better than others, one or two were even a trifle unsteady and looked as though they would have liked the support of a stick, but every one of them made its way right round the yard successfully. And finally there was a tremendous baying and a shrill crowing, and out came ICC itself, majestically upright, casting haughty glances from side to side.

It carried a whip.

There was a deadly silence. Amazed, terrified, huddling together, the Associates watched the long line of Full Members march slowly round the yard. It was as though the World Cup had turned upside-down. Then there came a moment when the first shock had worn off and when, in spite of the habit, developed through long years, of never complaining, never criticising, no matter what happened – they might have uttered some word of protest. But just at that moment, as though at a signal, all the Full Members burst out into a tremendous bleating of:

“Members good, Full Members better! Members good, Full Members better! Members good, Full Members better!”

It went on for five minutes without stopping. And by the time the Full Members had quieted down, the chance to utter any protest had passed, for the teams had marched back into the pavilion.

Netherlands felt a nose nuzzling at its shoulder. He looked round. It was Kenya. Its old eyes looked dimmer than ever. Without saying anything, it tugged gently at it’s team bus and drove it round to the end of the Media Centre, where the Seven Cricket Commandments were written. For a minute or two they stood gazing at the tatted wall with its white lettering.

“My sight is failing,” it said finally. “Even when I was young I could not have read what was written there. But it appears to me that that wall looks different. Are the Seven Cricket Commandments the same as they used to be, Netherlands?”

For once Netherlands consented to break its rule, and it read out to Kenya what was written on the wall. There was nothing there now except a single Commandment. It ran:


After that it did not seem strange when next day the Full Members who were supervising the work of the game all carried whips. It did not seem strange to learn that the Full Members had bought themselves an UDRS set, were arranging to install a website, and had taken out subscriptions to SPIN, AOC and the Wisden Cricketer. It did not seem strange when the ICC was seen strolling in the outfield with a pipe in its mouth – no, not even when the Full Members took Old Father Time’s clothes out of the wardrobes and put them on, ICC itself appearing in a black coat, ratcatcher breeches, and leather leggings, while its favourite India appeared in the watered silk dress which Mrs. Father Time had been used to wear for the Sunday League.

… alas we leave it there as Four-well continues on to recount the union of the Full Member and the businessman under the wise leadership of the ICC and Mr Modi representing a consortium of premier interests. Nothing would surely go wrong…

The A-Z Guide Of Chokers

Now available in spiral-bound format at no good bookstores or the rubbish ones either, the all new A-Z Guide Of Chokers brings together the glorious failures for whom the prospect of impending triumph appears to be as unsettling a prospect as going to work the morning after a heavy session down the Nag’s Head. Gather around with Elmo, for this megachoke is brought you by the letters A to Z.

Koscienly and Szczesny

Chokes are best served ice cold. Like Carling.

A — Arsenal (Football)
Arsenal might seem like an odd choice, given the penchant for attractive football that attracts literally tens of people to the Emirates. But this is a side, for all their plaudits, without a trophy in six years. If you need some perspective, even Luton Town have been to Wembley and lifted silverware in that time. And they’re in the Blue Square Premier. Lest it be said that Tottenham have won more in that time. But that spell could have come to an end in the 2011 League Cup final. Instead, a farcical attempt at Defending 101 ended in catastrophe. Wenger didn’t see it…

B — Boswell, Scott (Cricket)
If you don’t have the luxury of possessing the god-given cricketing talent that is needed for international selection, the best opportunity of playing at Lord’s is in the final of a domestic competition. It bodes well for you if you’ve played a major role in getting your side there, just like Scott Boswell and Leicestershire in 2001. Although it can go wrong. The C&G Final at the Home of Cricket is where you’d want to do it though. An analysis of 2-23 wasn’t brilliant, but the second of those two overs were a disaster. Five wides in a row were a highlight of a 14-bowl over. Somerset beat Leicestershire by 41 runs, and Boswell never played county cricket again. Home of Cricket, graveyard of career…

C — Cardiff City (Football)
The spring brings with it a multitude of colour and a number of certainties. The start of British Summer Time and the cricket season; the reappearance of shorts; and the self-destruction of Cardiff City’s attempt to reach the Premier League. It is a process that differs only in terms of mirth; last year it was under Wembley’s giant arch in the last act of the Championship season. And this year it looks as if the choke might be at the ‘expense’ arch rivals Swansea City. Too funny.

