The Long Handle
The smartness in not punching other cricketers
What's Mickey Arthur going on about? And should we be sympathetic to him?
Andrew Hughes
22-Jun-2013
Like young children, cricketers appear to live in their own little world. They get to play bat and ball all day; whenever they speak, adults gather round in hushed silence holding digital devices to record their every word, and other people are always tidying up their mess.
Yet you can't pander too much to the little darlings. Just as when you see a harassed father in the supermarket giving in to little Johnnie's desire to have that Star Wars toy that five minutes ago he was told in no uncertain terms was without the bounds of previously agreed spending limits; so the parents among us were shaking our heads when we heard what Mickey Arthur had to say this week about the Warner temper-tantrum hoopla.
"That's part and parcel of touring England. You've got to be very street smart, you've got to be on your game, and if you don't, the media and the ECB will have a field day with you."
Full postFrom gaudily dressed duffers to crimson-clad superheroes
England had to work hard for their semi-final place, and so did the viewers
Andrew Hughes
18-Jun-2013
Compared to the three-disc-with-fold-out-artwork concept album that is the World Cup, the Champions Trophy is a tight, melodic collection of catchy cricket, with very little filler, a quota on extended bat solos, and a stylishly minimalist ad campaign.
There are a few old favourites in there. Everyone will enjoy the heart-rending ballad about the on-again off-again love affair between English cricket folk and their team. On Thursday, England were gaudily dressed duffers, pie-flingers without a plan. On Sunday evening, they were dashing crimson-clad superheroes. By next Wednesday, well, you know the rest.
The chaps in the tomato-ketchup costumes had to work hard for their semi-final place, and so did the viewers. As we watched reruns of the World Cup, the World Cup before that, the Champions Trophy 2004, the Coronation of Queen Victoria, and the D-Day landings, frustrated Sky customers were kept up to date by a newsticker which updated from "Raining" to "Still Raining" to "Bloody Rain, eh!" and the mischievous "I Can See The Sun! (Not Really)".
Full postThe ninth team of the Champions Trophy
It's the one that all the players fear and only mathematicians love
Andrew Hughes
16-Jun-2013
I'm enjoying the Champions Trophy, but watching the narrative unwind itself, I'm reminded once again that I should pay no attention whatsoever to tournament previews. None of those glossy, guessy, soothsaying pieces gave us the full picture. They went big on England, South Africa, India and so on, but they underestimated the abilities of one of the major participants.
This isn't an eight-team affair. It's eight teams and one elementary force of nature. Amid all the wittering about Anderson, Steyn, and Jadeja's moustache, rain didn't get a mention. Naturally, the heavens have used this snub as motivation, and are now proving a few people wrong. Rain has come to the party in style, doused the barbeque, flooded the buffet, and forced everyone at the party to run inside, complaining.
Rain shared the points between Australia and New Zealand, knocked out West Indies on Friday and put in a strong performance at Edgbaston on Saturday. By my reckoning, rain is now on three points and has a chance of making the semi-finals.
Full postThe perils of spring cleaning
The BCCI is rushing around sweating the small stuff, but what of its large cockroach problem?
Andrew Hughes
12-Jun-2013
There's a large shrub or small tree of indeterminate species outside my house, the flourishing branches of which impede the progress of postwomen, milkmen, door-to-door religious fanatics, and freelance assassins, forcing them to crouch and lean to the left in order to reach my front door.
That's not all. The pollen from the strange spores that dangle from the shrub or tree causes passers-by returning from the supermarket to scatter their groceries across the pavement as they erupt into fits of frantic sneezing, while fallen foliage covers the vicinity of my property with a decaying brown slug-inhabited carpet that sticks to your shoes when it rains.
Now I should do something about this arboreal blight, but there are two problems. The first is that I am colossally lazy. Of all the seasonal advertisements in bloom at the moment, the perky outdoorsy ones involving hedge-trimming, gazebo-erecting and lawn tarting-up are the most depressing. I haven't spent the last few years amassing an impressive collection of calories only to burn them up on a reckless gardening spree.
Full postSouth African wolves lack bite
AB' de Villiers and the dogs of war yelped to defeat
Andrew Hughes
08-Jun-2013
We all enjoy a good animal simile, but when handling mammalian figures of speech, caution is advised. They may look cuddly, friendly, and harmless, but if you don't know what you're doing, they can bite you on the bottom. AB de Villiers, however, is South African, and South Africans do not know fear, so on Thursday, he was quite happy to let his pre-tournament press conference take a zoological turn, as he explained his team strategy against India.
"We'll come out like a pack of wolves."
This did not go down well in these parts. Perhaps the hedges of suburban South Africa are thronged with wolves; perhaps South African buses are crowded with powerfully-toothed canines, and gangs of the furry beasts loiter outside South African supermarkets smoking cigarettes and moulting all over the pavement; but in this country there are no wolves. They are extinct. Even the football team known as The Wolves is on its last legs.
