cricket with balls

There are a lot of cocky Indian supporters out there who think they are just going to crush New Zealand because they are crap.  It’s a belief grounded in firm logic.

However, no team is unbeatable, even by a bunch of semi amateur miscreants wearing black caps.

To help the Kiwis I’ve devised a blueprint on how they can beat India.

Sachin

OK, so actually winning will be hard, but there are other things you can do to save face.  I suggest that every press gathering be used to abuse Sachin Tendulkar.  Call him a paedophile, suggest he beats old woman, say you saw him pissing on a beggar, anything you can think of that will piss off Indians so much that they ask you to leave the country.  Don’t say Ponting is better than him, as that might result in death.

Raelians

It has been a long time since the Raelians outed themselves as Cloners of humans.  And no sports team has really cashed in on this.  Think of a squad with 3 Hadlees, 2 Bonds, 3 Vettoris, 2 Flemings, 3 Sutcliffes and 2 M Crowes.  Plus the Raelians claim they can clone the dead, so bring Walter Hadlee and Bob Blair back for guidance and inspiration.  You could also clone a friend for Adam Parore as well.

Humanoids

Those sad and lonely Japanese scientists have all the technology to replicate a human, now all you need to do is amp the shit up on their right shoulder, turning them into bowling machines.  Just tell the media that one of your bowlers in injured, and that you are replacing them with a 7 foot 4 sheep farmer from Wannafuk.  That should explain the awkward nature of him.   It doesn’t even need to be automated, just get the player with the best skills on xbox to control this monster.  While you are there buy some lovely lady humanoids as well, you know, for those lonely tours.

Drugs

Don’t day no, say hell yes.  Embrace the performance-enhancing and enhance your shit. There must be performance-enhancing drugs that people can’t test for these days.  So find a dealer and get all East German on it.  And don’t give me that crap that performance enhancing drugs don’t help in cricket, pump them in your veins and then watch your miss hits go over the rope while your third testicle pops out of your neck.

Lalit

Bring him back.  Come to London, find his flat, bring him back to India.  Ross Taylor could do it; I’ve always assumed that he would be a good spy if not one-dimensional spy.  Once Lalit is back everyone will be talking about that, and how Kiwis are heroes.  Getting thrashed in the series will become a very small story.

Human cannon ball

Daniel Flynn isn’t doing much these days.  Take a look at him; no man is more suited to being a human cannonball than he is.  So use him.  Fire him at Sehwag, VVS, Dhoni, Sachin and Che before each test.  The worst outcome is that Daniel Flynn won’t play test cricket anymore. And since I’m one of his 7 fans, most people won’t care. Also, human cannonballs are fun.

Obviously some of these plans are slightly flawed, but they would be fun.

Last Ashes, I came up with a 100 Ashes facts.  Since then I have written a book about the Ashes, I feel a special bond with this series.  Now I have Ashes premonitions.

During the series the words stubborn, curmudgeon, phlegmatic, resigned, dour and sourpuss will be used to explain Simon Katich and Jonathan Trott when batting.  The problem is, both of these men want to be known as more dour than the other.

After a gentleman’s agreement, they decide on having a boxing match to see who is the dourest of them all.

They book a gym, say publically that all proceeds are going to charity and decide on it being a knockout or die fight.

The first four rounds Trott looks like he is warming up, while Katich’s strange stance puts him off.  Eventually a punch is thrown in round five, and from there both men dance around each other a lot, and try and work over the body.

Neither player ever throws a haymaker, or even a punch at the head, they just keep it tight at the body.

There is a lot of clinching from the 8^th round on, with no referee, some whole rounds are just them hugging and wrestling.

12 rounds in, people start to leave.

The boxing doesn’t change, Katich gets annoyed that Trott isn’t always ready when the bell rings, and Trott can’t work out how to get through Katich’s tight weird defence.

During round 32 a Katich punch skids off Trott’s smooth chest and cops him in the jaw, he then takes a few seconds out to get himself back right, he does and they continue.

In the 41^st Katich’s footwork gets him in trouble and he lunges past Trott and ends up getting his chest hairs caught in the rope.

By the 47^th round, most of the spectators left there are sleeping or watching youtube videos of lolcats.

In the 52nd it is just Trott and Katich in the gym.

Both men come out of their corner, both tired, but still trying to out dour each other.  They fall into an embrace, and the wrestling quickly turns into something more sexual, and they both realise that they have so much in common that fighting is not for them.  They start to kiss, which quickly leads to passionate, awkward, slow love in the ring.

The next day they announce that the fight was a draw, as both men had withdrawn at the same time.

Dear Mitchell,

I still remember the first time I saw you.  You’re hair all tufty, kickin’ the dirt like a shy boy. teeth whiter than jesus, big shoulders, a plunger sticking out of your back pocket, the once in a generation teddy bear in your grasp and your labrette piercing shining in the sun.  Straight away I knew I’d be able to make you into something great.