Devon Loch

"Devon knows how he'll run like that..."

D — Devon Loch
(Horse Racing)

Hey, you’ve got two wins under your belt this year! You’ve also got an impressive third place down at Cheltenham too. I think you could win the Grand National. I am going to put my one and six on you to win horse racing’s 1956 showpiece! I’m not going to regret this one. Barely 40 yards to go and five lengths ahead? Switch off the television, this one’s done. Kerrrrrching! I’m off to buy the new Shadows LP with my winnings…

Whaddya mean he belly-flopped to the ground and let ESB through to win? Grrr! It’s the knackers’ yard for you Devon Loch.

E — England (Football)
It was a toss-up between three-time-World-Cup-final-capitulating cricketers and the footballers, but it’d be rude to let the footballers off the hook for their penalty taking ineptitude. It dates back to the Battle of Hastings, when Harold missed a Sudden Death shot with his bow and lost to the French. 1990. 1996. 1998. 2004 – it takes an effort to realise that England did beat Spain on penalties amid all that spectacular inability to find the goal from 12 yards. Pizza ads, my arse.

F — Fernando Alonso (Formula One)
No-one ever promised consistency in this list, and that’s why Fernando Alonso is here in first name, last name format. Unlike the other individuals. But there is to be no apologies here. He could have been Formula One World Champion in 2010 if the right result came his way in the last race. But someone, somewhere messed up, and Fernando was left to follow a Renault 5 for the last four-and-a-half hours of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. And then he moaned. And probably still is…

G — Glamorgan (Cricket)
In 2009, promotion to the County Championship’s first division was a tall order going into the final round of fixtures. In 2010, it ought to have been a formality. Regardless of the fact that Worcestershire were gifted a win against Sussex that was to secure their own destiny, Glamorgan needn’t have worried if they saw off Derbyshire. The same Derbyshire that were pish for pretty much the majority of the season. But Glamorgan couldn’t. And thus heads of captain and coach rolled all the way down the valleys. And the president came tumbling after.

H — Hastings, Gavin (Rugby Union)
It’s 1991. It’s the Rugby World Cup. And it’s Scotland v England. With the scores locked at six apiece, Hastings is the Dan Parks of his generation and has a kick at goal that couldn’t be easier unless he was elevated to the level of the crossbar and able to stumble the ball over. One moment to vanquish the auld enemy and move forward towards World Cup glory. Alas it’s not to be. Drag it wide and watch Rob Andrew drop the goal that puts England into the final. History summed up.

Ireland lose to France again

Welcome to Choke Park

I — Ireland (Rugby Union)
Some things are inevitable when it comes to thinking about the Irish. Rich Gaelic heritage, a fiery wit and the charming growl of the bodhran. That, and the mental block that comes with playing the French rugby team. Irish rugby’s first outing at the historic Croke Park venue in 2007 brought with it a choke of epic proportion, with Vincent Clerc’s winning try coming as late as it possibly could’ve; just after a kick from Ronan O’Gara had edged the hosts ahead. Fast forward to 2011, and an opportunity to seek Grand Slam success was willingly passed up versus the Gallic adversary with the try line, on occasion, just 0.00000000011m away. When Irish Eyes Are Crying…

J — Jana Novotná (Tennis)
Have you ever played tennis? Have you ever qualified for the Wimbledon singles final? Have you ever been consoled by the Duchess of Kent when crying like a bit of a baby? Then you are Jana Novotná, and I claim my £5 and declare you to be a choker. This tennis lark can’t be that difficult: Two games to one up against Steffi Graf with two match points means that you just hit the ball over the net into that empty space over there. No? Lose the match points and the next five games, then see if I care. There’s no use crying over spilt opportunities to win a Grand Slam.

