tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40569516005758358802024-02-21T09:13:42.621+13:00Random thoughts from inside the asylumAndrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.comBlogger303125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-66835023650854600642024-02-20T21:36:00.001+13:002024-02-20T21:37:47.757+13:00<p> <span style="font-size: 14pt;">Imagine
Brendan McCullum if he were a general in the British army back in World War
two. It wouldn’t be bazball, more bazwar. The hell with the consequences of his
approach and decisions. All out attack in war. If it’s good enough on the
Cricket fields of the world, it’s good enough on the shell holed fields of
western France. Three hundred thousand men standing on the beaches awaiting evacuation,
and, yep, you guessed it, general drivel decides to order the men off the beach
and fight the German’s well stocked heavy artillery with the British soldiers
few remaining poorly loaded pop guns. Hey, you’ve got to lose some wars to win
other wars, never mind World War two </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">spiraling</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> down the drain for the allies,
attack is where it is at. And never mind the chance to evacuate and draw this
battle of the war and live to fight another day. Oh no, </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">that i</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">s not his way. No
need to be flexible and adjust to the circumstances offered up in this moment.
Simply plough on and blame anyone and everyone for the carnage his egotistical
mind has conjured up. Alack, alack, alack, it’s attack, attack, attack. Curse the flack, the media,
the public, they are oh so slack minded. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For he doth
not his cap to the paying seat warmers . . . And particularly not defense. Oh
sure, that war machine may overrun some meagre colonial outpost yet when the
Germans come along with their rigid eyed malevolence, </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">pop
goes the serum of substance. An approach imagined and an approach better off consigned
to the sewer.</span></p>Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-39102907916265096132021-03-19T18:46:00.003+13:002021-03-19T18:46:46.421+13:00<b>Melbourne v Parramatta - Two things we learnt.</b> <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>The hatter is in the huyzen</b> </div><div><br /></div><div>Ryan Papenhuyzen is mad. Ryan Papenhuyzen is insane. Ryan Papenhuyzen is utterly
bonkers. To recap: Ryan Papenhuyzen is more mental than the mad hatter himself.
Watch eighty minutes of Papenhuyzen plying his trade and you see a madman
twisting and contorting his body as he smashes himself yet again into three
defenders. Such a hammering does he take the lad might like to find himself a
woman very soon, for if he keeps soaking this punishment up for another couple
of years, he will be not more than a busted flush on so many different levels.
He sure will not be the Fonz in the front of a mirror going “Heyyyy”. Brilliant
he may be. A try scoring messiah he is. And a consummate team man always at hand
to aide his forwards on their mission to escape their own half he is. But an
indestructible object he will not be for all eternity. His being may be
malleable enough at this young stage of his career but keep this up and
eventually limbs may be torn asunder and scattered upon the many territories of
NRL stadiums. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>A sickly height</b> </div><div><br /></div><div>With four minutes of the match to play and the scores level at twelve a piece,
Parramatta put a high kick up, landing some twenty metres from the Storm’s goal
line on their right edge. Or, at least, it would have landed had Parramatta
winger Maika Sivo not outjumped all and sundry, caught said shiny little diamond
and sprinted twenty metres to dive over and score the match winning try. And
what did we learn from this? Well, maybe, that one of those sundry, George
Jennings, may like to take Van Halen’s advice and jump instead of keeping his
feet firmly planted to Terra Firma. Jennings may be wise to change his accent to
ascent and climb the nodes of rare air and contest this heightened malaise of
altitude sickness. Even if Jennings drops the pill, he has made it less likely
for Sivo to have his way with the encounter. And one of Jennings teammates might
then have been able to tidy the loose ball up and save the day – Or in this
case, night. He didn’t, they couldn’t, Sivo made a star of himself.
<strike></strike>
</div></div>Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-26363295424255467312020-11-19T12:29:00.001+13:002020-11-19T12:29:24.164+13:00So, Brad Fitler believes Jai Arrow was being disrespectful to an injured James Tedesco, who had been knocked senseless by an unintended knee to the head from an opposing player, when attempting to pull Tedesco off the ground. Steady on there, Brad. Back the emotional blame game truck up. We all get that you lost the match, and the series and emotions can sometime boil over, ergo, possibly clouding judgement. But let us hear from Arrow first. It is entirely feasible he did not realise the New South Wales fullback was concussed. He may have legitimately thought Tedesco was staying down, playing for a penalty. After all, many a foe has tried to get one over many a match official this past hundred years. The Hundred years war between Britain and France is not the only hundred years war, you know. Though, unlike the one in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, this is a war that may rage for an eternity. Which suggest that maybe, just maybe, we can give Arrow a shot at the benefit of the doubt. Now, none of this is to say that a player’s health should not be utmost in the minds of all. Of course it should. It is safe to say, though, accidents occur and sometimes, with more than one performer in the tackle, there will be contestants unaware when an injury may have befallen a participant. Perhaps now is the time for Fitler and his staff to concern their selves with the physical and mental wellbeing of James Tedesco, doing all in their power - As no doubt they will be – to nurse one of the game’s great players back to health instead of picking an unnecessary fight out of the vessel of sour grapes. Because we all know that Fitler is a decent man. Surely there is no need to let a loss change that reality.Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-29949410365041135572020-02-19T23:09:00.000+13:002020-02-19T23:09:09.490+13:00The modern World, huh. Where our sporting heroes are all new age and sensitive. Like Neil Wagner. Yes, that mammoth of bowling excellence. The first change, always there for the team, he’ll work all day. Except, that is, five days beginning this Friday when the Black Caps do battle with India in Wellington. You see, the South African born paceman has been granted leave to be at his wife’s side as she delivers their soon to be newborn. Oh, how lovey dovey. A salary of six figures, the least you might expect was a little thought as to when he stuck his in hers and blasted a three second delivery of love her way. Seriously, there’s an enormous amount of thought that goes into sport these days, yet when it comes to the two heads, it seems the little one just couldn’t wait. Despite some finding his bowling methods somewhat tedious at times, he is still one of New Zealand’s top three pacemen. A vital cog. And his side are up against Cricket’s rarified might; India. As much as Wagner obviously wishes to support his beloved, she can surely pop the little guy – Or girl – out without his input. And he can be on the plane home on Tuesday afternoon. Of course, with a bit of thought, he could have played the Test Match – The ultimate form of the game – and witnessed the birth of his child. The best of both Worlds. But, unfortunately, it is rare for anything involving the nether regions to conjure up any form of rationality. Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-52245473639095804812019-02-21T10:50:00.000+13:002019-02-21T10:50:01.674+13:00Remarkable. Quite remarkable. Chris Gayle, that is. Remarkable, that at the age of thirty-nine, in amongst the occasional controversy involving sexism – and, as an aside, let it be said that Gayle would have been of absolutely no use playing Rugby back in the seventy’s and doing the Willy away move - and the like, he still has the optics for batsmanship. 135 in 129 balls, today, at Kensington Oval, Bridgetown, Barbados, in the initial inning of this first of a five match series, the Windies talisman accumulated his twenty-fourth One-day Century in his storied double decade career. Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-39692729680544699182019-02-11T00:35:00.001+13:002019-02-11T00:35:20.618+13:00Give it up for the Windies. A stellar effort, it must be said. Over such lengths of time they achieve. Two Tests and one session, there is no let up. Quite what one would expect, surely. Potentially thirty-one sessions and no drop off in intensity. There you go, give it up for the Windies. And no sign of their Captain, Jason Holder, in sight. At least not in this third encounter. For suspension intervened. Slow overrates intruded. Excessively slow, the top of the pile was demonised - Quite rightly – by match officials. Stood down for the Third Test in St Lucia, Holder has been replaced by Kraigg Brathwaite as skipper. And yet, here, on Day One, we once again see the Windies deliver another tedious effort of slowly frothing drudgery. So, give it up for the Windies. Such a stellar effort. Sure, the elements played their part. Thirty minutes off the park for rain. No fault of the bowlers, that one. Though, one hour after the scheduled finish of play, play was halted for bad light . . . With seven overs still undelivered. Wow. Nothing changes. Indeed. Okay, no bowler, nor Captain, can control bad light, or any light for that matter. Had they bowled those seven overs the home side would have finished the day ninety minutes over time. New Captain, same old, same old. Even allowing for the thirty minutes lost due to precipitation, The Windies are still going over time by one hour if the full allotment of overs had arrived at one batsman’s abode, let alone all eleven. So maybe sending the Captain into purgatory isn’t the answer. Maybe it’s time the ICC began to send not only the leader, but every playing member of the team up queer street. Yep, fine the lot. Just view the velocity of thought process between skipper and bowler between overs - and during overs - take on never seen before speed. Those pale of speed will soon turn green at the sight of such speed. Because, as we all know, money can talk faster than any 150kph bumper, and it can certainly tête-à-tête quicker than even the most cerebral of Cricketers. Then this blasphemy of the senses being forced upon the paying public may cease to exist. You watch, sending the lot up queer street will straighten them out with haste. Then the rest of us can witness a decent day’s Cricket and have an hour extra after play to inhale vivacity's delicacies. That’s the best of both worlds and value for money will have been garnered. Seems fair.Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-34921834639285859322019-01-26T20:23:00.002+13:002019-01-26T20:23:58.018+13:00You get the feeling, sometimes, that if Colin Munroe was cast in Dumb and Dumber, he could play both roles! A silly, unnecessary dismissal. At two wickets down and going at six runs an over, all that was required was some sensible batting.Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-57270645501074379162019-01-25T01:38:00.000+13:002019-01-25T01:41:18.597+13:00If you wish to see a changing of the guard anytime soon, may I suggest The Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. Because you're sure not going to see a changing of the guard in Men's Tennis in the foreseeable future. Not with Rafael Nadal playing like this, at least. 6-2,6-4,6-0 and Stefanos Tsitsipas must have wondered why he bothered beating Roger Federer in the fourth round. And the great Federer, wherever in the World he was watching this demolition, must have been secretly relieved at missing being on the end of this wanton brutality. This wasn’t some first round bunny, ranked 132 in the World, Nadal was suffocating the life from. This was a Greek, a Greek ranked number fifteen and a Greek who conquered Federer not so long ago. Yes, Federer, one of the greatest to have played the game. And, allegedly, this made Tsitipas one of the next big things. This may well be but, if that is to be the case, it’s several years down the road. The Spanish great has just proved that Tsitsipas is not yet a Greek God. And after this semi-final eradication, Nadal will now enter his twenty-sixth Grand Slam Final against the winner of Tomorrow’s Semi-final between Novak Djokovic and Lucas Pouille. Legend. That seventeen of those have served his bank balance exceedingly well in the form of victory will mean zip to the thirty-two-year-old if he were not to replicate this performance and clinch an eighteenth title. For this lefty with hefty groundstroke’s appears as focused as ever. Revered he is by many, and rightly so, for the relentless efficiency off either wing – And those wings, particularly the forehand, with one around the net post winner grasping the gasps of illusionists the World over, could do more damage to a foe’s health than anything you could purchase at your local KFC – was joined by an unusually suave service game. Not once was it broken. Not once did it look like being broken. Only once in three sets was this insanely secure point ice-breaker taken to deuce. Once. Unbelievable. Anyone perusing the World number Two’s form over the previous decade would have noticed on many an occasion the one-time Australian Open victor struggling to hold serve. Not here, not now. A serve as hot and as invincible as a comet’s fiery tail, it sped the angles out wide at clicks beyond a twenty-year old’s comprehension. Such swerve crushing with verve a foe’s delicate psyche. By the time the third set had arrived, with Nadal breaking the Greek in the first game, the rising star was fading as fast. He was lost, forlorn of hope, deep down knowing, surely, that he was staring indomitability in the face. Such was the shame. For Tsitsipas put forth a sterling account of himself in the central set. Having lost the first – after having to wait for eight minutes in the corridors of apprehension for Nadal to join his acquaintance upon entering the arena beforehand – comfortably, the lad set about attacking greatness with a clobbering forehand. Ably backed by a serve of inherent mischief, usually down the centre line, the postulant seeked to douse the comet’s conflagration. Marinate, he couldn’t. But at least he held his own. Until, at four apiece, Nadal’s instincts of visceral paunch grinding winners came to the fore. Now a break down and at the mercy of the Carlos Moya coached ace, the wannabe ace couldn’t withstand yet another domineering service game from Nadal. Two sets to nil down, it was over. Over before it was over, but over. The spice of a Spanish Patatas Bravas had, in the end, destroyed the Greek salad. A performance for the ages, and surely we’re in for an epic on Sunday. Over to you, Novak Djokovic. Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-82808835962265457582018-12-17T19:23:00.001+13:002020-11-18T19:52:14.784+13:00Australia, since the Lunch break, have lost four wickets for six runs. Now that’s some bowling by India. Or some dud batting by the home side. Nah, not really. This pitch has taken on the persona of a 1930’s sticky wicket. You know the ones, back in the day, whereby said pitch was left uncovered for the duration of an inclement weather’s temper tantrum. Upon the resumption of play this rabble-rousing rectangle spewed forth unseemly amounts of mud. Even batting’s one true God, Don Bradman, could average not more than twenty-one on sticky wickets. Which means the South Australian was going at well over one hundred for his innings on ordinary pitches. Not the worst around, was he. Now the modern day athletes know what the old timers were going through. One moment Pat Cummins is bowled by an ankle knocker that knocked on middle stump’s welcoming door. The next you’ll see Usman Khawaja being molested by leather’s sharpness 1.7 metres or so from Terra Firma. Talk about mood swings. This pitch has it all. One minute Australia are sauntering through to 192 for 4, then, suddenly, they find themselves in a rather perilous state at 198 for 8. Mind you, they still possess a two hundred and sixty-one run lead which is currently climbing. . . Just. And India have to chase this over the last day and a half. Good luck to them on that front. They’re going to require all they can get. They could also do with Bradman. They do have Kohli. But then, as good as the Indian Captain may be, and is, he’s no Bradman. They could do with the greatest of all time right now. Because this is a rather sticky situation for the Indian batsmen. <br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-58538044671991989292018-12-15T15:34:00.000+13:002018-12-15T15:36:22.529+13:00Colin de Grandhomme’s pace is as threatening as the National Party’s poll ratings during a Jamie Lee Ross text flurry. Yes, he may recover somewhat in the aftermath yet during the storm lightening and thunder strike the demented soul of his plodding one hundred and twenty-five kilometre per hour arm warmers. And warm is being kind. They could barely friction air’s pulse let alone explode it into a riposte of respiration profoundly voicing its velocity. So why, why O why, does he feel the urge to bowl no-balls? How difficult could it possibly be for he to propel forth his unwieldly vista of untamed bulk toward the popping crease without overstepping the mark? Sure, accepted the Zimbabwean born allrounder does not overstep on purpose. But, really, a no ball at the clicks of lead, not warp Sci-fi. Then it happens. As only it could on a no ball. Dimuth Karunaratne hits a full toss – Yes, a full toss and a no ball, De Grandhomme has mediocrity’s market cornered – straight to extra cover for the simplest of snares. The New Zealander’s, having Sri Lanka already in trouble at three for thirty-one and now not much more than sixty, with the Opener looking untroubled in his early thirty’s, miss an opportunity to stab the heart of one of their foe’s top practitioners. Survives he does. And then proceeds to pile on a further forty-five runs until finally dismissed for seventy-nine and the visitor’s now 142 for 4. Not 60 for four. Possibly a match defining moment. Only time will tell. But all so avoidable for New Zealand. I guess they’ll just have to suck it up.Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-2449569339948114722018-12-10T17:25:00.003+13:002018-12-10T17:25:57.382+13:00The fifth day of this first Test Match of the series, a session and a half to game's end, Australia require sixty-four runs to win, India desire two wickets. This, folks, is why we have a fifth day in Tests. And this folks is why we must keep a fifth day in Test Matches.Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-57395247553534008762018-11-29T20:09:00.002+13:002018-12-02T19:28:00.273+13:00It occurs to One that maybe Colin Croft, the former West Indies fast bowler of the late seventies and early eighties, was a man for the times. With twenty-seven Tests and one hundred and twenty-five wickets at an average of 23.30 to his name, not only was he a speed sphering great, here was a character beholden to the fine art of the shoulder charge. In Cricket of all sports. A game whereby the only contact is, supposedly, between willow and leather, the bruising of leather upon fragile skins, and unless some fiery speedster unintentionally let’s rip with a beamer aimed at a batsman’s noggin and swells that noggin larger than said batsman’s average – not hard in some cases, admittedly – a shoulder charge is generally not an anticipated outcome within a day’s play. Even with a five-pronged attack of Roberts, Marshall, Holding, Garner and Croft engendering fear upon the mean strips of Worldly pitches the globe over, no one really expected to see shoulder on shoulder action at Christchurch’s Lancaster Park in 1980. Fred Goodall, the umpiring recipient of Croft’s unwelcome attention, certainly wasn’t expecting the unexpected. At 6ft 5”, though, Croft would surely have made a fearsome forward within the Rugby League fraternity back in an era where the shoulder charge was nothing more than the equivalent of air kissing. Having more than one string to your bow and all that. These days, air kissing – let alone the shoulder charge - would be deemed too brutal. Alas, the shoulder charge is supercharged with connotations of long-term brain damage, and has been banned – And fairly, too. So, there probably wouldn’t be much of a future for Croft in modern sport. Even Cricket, these days, take a somewhat dim view of such deity’s as sledging let alone physical harassment. But with that average of twenty-three, a fine bowler the West Indian was when he was concentrating fully on the intricacies of his craft. Best we remember Croft for the good. Because pace bowling was clearly a craft for Croft.<br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-16631785386604545492018-11-23T19:38:00.000+13:002018-11-23T23:48:01.688+13:00Well, it’s better late than never, I guess. The penny has finally dropped for the England selectors, who have at last seen fit – and finally seen the bleedingly blatant, which everyone else has been able to ascertain for many months – to install Jonny Bairstow at number three. And here he is on 42 not out. Which is 39 more runs than Moeen Ali scored in two innings of the first Test. And probably as many as the spinner scored in his previous half dozen innings at number three. Sure, Bairstow may disapprove, seeing as he still pines for the protection of the gloves behind the stumps. This is a team game though. So it’s off to the gloves of number three he goes to protect this side from any form of catastrophic collapse. With Burns and Jennings already ensconced back in the pavilion for 14 and 13 respectively, a World class number three, one would surmise, is a vital backstop for these two highly fallible openers. Afterall, Bairstow claimed the other day that not all that long ago he was one of the World’s top ten ranked batsmen. So here’s his chance to prove how good he is with timber in hand. And there isn’t much better position to do that than at Number Three. Not to mention far more satisfaction garnered from contributing to this young side’s rise out on the ground than sitting as a reserve for five days. Because Bairstow has his work cut out wrestling those wicketkeeping gloves back from Ben Foakes. Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-87847788987040988212018-08-04T08:32:00.001+12:002018-08-04T08:32:37.007+12:00There have been over two thousand Test Matches played since the first official Test between England and Australia way back in 1877. Not just by those two, certo, but also the likes of South Africa, India, New Zealand and the West Indies. Not to mention various others. In that time there have been epics, there have been crushing defeats, tedious draws, some that have ended in only three days and some that have been decided on the last ball of day five. But in all those one hundred and forty-one years there has never been a Test held between England and Virat Kohli. Until now. The game has changed in all manner of ways, from leg side theory being banned, limits on bouncers per over to the size of bats. Yet, a Test between a Team and an individual? Who knew. Novel, certainly. First, the man with averages traversing the peaks of 48.88 to 58.21 over all three forms of the game scores 149 out of 274 in India’s opening efforts with the bat on day two at Edgbaston, then, in their second inning of 110 for five, he ensnares another forty-three. And not out, at that. India, at the close of play on day three require a further eighty-four runs to win. Or, more to the point, Virat Kohli requires a further eighty-four runs to win. The monster. So, it seems the Indian Captain is the real deal. He’s sealed that deal with a reel of footage to feel the peeling of others doubt heeling beyond the range of sound.Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-31736067299119387332018-06-29T23:24:00.000+12:002018-06-29T23:24:26.496+12:00One of sports golden tenets has forever been this: Always, and one means always, do the exact opposite to what your foe wishes. And why not? For one thing, it makes sense. And if you can’t see the sense in it, just do it to spite them anyway. Discover your inner mongrel. If the little lucifer's prefer the game to be played at speed, be lucifer and play it slow. If they concur with a slower pace, speed it up. Desire a grind, throw it wide and offload until the cows come home. Dream of becoming the globetrotters of League, serenade them with a grind. Surely you get the message by now. At least you should. The New Zealand Warriors, well . . . They don’t seem to get it. Put them up against Cronulla, as they were tonight, and one surmises they would surely avoid the grinding of bones on muscle that those from the shire have delighted in boring the Rugby League World with since 1968. Never have the beggars altered their ways and one would be fried with shock if variety invaded their heightened sense of dullness. So, surely, you attempt to open play up somewhat. Get that offloading game of yours flowing. And what did the Warriors do? Yeah, you guessed it, they grinded against the grinders and got ground down. Smart. . . Not. For the first eight to ten weeks of the season, when the Auckland based franchise impersonated a top-class side and Stephen Kearney appeared to have claimed more than a modicum of coaching ability from god knows where (Though one can have a decent guess on that count) his side were offloading with impunity. And it was often. Now, they appear a side that has gone back to the ways of 2017 under Kearney whereupon completion rates were considered to be of more importance than disabling Kim Jong Un’s nuclear arsenal. Each and all wish to witness a high percentage of sets of six completed. It helps, after all, if your side has the pill and preferably in your foe’s half. Yet, tonight, the home side appeared afraid of losing the ball more than were of playing some football. The days of the offload have gone, and Kearney is reverting to type, it seems. No wonder they lost 18-15. And no wonder they lost the ball in the tackle on numerous occasions. They appear a team, that while they will make the top eight, are on the slide, scared to play football, and are heading for a horrendous spanking come finals time. And Kearney is quite possibly entering the beginning of the end of his career as a head coach. For many, one suspects, it can’t come soon enough.<br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-71264251385985223532018-06-06T23:05:00.000+12:002018-06-07T08:01:49.636+12:00New South Wales have scored first, in the form of a penalty, in this the first game of the 2018 State of Origin. Nothing spectacular there. And they began slowly, with Queensland having slightly the better of the opening ten minutes. Yet, the Sydneysiders slowly eased their way into the encounter with Addo-Carr and Cleary numerating several halfbreaks. A young side, a fresh beginning, the guns of young looked increasingly assured as the minutes wiled away. No sooner had these pressure handling immunities gone up by two than Tedesco was put into the clear up the middle of the park to extend the lead by a further six. Eight to them, none to those, could it be that the relaxed personality of Brad Fitler, their new Coach, is the ideal foil to those inexperienced minds. Utopia for a three-match series. Keep them calm, Freddie may just be their balm. Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-47019374026249323792018-03-24T20:57:00.000+13:002018-03-24T20:58:54.237+13:00Fitness. It’s a word that inspires contempt for some, reverence for others. Some spy it benefits, others vanish the concept to concentrate on skills. Who needs it, they surmise. We’ll simply operate our superior skill level to conjure tries galore. The match will be over by the sixtieth minute. Life’s a breeze. It was for the Canberra Raiders. Ahead 19-6 after forty-eight minutes, their breeze was a gale. They’re big and fast, what a blast. Unfortunately for the home side, that gale petered out as the visitors, the New Zealand Warriors, not so big, more small and nimble, yet just as fast, came rampaging home. Once Tohu Harris crashed over in the fifty-seventh minute, the air of irrevocability sprung its wrath. The Aucklander’s kept their tempo tuned above temporary, surveyed a weakening foe, and forged forth into the realms of victory. It may have taken until the seventy-sixth minute for Isaac Luke to dive over beside the right upright, yet it had been coming for the previous nineteen minutes. And once Shaun Johnson had converted, the Warriors, twice, traipsed the length of the field to procure themselves two field goals, and, ergo, a 20-19 victory. Very simply, this was a win for fitness – And a bloody nose for various talking heads who can’t comprehend oxygen’s myriad of advantages. In previous seasons, down 19-6, against Canberra in Canberra, this would have been a 38-6 drubbing. But, as many have pointed out, this is a side that has now garnered themselves the necessary levels of aerobic capacity. It matters. Because, despite what some would have you believe, there are units in this competition that do not possess the required aerobic levels. For fitness is not strength, fitness is not speed, fitness is, though, aerobic and the capacity to compete for long periods of time. It is what allows one to sprint faster in the seventy-fifth minute. Set a base and reach home base first. If a team is tired, all the speed in the World won’t matter one jot. As one person commented after their first-round encounter with South's, the Warriors looked capable of continuing and extending their lead at the end of eighty minutes. The same applied here. The visitors were becoming stronger as the match neared its end. And who knew Johnson could think so calmly under pressure, slotting field goals in the 78th and 79th minutes. Once again, that’s what fitness does for a player – anyone for that matter – the more oxygen going to the brain the better your thought processes. This all brings to mind the adage of the tortoise and the hare. The Tortoise won.Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-14916852509729116072017-07-05T11:15:00.000+12:002017-07-05T11:15:54.162+12:00Novak Djockovic, seeded number two, and Roger Federer, the third seed, both win their first set 6-3 and are up 2-0 and 3-0 respectively in the second set when their opposition both default due to injury. Both matches were on Centre Court and both matches one after the other on the same day. This surely can’t be a coincidence. Oh, wait, yes it can, the darndest things really do occur. Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-22744052193911284082017-01-17T14:44:00.000+13:002017-01-17T15:16:58.137+13:00Such is the pity that New Zealand won yesterday. Won on a pitch that deserves lambasting. And now, one fears, with victory achieved over Bangladesh, this flat chested strip of dirt will gain undue credit. Credit for generating a result, a result so unlikely for four days, until one poor attempt to occupy the crease by the visitors changed all, that interest disappeared into the constant spiralling of a Wellingtonian gale demonising the sensibilities of a summer game tortured with ennui. <br />
