New Zealand has been put into bat by India in the second one day international in Jaipur tonight.
With the game being a day/nighter and heavy dew expected during the evening session, Indian captain Gautam Gambir predictably thought it wise to let the New Zealand bowlers struggle to bowl with a slippery ball.
If they do struggle, they won’t be the only ones in this match to find conditions impalpable. The batsmen have, too.
The opening pair of Jamie How and Martin Guptill made a furious start to the innings, smashing three fours in the first two overs. Then the runs dried up. What had been wayward bowling by S Sreesanth and Asheigh Nehra soon became the model of good line and length just wide of off-stump. And the New Zealander’s soon began to find batting not to their liking on what has been a low slow pitch.
How, in particular, was finding the going tough and perished in the fifth over after edging a Sreenanth deliver through to wicketkeeper Wriddiman Saha to leave New Zealand 14 for one.
In a strange decision, Captain Daniel Vettori decided to promote the inexperienced Kane Williamson up the order to number three ahead of Ross Taylor, despite the difficult batting conditions.
Williamson and Guptill proceeded to put on a partnership of fifty before Williamson was bowled by Munaf Patel playing around the ball for 29 with New Zealand now 64 for two in the 16th over.
After twenty overs, Guptill and Taylor had taken New Zealand through to 75 for two.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
As sure as the Earth orbits the sun at 29.8km per/sec, the first Ashes test has been the height of tension and excitement.
Never a dull moment from ball one. It took England captain Andrew Strauss all of three balls of the first over to have a rush of blood to the head and play a cut shot that went straight to gully, where it was duly caught. This could have been seen as a bad omen for the English. One could have been forgiven for thinking it was going to be a long hard slog over the next few months for them. Especially when they were then bundled all out for a first innings total of 260.
That they came into the opening match of the series pronouncing themselves confident of winning their first Ashes series on Australian soil for twenty-five years seemed a touch on the premature side. If there is one rule that should never be broken in the pre-match psychological warfare of the lead-up to a sporting event, it is this: Always, always claim underdog status. It matters not whether it is true, just claim it anyway. Being forced to have an enema would be a more desirable notion than claiming favouritism.
And it looked early on that they were headed for a bloody nose. As it was, the English took some heavy hits and looked to be on the ropes. It could have been easy for them to throw in the towel, hand the test to the Australians and head for Adelaide and the second test with renewed hope of levelling the series.
This mob, however, are made of far sterner stuff. Not for them to drop their bundle and have a sulk. Instead, they rolled their sleeves up and toiled away. James Anderson delivered a stupendous spell, beating the bat on countless occasions. Softened the batsmen up for his bowling partners, he did. And they cashed in. To the tune of 137 for five. England was back in the match.
Until, that is, entering the cricketing arena came none other than Mr Cricket himself, Mike Hussey. With a century to Hussey, the match rotated in their favour. Australia was on the front foot once again. They could be the only team to realistically contemplate winning, from here, surely. Would England hold up under the pressure to bat time? Could they do the unthinkable and actually win against the odds?
This is what test cricket is all about. Being on the brink of defeat, yet, finding the inner fortitude to fights one’s way out of a dire situation.
As it turned out, they couldn’t win. But, what they did do was seriously dent the Australians confidence with a second innings batting display that bordered on the sublime. To start two hundred and twenty-one runs behind and rack up a score of over five hundred for the loss of only one wicket on final days of a test match borders on the bizarre.
Very rarely do all three top batsmen each score a century. So, bountiful amounts of confidence flowing through their veins, then.
Sure, the pitch behaved itself for the most part, but it did contain a couple of cracks that were wider than Sarah Palin’s knowledge of who America’s neighbours are. These rifts saw the ball turn at prodigious angles on occasions. Yet, the English batsmen handled the situation with aplomb.
So, despite being on top for long periods of the match, the Australians were the team that at times lost their poise. When the pressure went on, it was their normally high fielding standards that dissipated. Catches that would usually be taken went down. Both Michael Clarke and Mitchell Johnston were guilty of grassing catches that at this level should be taken every day of the week.
Gone are days for Australia of having a team stacked with stars. There is no Glen McGrath to knock over the opposition’s top order. No Shane Warne to rip through the middle and lower order batsmen. While they still have one of the best batsmen going around in skipper Ricky Ponting, it is no longer a line-up that sends fear through opposing bowlers.