K — Kidderminster Harriers (Football)
2007 FA Trophy Final? Check. Inaugural competitive game at the new Wembley Stadium? Check. Racing into a dominant two-goal lead by half-time? Check. The mission accomplished? Uh, no. It’s difficult to call this a choke without forgetting the fact that Stevenage Borough ran out 3-2 winners through their own efforts as opposed to their opponents shortcomings. But the Harriers squandered their two goal advantage. At Wembley. On Sky. In front of thousands.

Funny car crash

Looks like it won't be Hamilton's year again

L — Lewis Hamilton (Formula One)
An incredible story it could easily have been; a young Brit making his debut in F1 with the opportunity to win the Formula One Drivers’ Championship. It’d get the BBC Sports Personality of the Year vote for sure. Hamilton was adventurous with his driving style, and bought a rare slither of excitement to the turgid parade that Formula One once was. With a championship lead extending into double figures as the season progressed, it was disappointing that four points was the gap come the final race in Brazil. But a sure fire way to piss your chances up the wall would be to make two pretty woeful errors, and the Stevenage lad duly obliged. Yeah, it was a demon that was exorcised a year later. But that glosses over a super choke.

M — Murray, Andy (Tennis)
British men’s tennis is the last remaining habitat of the white-shorted choker (nil grand slamium). Sporting more corporate logos that you can normally shake the proverbial stick at, the andymurray species took over as the dominant resident in the grassy environment of SW19 after the timhenman mysteriously disappeared. Normally identifiable by the gruff exclamation of expletives and the cry “COME ON!”, the andymurray has  found himself in competition for territory with Swiss, Spanish, Croatian (Editor’s Note: That’s enough) variants. In three major ‘competitions’, the andymurray has been found wanting and has returned to the UK (Scotland) with tail between legs and plenty of wailing still to be done.

N — Norwood, Scott (American Football)
Apparently, this Scott Norwood fella plays a padded version of rugby union that is inexplicably popular in the States. And he’s a bit of a choker, which is why I’m suddenly interested in his fortunes. The year is 1991 and Bart Simpson/Nirvana are the predominant social trends. Norwood’s Buffalo Bills have made it to what is called the Super Bowl XXV (Cup Final 25) and are a team that is considered to be favoured against New York Giants. One can only assume that the New Yorkers weren’t actually ‘giants’, but they did hold a 20-19 lead in the dying moments. It’s eight seconds to go, and Norwood is lined up with a lengthy field goal attempt to secure cult status, a win for his team and something to eat his breakfast out of. It would’ve been so, but for the ball’s decision to drift wide. That’s correct, he didn’t choke – the ball did. Round balls don’t let you down…

O — Oilers, Houston (American Football)
… and yet we return to the oval ball-shaped game as if a lesson hadn’t been taken on board. Buffalo Bills feature in this choke too, but on the other side of the fence this time. Houston Oilers, a rather ungratifying name that probably has some old tale behind it, ballsed up an AFC Wild Card playoff game with wonderful aplomb by the standards of many. The Oilers led 35-3 at half time, and I’m informed that it is a pretty sizeable margin. The final score was 38-41, after the Bills inflicted an incredible turnaround on their Houston-based opponents. Apparently the largest in-game comeback in NFL history (at least it was in 1993). That’s choketastic!

P — Palmer, Arnold (Golf)
The father of Robert Palmer (not really) used the fact that everyone throughout the civilised world was celebrating England’s win in the football World Cup in a bid to hide his pretty impressive choke in the 1966 US Open. Palmer had set up an opportunity to record a new course record after a couple of blistering days – par would have sufficed. But what’s a course record that can be broken when a choke that stands the test of time? The nearest challenger Billy Casper was just along for the ride when Palmer dropped the c-bomb on the 10th. Yet, it was not until the 15th with a five-shot lead that Arnold upped his choking game. More bogeys that a particularly disgusting nose followed as Casper was to be thrown into contention with a playoff that he duly won. History records that A. Palmer is one of the golfing greats. It also shows that he threw away a seven shot lead with nine to play and never won a Major again.