Full postSri Lanka's time is here
It's time to peruse the list of Champions Trophy entrants and pick a favourite
Andrew Hughes
05-Jun-2013
Stand by, cricket chums. The Champions Trophy is almost upon us. Eighteen days of moderately pointless 50-over action in the sun.*
In the gaggle of triangulars, quadrangulars, and franchise leagues, it is the ugly medium-sized gosling that never grew up. A once-vigorous young tournament but now on its last legs; it stands stiffly and awkwardly, an antique stuffed tiger in a dusty corner, waiting to be taken to the charity shop.
Still, it is an international tournament and I can't let one of those pass by without a flutter. Unfortunately, I find myself out of step with modern cricket betting and at a distinct disadvantage, since I am not related to any of the players, the coaches, the physios, or the team astrologists. Instead, I'm going to have a bet the old-fashioned way, by quickly perusing the list of entrants, closing my eyes and plumping for Sri Lanka.
Full postThe art of meticulous blandness
MS Dhoni does a job for the BCCI that you couldn't do even if you had the essence of Zen in you
Andrew Hughes
01-Jun-2013
Captain of India is not a job I'd choose to do myself. Granted, it's unlikely I'll be asked. But if I did get a phone call from Mr Srinivasan, asking whether, with my experience of English tea-making conditions and ability to handle an umbrella, I would consider helping them out in the Champions Trophy, I would have to decline.
For one thing, I don't like to think too much. I lose interest in crosswords after the third clue. I still haven't finished reading The Great Gatsby. I am forever wandering into rooms and forgetting what I came in for. Now I could get away with this if I was just being asked to stand in as a player, since all you have to remember is which team you're playing for, which dressing room to go into, and whether or not you are allowed to accept money from bookies.
But cricket captaincy is all about thinking. It's not the same in other sports. Football captains don't have this problem. As Michael Vaughan recently suggested, there isn't a lot to it. A football captain's job appears to involve shouting, clapping your hands together vigorously, standing at one end of the line before the game, and being head cliché-dispenser at the press conference. Thinking doesn't come into it.
Full postSpare a thought for the elephant in the room
Everybody in the IPL tried their best to ignore it even as it defecated prodigiously
Andrew Hughes
28-May-2013
Sunday's conclusion to the Indian Denial League was a little uncomfortable; an obligatory family gathering at which there were so many things that people didn't want to talk about out of politeness that conversation was reduced to the weather, the score, and agreeing that Sachin is marvellous (of which more later).
The pre-match internet talk had been full of gung-ho messages from yellow-themed Twitter account holders, exhorting their team to stand tough, be tall, ignore the haters, believe in themselves, and above all, to ignore the enormous elephant that was taking up three quarters of the living room and defecating prodigiously on the very expensive carpet.
On an occasion like this, you have to feel sympathy for the commentators. Yes, really. They were contractually obliged to give us a rousing aural finale, whilst staying in tune with the sombre mood; they had to put their words of praise in context, without mentioning the context, and throughout, they were tip-toeing across an eggshell-strewn obstacle course.
Full postHow do we help players help themselves?
If there is any kind of fixing going on, the players are not to blame
Andrew Hughes
25-May-2013
It's been a bad week for the reputation of the cricket professional. The world's Sexiest Vegetarian (2009) is currently helping police with their enquiries, and all sorts of scurrilous allegations - only some of which are accurate - are being made about the men without whom the game of cricket would simply not exist.
Sadly, professional cricketers are accustomed to this indignity. There are haters everywhere. You can see it in their eyes when they ask you to sign your autobiography. You spent a whole afternoon answering that ghost-writer's boring questions about stuff that happened ages ago, when you could have been on the golf course. Do the haters appreciate your hard work and sacrifice? No, they don't. They probably won't even finish reading it.
Sometimes the haters follow you round the supermarket, silently hating you for what you've achieved. You can see them in the line at the deli counter, resentfully fingering their numbered tickets, as the manager brings you out a selection of chorizo on a velvet cushion.
Full postUndone by the Ashwin triplets
Super Kings do what they know best, the practised strangle
Andrew Hughes
22-May-2013
Funny thing, the Qualifier. It doesn't really belong in this futuristic, dystopian competition. The Eliminator is more like it. Lose and you're dead. Win and you might still be dead. It's cruel, but that's the IPL; deal with it, losers.
The Qualifier, on the other hand, is the kind of event you get at primary schools. Have a go, children, and if you don't win, no need to cry, you can have another go in a minute. It's a semi-final with a safety catch.
The setting for Tuesday's Qualifier, however, was not at all cuddly. The Feroz Shah Kotla is undoubtedly imposing but like a 100-metre-tall golden statue of Ravi Shastri, it's also slightly frightening. The stands on either side of the pavilion appear to be crooked, the interior seems dark and forbidding, and the whole thing looks like the kind of place Darth Vader might rent as a weekend getaway.
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