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With Test Cricket struggling to combat the sugar-coated excesses of twenty/20, this barren excuse for twenty-two metres of coiffured blandness, all looks and, yet, no substance, battered the life from the venaculars of the few remaining fans left with any will to live. <br />
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The Basin Reserve, the grand old dame of New Zealand Cricket has seen its share. It witnessed New Zealand’s first Test victory over England in 1978. John Wright top scored for New Zealand with fifty-five on debut. The greatest of all New Zealand fast bowlers, Richard Hadlee, took seven for twenty-three, his best ever haul, against India two years earlier on the same ground. In 1991, Martin Crowe and Andrew Jones set a World record partnership of four hundred and sixty-seven against Sri Lanka. So, yep, the old dame has experienced her share of the good.<br />
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January 12th to the 16th 2017 was not part of the good, though. Win or not, this pitch doesn’t deserve anything but its reputation pilfered. When it allows two sides of average batting dexterity, first in Bangladesh, followed by the home side, to post totals of five hundred and ninety-five and five hundred and thirty-nine respectively, to prosper, then there is something not quite right.<br />
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A Test pitch, as those in the know know, should have a little for all involved. Some seam for the pacemen early on the first morning. Afterall, why shouldn’t the batsmen be challenged? Hopefully the elements will permeate some swing into proceedings, too. That might sort those uppity little openers out. Ensure they struggle, fight for their survival. Just for a few hours. And then, if those holders of breathes timber do survive, let them strive to live to the grand old age of one hundred in relatively healthy conditions. Maybe, by days four and five, the squalor of spin will test the spines of any who may be spuriously inclined. Test their techniques, both bowler and batsmen, test their temperament, both batsmen and bowler, for talent of technique and talent of temperament over five days do equate to a test.<br />
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A test of all in all conditions, that’s how it should be.<br />
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But, please, not this constant coffle of one dimensional bowling, through no fault of the bowlers, going to painstaking lengths to embed our souls into the tethered turf of tedium.<br />
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Never misconstrue though, there is a place for all types in life. This hellish piece of dirt would make a wonderful one-day pitch. It’s flat – Not everything has to be well developed - provides a constant torrent of runs, so who could not find the delights of a flat chest to inspire art. For art is all-encompassing and a one-dayer is as much art to the sport as any these days. It exists, let it be.<br />
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Yet, please, do not test the Sanctity of Test Cricket. With no seam, no swing and no zest, other than Neil Wagner’s tiresome, yet entirely predictable, efforts to display a penchant for ineffective short pitched bowling and nothing else, there New Zealand sat with Trent Boult and Tim Southee, two fine exponents of swing and seam bowling, unable to make the most of these, at times, mind bending talents.<br />
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And with bents such as Boult and Southee in the home side, surely the Groundsman was not under instructions to produce this bland abberation of a wicket.<br />
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Let us hope not.<br />
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For the players deserve better, the paying public deserve better and Test Cricket deserves better.<br />
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If only the curator of the Basin Reserve had realised, and given this lifeless peasant some medium sized implants.<br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-76157033070048591762016-07-08T20:45:00.002+12:002016-07-08T20:50:07.324+12:00A half fit Shaun Johnson is every man’s never-never.<br />
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In a land where our dreams go to achieve the impossible, this halfback takes our dreams and rotates them into reality. His reality. Because only he can.<br />
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Where we frown with frustration he frolics with the fantastical. Where we fret with fear of failing to take flight, he sprinkles with stardust the arenas of the NRL. That stage is his Neverland; where the impossible is nigh for all but he. <br />
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Week in, week out, where a weekly wishing-well wishes this talisman not a doubt, he doubts not as a gap appears. A dummy, a burst of alacrity, the never-never’s never-never could never dream this material up.<br />
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For he arcs, he swerves, he beats with speed, he confounds with steps that side with right angles; He mesmerises, for he can do it all.<br />
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He runs rings around those usually sound of defence. Just ask the 2016 Gold Coast vintage. They will attest to his abilities as a magician. With the visitors all level at Mt Smart, last Saturday, Johnson rended their defence to shreds. He arced, he fended, and they barely laid a finger on him over the course of sixty metres.<br />
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If Harry Potter had this kind of magical capacity, Voldermort would never have bothered reappearing.<br />
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And all this was achieved while operating on one leg. With his Quad muscle having been compressed against the fiery pits of his femur numerous weeks earlier, this was the second game changing try – The first being against the Roosters – he had procured on a body generating no more than fifty percent of its operating capacity.<br />
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And all the while, hobbling forth, he betrayed not his defensive duties. He tackled with eagerness, he scrambled as one with his teammates. That is he the ultimate team man is not open to interpretation.<br />
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For this is why Andrew McFadden decided to take a calculated risk by playing Johnson; He’s a match winner and a team player. And clearly medical advice had no doubt poured scorn upon the chances of further damage occurring. So why not play him? He’s a match winner.<br />