Diana Ross, WC 1994

Diana Ross. Better than Baggio.

R — Roberto Baggio (Football)
The 1990 World Cup was a good ‘un for the Boy Baggio (not Dino – are you sure they aren’t related!?) but the 1994 World Cup was even greater. Roberto Baggio was the Italian talisman that helped drive the Azzurri to within 90 minutes of an irresistible third success at football’s top table. But it was to transpire that the 90 minutes was to become 120, and then some. And the Brazilians weren’t feeling in the mood to let what had seemed like fate to have its way. Or perhaps fate was to have its way? With penalties the only means of separating the teams, it was to be R. Baggio to step up and keep the Italian cause alive. But he fluffed it. The ball is still rising somewhere near Jupiter. And while he came back to become the only Italian to score in three World Cups in 1998, he also tried a trick and fell on his arse. What an absolute choker!

Allan Donald Run Out

In any lingo, the phrase rhymes with "clucking bell"

S — South Africa (Cricket)
Duckworth Lewis miscalculations and tail end run out disasters conspired to lift South Africa’s cricketers to the top of The Chokers Tree in bygone days. The sight of Allan Donald and Lance Klusener naffing up the 1999 World Cup semi-final is a funny one tempered only by the disgusting realisation that it gave Australia the opportunity to win another trophy. Couldn’t you have done it against Holland or something? Admittedly, it pales into significance when the rain starts falling and a sheet of numbers needs to be deciphered. Perhaps they forgot to carry the one?

T — Tim Henman (Tennis)
A choking predecessor of Andy Murray, Tim Henman was an annoying squatter that would take up residence in the Wimbledon Semi-Final and wouldn’t budge. Armed with a nice accent and a non-threatening pump of the iron after the 185th serve-volley combo of the set, the last four of the All England Championship was treated as Henman’s destiny. Crowds would pack onto a grassy mound to discuss how their beloved hero would blow it in the semis? He raised fears that the choke was off against Goran Ivanišević when two sets to one up. Then rain fell, and Tim remembered his place in life. It was Goran’s destiny to win, but Henman’s too…

U — United, Newcastle (Football)
Precious little needs to be said here. Newcastle United were everyone’s second team back in the mid-1990s and deployed their attractive interpretation of the beautiful game to push themselves into a hearty lead at the top of the Premier League. And then they lost it. Encapsulated in a moment of television sporting greatness, Kevin Keegan went quite mad indeed. A couple of years earlier, the Blackburn Rovers goalkeeper (Tim Flowers) rambled on about bottles but still won the title; King Kev said he would love it if they beat Manchester United to Premier League success. He probably didn’t love it when they failed.

Van de Velde in the Burn

Anyone order the Choked Salmon?

V — Van de Velde, Jean (Golf)
It takes a lot to make golf exciting. It really does. But one Frenchman took on the challenge during the 1999 Open Championship at Carnoustie. And it was a pretty good effort, all told. It took a while to come, but needing only a double-bogey six to win the event and create an upset, he grasped the opportunity. Driving off the tee, Van de Velde put his shot to the right of the burn. Favouring the charismatic approach to choking, he opted against the safe shot and went for the green. After hitting pretty much everything within a 50-mile radius, the ball settled in rough.

Opting to use a golf club instead of a scythe, Van de Velde’s next shot graciously bumbled along into the Barry Burn (that’s golfing speak for water). It was a nice day, so off came the socks and shoes. And in he went. It appeared as if he would try to hit the ball out, despite the fact there were six foot walls either side. But he relented, dropped a shot, and then found a bunker. Having already elevated him into choking infamy, Van de Velde completed the hole for a triple-bogey seven. And then lost a three-way playoff for the title. VA VA KABOOM!

W — Webber, Mark (Formula One)
For the Australian to win the 2010 Formula One Drivers’ Championship, all he needed to do was 1) not crash in the Korean Grand Prix; 2) win the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; and 3) hope that Fernando Alonso finished no higher than third in Abu Dhabi. Incidentally, it was the one part that was not in his control that was to come in for him. But as Meatloaf intimated, one out of three isn’t quite good enough. Webber decided that, having flounced out in Korea, that he’d earned a nice leisurely drive in Abu Dhabi. Having exchanged pleasantries with the likes of Force India, Toro Rosso and Virgin Racing – all chugging away in top gear at the rear of the field, Webber eventually slipped into second and ended the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix ‘nowhere of interest’.