England, on the other hand, has a side that appears to be very well balanced. There is an opening pair in Andrew Strauss and Alastair Cook that, while they aren’t flashy, gets the job done. You know the sort: have dinner at six pm, watch Coronation Street and talk about how good the meat was tonight. But, hey, that’s okay. You know what you will get with them, and they rarely let you down. Usually get a hundred run partnerships. Yep, every team likes them.
To counter these stoic sorts at the top of the order, they have the swashbuckling Kevin “the ego” Pietersen to smack the ball to all parts once the shine has been taken off the new ball by the openers.Numbers three and five respectively, Jonathan Trott and Paul Collingwood, can play a more conservative style when needed, or on the flipside, go on the attack chasing runs quickly. Add to this Ian Bell at number six who has a plentiful array of shot making options at his disposal and what you get is one of the stronger batting line-ups in world cricket. Shots galore, at their disposal, this lot.
Of course, it’s no good having a great batting side if you don’t have the bowlers to back you up. Fortunately for England, they do. In Anderson, Stuart Broad and Steven Finn, they have three talented fast bowlers. Which are backed up by a world class spinner in Graeme Swann.
What all this means for Australia, is trouble. While they appear to be able to compete in the batting department, their bowlers were exposed in England’s second innings as inadequate. Flat pitch or not, no side should be able to score 517 for one on the third and fourth days of a test.
So, England, struggling over the first two days, now looks to be in the stronger position mentally.
And you can never under-estimate the importance of confidence to a team.
Never a dull moment from ball one. It took England captain Andrew Strauss all of three balls of the first over to have a rush of blood to the head and play a cut shot that went straight to gully, where it was duly caught. This could have been seen as a bad omen for the English. One could have been forgiven for thinking it was going to be a long hard slog over the next few months for them. Especially when they were then bundled all out for a first innings total of 260.
That they came into the opening match of the series pronouncing themselves confident of winning their first Ashes series on Australian soil for twenty-five years seemed a touch on the premature side. If there is one rule that should never be broken in the pre-match psychological warfare of the lead-up to a sporting event, it is this: Always, always claim underdog status. It matters not whether it is true, just claim it anyway. Being forced to have an enema would be a more desirable notion than claiming favouritism.
And it looked early on that they were headed for a bloody nose. As it was, the English took some heavy hits and looked to be on the ropes. It could have been easy for them to throw in the towel, hand the test to the Australians and head for Adelaide and the second test with renewed hope of levelling the series.
This mob, however, are made of far sterner stuff. Not for them to drop their bundle and have a sulk. Instead, they rolled their sleeves up and toiled away. James Anderson delivered a stupendous spell, beating the bat on countless occasions. Softened the batsmen up for his bowling partners, he did. And they cashed in. To the tune of 137 for five. England was back in the match.
Until, that is, entering the cricketing arena came none other than Mr Cricket himself, Mike Hussey. With a century to Hussey, the match rotated in their favour. Australia was on the front foot once again. They could be the only team to realistically contemplate winning, from here, surely. Would England hold up under the pressure to bat time? Could they do the unthinkable and actually win against the odds?
This is what test cricket is all about. Being on the brink of defeat, yet, finding the inner fortitude to fights one’s way out of a dire situation.
As it turned out, they couldn’t win. But, what they did do was seriously dent the Australians confidence with a second innings batting display that bordered on the sublime. To start two hundred and twenty-one runs behind and rack up a score of over five hundred for the loss of only one wicket on final days of a test match borders on the bizarre.
Very rarely do all three top batsmen each score a century. So, bountiful amounts of confidence flowing through their veins, then.
Sure, the pitch behaved itself for the most part, but it did contain a couple of cracks that were wider than Sarah Palin’s knowledge of who America’s neighbours are. These rifts saw the ball turn at prodigious angles on occasions. Yet, the English batsmen handled the situation with aplomb.
So, despite being on top for long periods of the match, the Australians were the team that at times lost their poise. When the pressure went on, it was their normally high fielding standards that dissipated. Catches that would usually be taken went down. Both Michael Clarke and Mitchell Johnston were guilty of grassing catches that at this level should be taken every day of the week.
Gone are days for Australia of having a team stacked with stars. There is no Glen McGrath to knock over the opposition’s top order. No Shane Warne to rip through the middle and lower order batsmen. While they still have one of the best batsmen going around in skipper Ricky Ponting, it is no longer a line-up that sends fear through opposing bowlers.