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Sure, he couldn’t fulfil his usual kicking duties. But then the Warriors had Thomas Leuluai and Isaac Luke to ably take control of that department. Just those two tries have been a major contribution to his team garnering four valuable competition points. Those are four points that may not have come about otherwise.<br />
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And that is why, injured or not, you play your star whenever possible.<br />
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And Shaun Johnson is a true superstar of Rugby League. He’s a magician, too. <br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-23697215224134706342016-06-02T13:00:00.000+12:002017-04-11T22:12:36.612+12:00The drop shot in Tennis is much like sugar in your diet; A little is useful, but used too often, it can lead to serious illness.<br />
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Yes, the drop shot. <br />
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That much exalted shot within the minds of many a competitor. The one that mysteriously appears after half a dozen forceful groundstrokes have been belted with measured intent. Only, then, they panic. Lose their nerve. They crumble.<br />
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And even the best crumble. Even Novak Djockovic. The best player - not the greatest - of all time. Even he can’t resist something sweet every so often. Yet, in his fourth round victory over Roberto Bautista-Agut he so clearly over-indulged.<br />
<br />
The Serb won in four sets against a Spaniard in the form of his life, though the World number one did his utmost to allow the 14th seed to almost take this encounter into a fifth set.<br />
<br />
And how? Too much sugar. Yes, he pulled off some magnificent drops. Not many, but, still, some. Just as the red sky of the night was offering some delight, out came the most bizarre of offerings; Drop shots from the baseline. Yep, such low percentage drop shots that can be diagnosed as diabetics before they have even remotely left his strings.<br />
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And even worse, he, along with many others on the Tour, rarely follow in behind the shot to cut a foe’s options down if by some slim chance a miracle occurs and said shot works. The red sky of delight soon rotates into a morning warning.<br />
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What’s more, at this year’s Australian Open, during a post match interview, a member of the crowd yelled out no more drop shots in Djokovic's direction. The Serb replied, “ You know what, you’re totally right”. And yet here he is still applying himself to the art of the unreliable drop shot.<br />
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Why? Again, why, when seventy percent of these shots fail? One can only surmise that Djockovic, not the dimmest, indeed, an extremely lucid individual, likes those sweets too much to resist what he knows full well is bad for him.<br />
<br />
No one is immune to the pressures exerted by extended rallies. Not even Novak Djockovic.<br />
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He may wish to reduce his blood sugar levels post haste, however. For a maiden French Open Title beckons. <br />
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Maybe even a calendar Grand Slam, too. If the Serb can control his urges.<br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-82466601857978942292016-02-06T22:44:00.000+13:002016-02-06T23:37:49.717+13:00Brendon McCullum has, at various times in his career, been a very good batsman.<br />
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Today, at Westpac Stadium in Wellington, was not one of those occasions. Here he was opening against Australia, taking his usual gung-ho approach to batting. This was twenty-eight runs of crashing the hoardings, banging the braying in the stands and wildly walloping the whipping boys usually referred to as bowlers.<br />
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Sounds great, so far. It gets even better. He achieved this in no more than twelve deliveries. Wow.<br />
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Wow, that is, until you consider the mode of his egression from proceedings. The ball previously, he had dispatched this little round piece of leather into the delirium of the masses with a remarkably cultured six straight over the bowlers head.<br />
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Stupendous stuff.<br />
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Then, the very next delivery, he loses his head and charges down the pitch aimlessly, taking a feral swing, missing completely, and having the top of his off-stump rattled. <br />
<br />
Sounds strangely similar.<br />
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Not only did he underachieve - again - it was a selfish act from the New Zealand Captain who opened his side up to the potential risk of a middle order collapse. At the other end, Martin Guptill had scored five from twelve deliveries. Sure, while McCullum was hurtling into the twenties, he could take a back seat. But he was struggling with his timing and the last thing he needed was his Captain heaping even greater amounts of unneeded pressure on him to restart their inning. <br />
Then, of course, the incoming batsman, Kane Williamson, is forced to retreat into his shell, having to take extra responsibility to add substance to their side's total.<br />
<br />
Sure, in the end, New Zealand made 281 for 9. But it could have been and should have been well into the three hundred's. But for McCullum.<br />
Sadly, this appears to be McCullum's way. Approach a onedayer in the manner of a Twenty20 encounter. Ironic, really, as his impending international retirement comes just before The Twenty20 World Cup in March. The hit and giggle of that form of the game would suit his approach perfectly. <br />
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Yet, it needn't be. If only he would temper his style slightly, play each ball on its merits, his contribution to this team, and indeed all the sides he has played in down the years, could have been significantly more prolific.<br />
<br />
Both Williamson and Guptill score at strike rates in the mid eighties. Williamson has made seven centuries and twenty-five fifties in ninety-one games at an average of 47.21. Guptill has scored ten centuries and twenty-nine fifties at an average of 43.21 in one hundred and twenty-seven games for his Country.<br />
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And McCullum? Five centuries and thirty-two fifties at an average of 30.34 in two hundred and fifty-eight matches. His strike rate is at 95.77. Only slightly higher than his two teammates. Both his opening partner and number three contribute more runs to this team each time they go out to bat, score more Centuries and fifties. And at a strike rate almost as high as McCullum's.<br />
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So please do spare us all the drivel that he is getting his side off to a fast start. He regularly loses his wicket prematurely too often for this to be the case. The figures simply do not back up his supposed fantastical contribution that his rabid supporters claim.<br />
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This New Zealand Captain is a good player, but nowhere near as good as the almost cult like worshipping of his over-hyped abilities suggest.<br />
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Indeed, he has, and has had, so much more to offer New Zealand Cricket. Soon, though, he'll be off to England to play Twenty20 for Middlesex this coming May.<br />