Then I got to know you, and I’ve never bonded more with a young bowler than I have with you.  By the end I felt like I was the loving uncle who tucked you in at night when your parents were busy fighting.  You’re the left arm fast bowler I wish I could have had.

You were so eager to learn, so wide eyed and innocent.  The bambi of fast bowling.  I knew I could make you into a lethal machine.  It took time, for a while you were a superstar bowling with a white ball, but you bowled everything so wide with the red ball most of the day people just left you alone.

It came to you.  Some of it was your natural grace, the rest was me just giving you a friendly pat on the bum or explaining which way to point the seam.  Then when Clark got nipless and Lee tried to hard, you took over the side.

For me it was like watching my favourite son graduate from high school.  Sure you still had a lot to achieve, but I met you when you were a tiny little tacker, and now you’re all grown up.  63 wickets two years in a row, I was so proud.  When you took the saffas down in Perth, I felt like I was watching you take your wife after your wedding.

Ofcourse, this is where I might have become too involved with you.  Perhaps our relationship got weird.  The whole inswinger thing was my mistake.  I thought you were ready, and I pushed and pushed, but I was wrong.  Very wrong.

Maybe I started thinking of you as my son, and I got a touch of the tennis parent about me.  I was involved in every aspect of your life, and that was not healthy, I mean if you like cocoa pops, eat them, don’t listen to me. Also I stuffed up the whole Ashes thing by telling you what you needed instead of just letting you come to me.  By that point I thought you were a man.  That you were good enough to handle any sort of emotional upheaval and still work on your game. My bad.

Since then you’ve been struggling, and I think the problem is me.  My role is simply bowling coach, but I see myself as so much more to you. I am your comfort blanket, your father figure, your warm cup of coffee and all of this means I am too much.  I stopped coaching you a long time ago.

Now I smother.

So, it is better if I move on.  I know that everything I have taught you is in there somewhere.  You don’t need me.

I’m never more than a phone call away. I’ll always know you emotionally, physically and everything.

Fly freely my tufty haired bowling man.  You’ll always be that shy little white tooth boy to me.

Sincerely,

Troy Cooley

Your bowling coach, mentor, confidant, father figure and friend.

I love kissing wood.

I’m sure you have one.

Perhaps it was when he called India a third world country.

It could be when he said he often wonders what jesus would do out in the middle.

Maybe it is his first cook book.

But you can’t forget his use of the word skillsets.

The reason I am asking this is because you can win a signed copy of Hayden’s latest book “Standing my ground” if you can come up with an entry for cricket australia, but unfortunatley, you need to be an Australia Cricket family member. And I doubt you are. Unless you live in Melbourne and Sydney and want tickets for the first day of the test. Or, you’re one of those sick types who wants to feel like they are part of a corporate family that just takes your money.

Don’t be too sad, because I’ve found you another way you can own a piece of Hayden.

If you can, in 25 words or less, come up with a reason why Matthew Hayden inspires you, I’m assuming homicidal inspiration is ok, you can apply here.

Now, if you do apply, please put your 25 words or less in the comments so everyone can read them.

The best may make a post later on.

To get you started:

After watching Matthew Hayden’s innings against Zimbabwe I was inspired to start hitting people who I knew could not hit me back as hard.

Zulquarnain Haider showed us that with a bit of Social Media work, you can get picked for your country.

Lady Hamilton-Brown has tried just appearing as unnamed friend in photos beside real English cricketers.

And Eddie Cowan has tried to use twitter to get selected.

All of these ideas have some merit.

Now Brad Hodge is back on the scene, and they all look kind of tame.

Being that Brad Hodge came up with it, probably in the middle of one of his great recent innings for Victoria, his idea is so much better than anyone else’s.

Even Zulquarnain Haider’s strategy, which worked, is not in the same league.

Whether batting or coming up with off the wall suggestions, the Ego of Hodge is so far better than anyone else it is embarrassing.

With the press all over him and Victorian fans doing their bi-annual why isn’t Brad Hodge playing for Australia love fest, he has been forced to talk about playing for Australia again.

His favourite, and often only, topic.

This time he has come up with a foolproof way to get selected.

“Maybe I could do a naked calendar as well to try to get my name up there.”

Bang. Goal.

Yes, maybe you could.

The thought of your cock aiming directly at the lens should be enough for the selectors to at least think of playing you just to stop the calendar.

But, why stop there, Brad?

Why not take it all the way.

Like you do out on the field.

A calendar will take time to organise, probably some cash, then a distributor and finding a camera person willing to get their assistants to lube you up and then aim their camera at the Hodge glory.

On the other hand, your mobile device probably has a camera, MMS and the numbers of all the selectors.

All you need to do is drink a couple of glasses of red win while snappin’ and sendin’.

How long into this photo campaign do you think the selectors will find a way to use Brad Hodge, just to make the smut go away?

Two days, a day? An hour?

Then Hodge is back.

Full frontal nudity and technology has always been an unbeatable team.

Brad Hodge is forever ahead of the curve.