England, on the other hand, has a side that appears to be very well balanced. There is an opening pair in Andrew Strauss and Alastair Cook that, while they aren’t flashy, gets the job done. You know the sort: have dinner at six pm, watch Coronation Street and talk about how good the meat was tonight. But, hey, that’s okay. You know what you will get with them, and they rarely let you down. Usually get a hundred run partnerships. Yep, every team likes them.
To counter these stoic sorts at the top of the order, they have the swashbuckling Kevin “the ego” Pietersen to smack the ball to all parts once the shine has been taken off the new ball by the openers.Numbers three and five respectively, Jonathan Trott and Paul Collingwood, can play a more conservative style when needed, or on the flipside, go on the attack chasing runs quickly. Add to this Ian Bell at number six who has a plentiful array of shot making options at his disposal and what you get is one of the stronger batting line-ups in world cricket. Shots galore, at their disposal, this lot.
Of course, it’s no good having a great batting side if you don’t have the bowlers to back you up. Fortunately for England, they do. In Anderson, Stuart Broad and Steven Finn, they have three talented fast bowlers. Which are backed up by a world class spinner in Graeme Swann.
What all this means for Australia, is trouble. While they appear to be able to compete in the batting department, their bowlers were exposed in England’s second innings as inadequate. Flat pitch or not, no side should be able to score 517 for one on the third and fourth days of a test.
So, England, struggling over the first two days, now looks to be in the stronger position mentally.
And you can never under-estimate the importance of confidence to a team.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Ever wondered about all those fancy names that some marketing types insist on coming up with for our national teams?
And is it a good thing or should we be done with them?
There have been many. Some have stuck, others haven’t. There’s the All Blacks, Black Caps, Silver ferns, Black Sticks, Tall Blacks, All Whites, Black Sox and a plethora of others all too numerous to mention here.
Of course, the big daddy of them all was the time earlier this century when some nutjob at the New Zealand Badminton federation’s marketing department, passing him or herself off as a genius, decided in a bizarre moment of madness that it would be a mighty fine notion to name Badminton’s national team the Black Cocks.
What an absolute cock of an idea this was from the head cock of bizarre cocks.
One can only presume that this absolute cock of a whizz kid marketing type thought that National team were underperforming and making them known as the Black Cocks would be the only suitable punishment.
With four men and four women in the team, what does that make the female members of the side? And why black cocks? Surely a shuttlecock is white.
And considering the outrageously sinister racial connotations that go with the name, clearly things were not well thought out beforehand. Perhaps they should have stuck to calling the team the white cocks.
After all, if this marketing guru was suggesting that black cocks are better than white cocks then surely this is discrimatory towards white cocks and they have a case for laying a formal complaint with the race conciliators office.
Admittedly, some do claim that if you’ve had black you don’t go back, but, all the same, we do live in an era of equal rights.
Not surprisingly, the name was dropped. Sure, it got the sport some publicity, but, in the end, if an organisation wants good publicity, the best way to achieve this is for your national side to win.
Which leads us to the Black Caps. If ever there was a team that proves that all the fancy monikers in the world will do you no good at all, it is they.
For, ever since they inherited this tag, their fortunes have gradually evaporated. Yes, they didn’t do too badly from the mid nineties through until earlier this century.
Since then, though, it has been a slippery slide down an increasingly acute slope into a vast ocean of mediocrity.
They fill it quite nicely at times, too.
This means a slick slogan has been no match for a side currently corrupted by player power, big money and a unique ability to find new and interesting methods to lose games of cricket.
You see, a team can have a flash name, but if they can’t bat, bowl and catch as some have pointed out about the current side, then the only opposition they will be competitive with is the race to the hot dog stand at 2pm on the third day of a test match.
The desire to win comes from within oneself.
Not from within that sport’s marketing department.
There can be no substitute for a willingness to work hard. Hard work and practice lead increased proficiency at your chosen discipline. Which, in turn, will increase the chances of success knocking on one’s door.
Do invite it in, too, won’t you. You’ll find that it is much more pleasant and interesting company than a fancy, but, nevertheless, meaningless marketing name.
Just take a look at the crowd numbers if the New Zealand cricket team start winning consistently. It won’t be the fancy name that brought all those extra feet through the turnstiles.
Some will point out that our national rugby team are known as the All Blacks and not as New Zealand. This is true. However, what it does not account for is the fact that it is a name that was given to our national team one hundred years ago.
And there has been a tradition of success erected over that time. A culture that has young players entering into the All Blacks domain desperate to do justice to the black shirt and the history that goes with it.
That success is what has made the “All Blacks” famous and worth its weight in advertising gold. The All Blacks logo is internationally recognised because of those winning ways.