Y — Yankees, New York (Baseball)
A brief flirtation with men’s rounders and a little-known side from a little known city outside New Jersey. In the 2004 American League Championship Series, the Yankees were flying against the Boston Red Sox to such an extent that they were 3-0 up and ahead in the fourth of a best-of-seven showdown. Nothing could ever go wrong in such a position. But this wouldn’t be worthy of mention here if it had panned out that way. And therefore in by losing 4-3, recorded one of the greatest chokes in Major League Baseball history.

New Zealand choke against the French

"You will, ow you say, le choke!"

Z — Zealand, New
(Rugby Union)

For all their skill and aptitude, New Zealand have an issue with the Rugby World Cup. In 1999, they made the semi-finals with relative ease and came up against a French team that wouldn’t have caused a field of sheep too much concern. And at 24-10, it seemed like the form book would ring true again. No-one had foreseen a French revival that flattened many rugby fans’ world ideas as a Gallic charge won 43-31. New Zealand were out, two and two doesn’t equal four, and I can believe it isn’t butter. And we ought to leave it there… had the All Blacks not repeated their ‘thing’ four years later against Australia. Not such an epic choke this time around as it goes, but it was a game they shouldn’t have lost. It ultimately paved the way for England to humiliate the Aussies in their own back yard. Is this good or bad?

Q, X — Uh…
Fittingly, it is my turn to choke. LE FIN!

More Council Cash For Glamorgan

SWALEC Stadium

England v Australia at the SWALEC

Cardiff Council has agreed to provide Glamorgan County Cricket Club with a further £1m towards the cost of transforming the city’s SWALEC Stadium into what is now a fully-fledged Test match venue. I say additional – the council has already contributed £4.5m in late 2006.

At face value, it could be seen as worrying indictment of the club’s finances and places this winter’s turmoil into greater context. But reading into the report put before councillors, it sheds a little more reassuring light on the situation – both from the club and the council’s point of view.

The cost of transforming the SWALEC Stadium was believed to be around £9m. But revisions to the England and Wales Cricket Board’s demands for grounds to attain international status –  a hover cover, an extra floodlight and the provision of a tri-vision sightscreen to name but a few – forced it up to more than £11m.

The council report said: “The club went ahead and met the cost overrun with extra short term funding from Mr Russell, a bank overdraft and accelerated use of staged naming rights income. Carrying the additional burden of the cost overrun has led to cash flow issues for the club.

By securing the additional £1m from Cardiff Council, the club plans to remedy these cash flow issues and ensure that it is capable of bidding for another Ashes Test in the coming years – complementing the other international games due to be held in Cardiff between now and 2014.

The cut-throat nature of the Test match bidding process means that Glamorgan have had their hand forced. Financial incentives that come with hosting such an occasion as an Ashes Test match are too alluring to pass up, but there’s a surplus of clubs to notice this – some will lose out.

Those incentives are very handy when it comes to paying off the debt accrued in the process of redeveloping the SWALEC. And this is where this winter’s mess is to make its entrance – poor Twenty20 form means matchday revenues fail to do their bit and prompted a wave of personnel changes that have been a PR failure.

Glamorgan’s proposal: “The council’s further advance would be used by the club to reduce its bank overdraft to £0.3 million and to address its ongoing cash flow challenges.” So, £1m on top of the £4.5m equalling total liability of £5.5m, minus £500,000 waived in return for a community partnership grant scheme.

That’s the ‘take’ half. The ‘give’ half from the club is that the full amount (£5m) would be repaid to the council more than four years early – October 2023, not the initial loan period ending January 2028. I’m not an apologist for the public sector bailing out the private, but at least there is compromise.