In the end, his batting is no darling buds of May; more the dubious duds of daylight between willow and leather.<br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-60587284354723265832015-07-20T20:30:00.000+12:002015-11-19T20:52:58.160+13:00Oh those doubters, those pouting doubters that never came about. How could they be so wrong? So stout of belief within their belief that Sam Tomkins was nothing more than some light relief.<br />
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They've given him untold grief, that was their brief, to rout the realms of realism and ignore the igniting embers of subtlety within the residence of his talent filled abode.<br />
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How could they not get it? The man can play.<br />
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His game is code to explode the misnomers miscast as fast as a Tomkins flick-on pass. Crass and as ill-advised as a foe underestimating the Englishman's zero to ten metre speed as the former Wigan wonder spies a gap and opens the tap on yet another line break. Stepping and swerving, he may not quite be a quick-stepping Shaun Johnson, but he is effective all the same.<br />
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Such hijinks as those doubters disregard the optical wavelengths colouring the delights bestowed upon them by yet another offload to a scurrying teammate keen to flatten a hump of defence. <br />
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No matter, they'll never be satisfied. It is oh so indicative of the inclination of the haters to hate, one supposes. Never will they be contented as their content was forever discontented. <br />
<br />
And sneer they shall. For fear of petty's prey sitting pretty among the enlightened and the haters darkened souls enlightened only through another's failure.<br />
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No, he's not Billy Slater, the games top fullback. The twenty-six year old has not proven to be quite the try scoring machine that Slater is. He does not slice through defences to run the length of the field as the Melbournian can. <br />
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He may not even be Roger Tuivasa-sheck, his replacement next year when Tomkins returns home to England. But he isn't half bad. One and a half seasons into his three year contract and barely has a foot been put wrong. So strong to prove the doubters a laughing stock, and despite being out for six weeks with a partial tear of the posterior cruciate ligament in his left knee, he has come back and made an immediate impact. <br />
<br />
From a struggling slide to a winning bent, the Warriors with Tomkins back at fullback have slackened the tether of sloppy losses and fettered six wins from their previous nine played. <br />
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Even in Yesterday's 24-0 loss to the Roosters the light of Tomkins shone Tomkins upon his overpowered side. He was at his sidestepping best, regularly evading a foe, procuring many a half-break. But not only was he an attacking dynamo, defence became him.<br />
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Never afraid to introduce himself to physicality he is no dove as he dove into his defensive duties. Scrappy and niggly, he stands his ground. And organises. It is no coincidence that his return from injury has resulted in a soaring defensive effort. Over the past four matches this team has leaked a paltry fifteen points against. Superb.<br />
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Alas, nothing is forever, though. Homesick, Tomkins is heading home at the conclusion of this season, a year earlier than initially planned. Those haters, always lurking, at the ready to tear their target apart, no doubt will label the man weak. A boy. The lad couldn't handle living abroad.<br />
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Others, somewhat more sensibly, would proffer that Tomkins has shown great courage and maturity to shift to the other side of the globe. Twenty thousand kilometres away from family, experiencing a different culture and making new friends. That's intrepidity for you.<br />
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Whichever way one looks at it, there is only seven more matches this season, maybe a few more if they make the finals (they should) to witness the wonderful skills he displays each weekend.<br />
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So make the most of his final appearances. Tomkins will be missed when he's gone. <br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-16039516532221589712015-07-09T20:25:00.000+12:002015-07-09T20:25:23.271+12:00Don Bradman should have been prosecuted for plundering runs that no normal human had any right to score.<br />
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A twenty year career and six thousand, nine hundred and ninety-six runs later, the greatest cricketer of all time had an average of 99.94. Freak.<br />
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Whenever he passed fifty, he invariably went on to score a century, as witnessed by his conversion rate of sixty-nine percent. Twenty-nine centuries and thirteen half-centuries. A rare one indeed, to possess such powers of concentration.<br />
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Perhaps it was his ability to pick the line and length earlier than anyone else that set him apart, hence putting less mental stress upon him and allowing him to concentrate better than others for longer. <br />
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Whatever it was, it was a record without peer and we may not see it replicated for hundreds of years.<br />
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Or maybe not. <br />
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You simply never know when that next one is coming around the corner. Could the time be upon us?<br />
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Joe Root has acquired fourteen hundred and fifty-two runs over the past thirteen months at an average of 85.14. The twenty-four year old is currently attempting a pretty decent impersonation of Bradman.<br />
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But it's been one year. ONE YEAR. Let's repeat that: ONE YEAR. Sure the man from Yorkshire has been in the form of his life. There is work to do though.<br />
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His conversion rate currently sits at thirty-eight percent, rising to forty-one over the previous year. Yet, as one television commentator commented today, Root has on seven occasions got out for scores between seventy and ninety-nine during his Test career.<br />
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Convert those and that conversion rate is significantly enhanced. On most of these occasions this can only be a concentration issue, for when he does reach three figures he tends to go big.<br />
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Such as today.<br />
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One hundred and thirty-four star-sent runs. And as is often the norm with Root, he saunters to the middle with England reeling at a minimum of runs gained and closing in on a maximum of wickets lost.<br />
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In this case, forty-three for three was the damage. Adam Lyth was caught early in the slips while attempting to pan a ball to the legside. Never mind playing straight at the beginning of an inning to one of the best pace attacks in the World. Or anyone for that matter.<br />
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Then Alastair Cook tried to cut a Nathan Lyon delivery close enough to cut Cook in half, getting himself caught behind. Two down and then things became somewhat more dire when Ian Bell continued his run of poor form and went one delivery closer to retirement.<br />