It’s in Cardiff Council’s interest to look after Glamorgan’s interest in some ways. According to the report, an Ashes Test match is incredibly valuable to the city’s economy; bettered only by a Heineken Cup Final that usually results in an army of Irishmen invading the city…

The £1m will come from the Public Works Loan Board, rather than the council’s own coffers, and if it helps Glamorgan secure another Ashes Test match (or two), the short-term outlay will be recovered. Another sweetener was perhaps a pledge by the club to provide a ‘community benefits package’. Alan Hamer told Wales Online: “The loan will be paid back in full at commercial interest rates and the club will provide additional benefits, which total in excess of £900,000.”

The issue that is the most concerning, however, is the references to Glamorgan’s cashflow. In a year that has included little on-the-field success but the visit of an England game, how will the annual results fare? Does the need for an additional £1m from the council mean that a loss is inevitable?

County cricket finances are coming under scrutiny at present, especially with the likes of Yorkshire and Lancashire staring at seven-figure losses. Other clubs have seen six-figure losses, and a minority are in the black. And Glamorgan? Time will definitely tell…

Ireland: Banging on the Glass Ceiling

As the England team collect and swap injuries ahead of the World Cup, a new rival from across the Irish Sea is looking to build on 2007 successes. And you can read all about ’em over at Clear Cricket.

Ireland: Banging on the Glass Ceiling

Criclit – TS Eliot’s The Eng Land

"How did South Africa mess this up?" - TS Eliot gets to grips with Duckworth Lewis

"How did South Africa mess this up?" - TS Eliot gets to grips with Duckworth Lewis

I – The Burial of the Dead (Ball)…

February is the cruellest month, breeding
Wickets out of the dead pitch, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull shots with spin pain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Home in forgetful snow, feeding
Ashes, live to Sky’s viewers.
Some may survive it, overcoming the injuries
With a shoulder of pain; we dropped our Paul Collingwood,
On went Oz, in sunlight, into the boredom;
The CB Series, it lasts days and hours.
Morgan broken finger; Swann out limping, and Broad.
And then there was Bresnan, straining at the calf, look;
My cousins: we’re going out on a limb,
And we are frightened. He said, “Ravi,
Ravi, hold on tight”. And down we went.
In the mountains, Dutchmen swing free.
I watch, much of the plight; odds grow long with no wins here.

Wafting the bats they clutch, at Bangalore
Out of this dusty skirmish? Son of man,
You cannot play, or guess, for you know only
A treat of broken wickets, where the sun beats,
And Chinnaswamy gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And powerplays, no sound of bound’ries. Only
Is there singles under this dead block,
(Come in fielders, cut singles off this dead block),
India will show you something different from either
Your shadow in mourning, edging behind you
Or your shadow when bowling, diving to save two;
India show you fear in Tendulkar’s punch,
Is there a Win?
The next match to,
My Irish Kind,
What will they do?
“We gave you Ed Joyce first five years ago;
“We called up Joyce to see the world.”
– Yet when he came back, played, in that Joyce selection,
Our arms grew, and batsmen set; you could not
Strike, and bowlers failed; World Cup neither
Living nor dead, and we knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
“Get Us Out Of Here”.

Madame South Africa, famous mathematician,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to have some wizened batsmen in full hope,
From a wicked pack of cards, here KP
Is your card: The downed faux-English player,
(That’s a pearl to bring his demise. Look!)
Now are Bangladeshis, with Tamim – ne’er blocks,
The man for these situations
He misses less than he plays; now West Indies,
And here is Chris Gayle’s penchant, the scorecard,
Which starts blank, but something he carries on his back,
Which I’m forsaken to see… he’s on 99
Off sixty-one. Century by order.
I see crowds of people, walking off cricket’s ring.
Thank you, for you sent dear Mr. Strauss home,
Tell him we saw the horrors; hope it melts:
One must be so careful these days.

An exit, early;
Under the brown fog of a February dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
Stayed away from Heathrow Airport, so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Now Sri Lanka, India; we shall prepare to meet,
But where the Saints of Cricket kept the hours
At Lord’s ground under the gaze of Old Father Time.
World Cup – one to rue, and hear them, crying “CATCH ‘IM!
“Dropped Pollard in the slips at Chennai!
No caught-and-bowled, last over of the innings,
The last man ends not out; it is gloom this year.
What if the six games lost were won instead?
“Oz keep the Cup far hence; so was it meant,
“To be? One-day woes, we dug up again!
“Shoo! World Cup spectre! – mon terreur, c’etait un mare!”

My Limited Overs Dichotomy

Wet Wet Wet

Roll on the English summer

Warning: This blog post is liable to contain asinine whining and unapologetic petulance of the highest order. And this after having two days to calm down…

I don’t understand the dichotomy. In its simplest terms, I find it hard to stomach England’s latest abject failure in limited overs cricket. And yet, if it were Glammy falling short against the Unicorns, I’d accept it with unquestionable obedience.

It is something that has bothered me for literally hours. Having given less-than-considerate thought in the brief moments of solitude that occasionally permeate modern man’s existence, the allure of moaning like a child – or like a Sir Ian in objection to a contentious fielding policy – does occasionally give way to rational conclusions. It is a great feeling of elucidation tempered by its transience.

Of course it’s natural to be irate with England surrendering the CB Series timidly – it comes at the hands of an Australian side that was mercilessly de-constructed for all to see at the SCG a few weeks ago. The CB Series might not matter (it most certainly does not, if you’re asking) but who wants to lose to the Australians…

Let’s face it. Shane Watson does not need another ODI century to boost his ego…

Meanwhile, successive seasons of limited overs mediocrity in the Pro 40, the T20 and the ABCsuperbangbang100 means that it often comes as a surprise if you tell me that Glamorgan have won; I needed a stiff drink and a sit down when I heard that the Dragons had wrapped up their third straight T20 win at Essex last year.

But if there is a modest total for Glamorgan to chase, I don’t bat an eyelid if the first three batsmen are back in the hutch after five overs with seven runs on the board. But as soon as Kevin Pietersen or Luke Wright hole out attempting a big shot as soon as the RRR tops 6.01 an over, I rewrite the book on expletives.

Perhaps I’m being harsh. Or perhaps England are now measured against greater expectations. With the World Cup around the corner, the Ashes triumph and the World Twenty20 title should suggest that the players are capable of altering their mindset to a different format. Although in Colly’s case, he gets out regardless…

Injuries will inevitably take the blame for some of the predicament – not an issue that Glamorgan face (take away the front line attack, and there’s little else). That England miss Stuart Broad is perhaps a pertinent point, but only because it gives Luke Wright renewed hope.

And then there is the absences of Tremlett and now Shahzad. Perhaps amid what is undoubtedly a poor run of form, England will turn to the last bastion of hope – blind panic. When I say Liam Plunkett’s selection is wide of the mark, please take that literally…

Part of me could just adopt the Glammentality and give up on England’s hopes of doing anything significant in the remaining games of the CB Series. But I can tell you that I will still go to sleep and wake the next morning in the hope that Oz are teetering on the brink. Until the latest have-a-go Hastings starts taking the piss.

[tweetmeme source=”petehayman” only_single=false]I don’t know why I bother. But bother me it shall. And yet the Dragons will take a hammering at whoever happens to step off the team bus, and I’ll greet it with wry humour and the salutation of another glorious county cricket season where hope is but an aspiration in itself. It’s a dichotomy and its one that is unlikely to be solved.


CricLit – Wattopia


Wattopia. Just slightly less blonde and rugged.

Some regard this work as one of the finest Socratic dialogues of all time. Others, however, have no idea what that means. Allowing his mind to be guided by the promise of lush blonde hair and a lifetime of product, this is Thomas More’s imaginative tribute to an idea that would touch the world – Wattopia.

An enticing extract taken from: ‘Discourses of Ravi Shastriday’

The ego of Wattopia is in the middle two hundred miles broad, and holds almost at the same breadth over a great part of it, but it grows narrower towards both ends. Its figure is not unlike an Adonis. Between its dashing and blonde locks,  the smile comes in eleven miles broad, and spreads itself into a great bay, which is environed with hands to the compass of about five hundred miles, and is well secured from winds. In this smile there is no great modesty; the whole coast is, as it were, one continued honour, which gives all that live in the shadow of the man great convenience for mutual mirth .