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But Root always appears up for a crisis. On numerous occasions he saved the day against New Zealand in their recent series. Fortunately old habits die hard, for he was up to his old tricks again. Not that it was easy batting conditions. <br />
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This was a pitch that was far from having the verve and carbonation of Adam and Eve on their first meeting. It appeared to have been prepared with only one thing in mind; To negate Australia's pace attack. Fair enough, I guess.<br />
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This is debate for another day whether winning at all costs is the go or should the advertisement of the game come first, or does winning alone create enough of an advertisement by itself.<br />
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Back to the game in hand, conditions for England should have been worse as Root was dropped by Brad Haddin while still scoreless. If only Haddin had spent the last few months practicing his catching skills rather more than his sledging skills, Australia may have had the English all out for three hundred instead of the three hundred and forty-three for seven they ended on by the close of this first day.<br />
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Root, fortunately, is no worrier. He'll simply shrug off the past and launch into a billowing counterattack, often scoring at a strike rate of over one hundred. Sixteen of his initial seventeen runs came by way of fours, his strike rate at one stage even ascending to one hundred and sixty-six.<br />
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With the able assistance of Gary Ballance, who some say has limited footwork while others may call it economy of movement, the pair of them combined for a partnership of one hundred and fifty-three. Though Ballance departed at one hundred and ninety-six for four, having accumulated a hard fought sixty-two, there was no panic.<br />
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There never is with Root. He simply moves on in life and finds a new partner to share the joys of dampening Australian spirits with. In this case, Ben Stokes. <br />
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This dasher is a blaster and while this blaster may not yet be the ultimate master, he casts his sail to the winds of attack. He assaulted fifty-two, and by the time he was bowled by Mitchell Starc, had six fours and two sixes mixed in. <br />
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Unlike some, he doesn't gain much flack for his attack, for he more often than not succeeds. So when on the rare occasions he does fail, he is cut some slack.<br />
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So he should be. He is a match winner. Much like Root. By the time both had departed, England had reached two hundred and ninety-three for six and had gone some way to quietening the sceptics who believed this series will be a romp for the visitors. England are in good hands. There is hope on that there horizon.<br />
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And in Root, there could yet be the chance of that next one coming around the corner.<br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4056951600575835880.post-36872981845529027792015-05-24T12:42:00.000+12:002015-05-25T14:48:52.358+12:00New Zealand should win this Test. And they most probably will.<br />
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However, if they don't, the blame can be placed squarely on Brendan McCullum's irresponsible shoulders. On a day when Kane Williamson brought up his tenth Test hundred, and first at Lord's, through the novelty of batting sensibly, McCullum, meanwhile, was once again displaying his propensity for muddled thinking.<br />
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It all started out fine. It often does with the Kiwi Captain. Swaggering to the centre with the loss of his side's third wicket, he settled himself in for the long haul. Playing each delivery like it was an unexploded bomb at Wembley, the utmost care was taken to set the foundations for a long individual stay at the crease, and a team total in the mid six hundreds. Let's get a first innings lead of two hundred and sixty and let England sweat the nerves of even more rigorous public scrutiny. <br />
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Sounds good. But as many often point out, nothing about McCullum is conventional. You never know what is going to occur next. Well, not true. In fact, he is the most predictable player in World Cricket. After ten minutes it can be guaranteed that his mind will succumb to the urge to swing at anything and everything. There are swingers out there that would be proud of his natural aptitude to swing at the first thing in sight.<br />
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This usually seeps into his psyche when fifteen runs have protruded from his bat. The bulge of brutality saunters into his mind and suddenly he sees the bright lights of fours and sixes serenade his ego. He naively falls for it and a blistering barrage of bountiful riches ensues. Then, just when he has set himself up for life, he takes one gamble to many and loses the lot. <br />
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So predictable. <br />
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Sadly a majority then justify this idiom of rehearsed selfishness with "it's just the way he plays". Instead of holding a batsman that could be so much better than he is to account , they empower him to believe he answers to no one.<br />
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Perhaps McCullum doesn't answer to anyone. Mores the pity, because here is a player that has averaged nigh on fifty over the last two years that could be ten runs higher.<br />
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Interestingly, there are parallels in his case with Kevin Pietersen. The Exiled English star was regularly lambasted for losing his wicket needlessly with irresponsible shots that let his team down. And quite rightly he was criticized. <br />
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Sounds familiar doesn't it. On one hand Pietersen is dragged over the coals for his misdemeanours, and on the other, McCullum, a vastly more popular personality, is celebrated for his. Sounds a lot like double standards.<br />
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So, when McCullum swung wildly at a delivery from Mark Woods that was far too full to flay away at, skying the ball over the wicketkeeper's head down to Joe Root on the boundary, instead of for six on the on-side, he should have been pondering what words his apology to his teammates would consist of.<br />
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With a responsible attitude from their Captain, the kiwi's could have avoided having to bat again. And this pitch is showing signs of low bounce and turn. Not the sought of environment you want to be in chasing runs to win on the fifth day.<br />
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Yes, New Zealand still finished on five hundred and twenty-three. Yes, they have a lead of one hundred and thirty-four. And, yes, they have England struggling at seventy-four for two at the end of the third day.<br />
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It could have been so much better though. Much like McCullum's career.<br />
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Andrew Pennefatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15411435787736747361noreply@blogger.com0