But the entry into the ego, occasioned by dimples on the one side and product on the other, is very dangerous. In the middle is one brain cell which works apart from the others, and may, therefore, easily be annoying; and on the top of it there is a coiffure, in which dreams are kept; other brain cells lie under duress – not ones so adventurous.

The man is known only to the Australians; if any opponent should look to trap the ego, without one of their jaffas, they would run danger of being wrecked. For even they themselves could not catch it clean if some marks that are on the outside edge did not direct their way; and if these should be but a little shifted, any team that might come and claim him, how great soever it were, would be certainly lost (if the ego did not fall early). On the other side of the ego there are likewise many virtues; and the man is so fortified, both by nature and product, that he may venture to hinder the descent of a once great army. But they report (and there remains good marks of it to make it credible) that this was no ego at first, but a part of the godly. Wattopus, that conquered it (whose name it still carries, for Abatsman was its first name), brought the rude and uncivilised inhabitants of a colony into such a good sentiment, and to that measure of greatness, that he now far excels all the rest of mankind (certainly Philip Hughes). Having soon subdued opponents, he designed to separate them from the godly, and to bring the ego quite round them.

To accomplish this he ordered a brown turf-pitch to be dug, 22 yards long; and that teammates might not think he treated them like slaves as he charged on his way, he not only forced the inhabitants, but also his own tail-enders, to labour in carrying it on. As he set a vast number of bowlers to work, he, beyond all men’s expectations, brought it to a speedy conclusion. And his observers, who at first laughed at the folly of the undertaking, no sooner saw it brought to perfection than they were struck all round the park with admiration and terror.

“There are fifty-four runs on the scoreboard, all large and well built, the drives, nudges, and blocks of which are the same, and they are all contrived as near in the same manner as the ground on which they stand will allow. The nearest lie at least twenty-four metres’ distance from one another, and the most remote are not so far distant but that a man can go on foot in one day from it to that which allows them back for three. Every run, however, sends impulses once a minute to Amgonnarunhimout to consult about their common concerns; for that is the chief town of his weakness, being situated near the centre of it, so that it is the most convenient place for their assemblies.

The jurisdiction of the runs extend at least twenty yards, and, where the boundaries lie wider, they have much more ground. No boundary desires to enlarge its bounds, for the fans consider themselves rather as consumers than spectators. They have built, over all the country, chapels for Watsonmen, which are well contrived, and furnished with all things necessary for beauty’s labour.

By those who dwell in those beauty farms are never ignorant of conditioners, and so commit no errors which might otherwise be fatal to a hair colour number 59. But though there is every run such a shifting of the Watsonmen’s mind to prevent any batsman being forced against his will to follow his hard course of an innings too long, yet many among them take such pleasure in it that they desire leave to continue in it many overs.

These Watsonmen make their ground, slew wood, and convey it to the grounds either by land or water, as is most convenient. They breed an infinite multitude of innings in a very curious manner; for the men do not sit and hatch them, but a vast number of eggs are bowled at a gentle and equal pace to be despatched, and they are no sooner out of the ring, and able to stir about in the deep

And even when they are so worn out that they are no more fit for labour, they are good to leave at last. They sow no scorn when the bouncer darts at their head; it’s hooked and pulled and sometimes drilled with gusto and then some, with which they abound; and though they know exactly how much scorn will serve every ground and all that tract of country which belongs to it.

When they want anyone in the country to replace Marcus who does not produce, Wattopians fetch that from the Queensland ground, without carrying anything in exchange for it. Except a promise that administrators of the ground take care to see it watered for them; for they meet generally in the ground in every four years, upon a Test match day. When the time of harvest comes, the administrators in the country send to those in the grounds  and let them know how many hands they will need for reaping the English harvest. And Watto will run them out.

[tweetmeme source=”petehayman” only_single=false]Next: Of Their Towns, Particularly of Amgonnarunhimout