This is the problem for the likes of New Zealand cricket. They simply do not win enough on the park. Until they and others like them do, all the clever brand names will be of no use.
Maybe someone should tell that to the cock at New Zealand Badminton that turned a national team into a laughing stock.
And is it a good thing or should we be done with them?
There have been many. Some have stuck, others haven’t. There’s the All Blacks, Black Caps, Silver ferns, Black Sticks, Tall Blacks, All Whites, Black Sox and a plethora of others all too numerous to mention here.
Of course, the big daddy of them all was the time earlier this century when some nutjob at the New Zealand Badminton federation’s marketing department, passing him or herself off as a genius, decided in a bizarre moment of madness that it would be a mighty fine notion to name Badminton’s national team the Black Cocks.
What an absolute cock of an idea this was from the head cock of bizarre cocks.
One can only presume that this absolute cock of a whizz kid marketing type thought that National team were underperforming and making them known as the Black Cocks would be the only suitable punishment.
With four men and four women in the team, what does that make the female members of the side? And why black cocks? Surely a shuttlecock is white.
And considering the outrageously sinister racial connotations that go with the name, clearly things were not well thought out beforehand. Perhaps they should have stuck to calling the team the white cocks.
After all, if this marketing guru was suggesting that black cocks are better than white cocks then surely this is discrimatory towards white cocks and they have a case for laying a formal complaint with the race conciliators office.
Admittedly, some do claim that if you’ve had black you don’t go back, but, all the same, we do live in an era of equal rights.
Not surprisingly, the name was dropped. Sure, it got the sport some publicity, but, in the end, if an organisation wants good publicity, the best way to achieve this is for your national side to win.
Which leads us to the Black Caps. If ever there was a team that proves that all the fancy monikers in the world will do you no good at all, it is they.
For, ever since they inherited this tag, their fortunes have gradually evaporated. Yes, they didn’t do too badly from the mid nineties through until earlier this century.
Since then, though, it has been a slippery slide down an increasingly acute slope into a vast ocean of mediocrity.
They fill it quite nicely at times, too.
This means a slick slogan has been no match for a side currently corrupted by player power, big money and a unique ability to find new and interesting methods to lose games of cricket.
You see, a team can have a flash name, but if they can’t bat, bowl and catch as some have pointed out about the current side, then the only opposition they will be competitive with is the race to the hot dog stand at 2pm on the third day of a test match.
The desire to win comes from within oneself.
Not from within that sport’s marketing department.
There can be no substitute for a willingness to work hard. Hard work and practice lead increased proficiency at your chosen discipline. Which, in turn, will increase the chances of success knocking on one’s door.
Do invite it in, too, won’t you. You’ll find that it is much more pleasant and interesting company than a fancy, but, nevertheless, meaningless marketing name.
Just take a look at the crowd numbers if the New Zealand cricket team start winning consistently. It won’t be the fancy name that brought all those extra feet through the turnstiles.
Some will point out that our national rugby team are known as the All Blacks and not as New Zealand. This is true. However, what it does not account for is the fact that it is a name that was given to our national team one hundred years ago.
And there has been a tradition of success erected over that time. A culture that has young players entering into the All Blacks domain desperate to do justice to the black shirt and the history that goes with it.
That success is what has made the “All Blacks” famous and worth its weight in advertising gold. The All Blacks logo is internationally recognised because of those winning ways.
This is the problem for the likes of New Zealand cricket. They simply do not win enough on the park. Until they and others like them do, all the clever brand names will be of no use.
Maybe someone should tell that to the cock at New Zealand Badminton that turned a national team into a laughing stock.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Twenty-eight year old, six foot two sexually adventurous rugby league winger from Canberra who enjoys animals (dogs in particular), looking to meet a like minded lady.
Must not mind sharing her man, as this one likes to swing on occasions. But don’t worry too much, will you; it’s only with a dog that he will cheat on you with. So much better, you see, than slinking off to a revendous with another woman.
So, come on ladies, this one’s a real winner. Get in fast before he gets taken by an adoring high class lady. For what woman could possibly resist a man that possesses such high moral integrity as Joel Monaghan clearly does.
When deciding as to whether or not you will take the plunge and date this guy, even knowing that he has been photographed simulating a sex act with a dog during a mad Monday celebration, please do take into account that according to our animal loving friend, this was nothing more than a prank gone wrong.
This, of course, makes it so much better than if he was indulging in sex with a dog in a serious manner. And do remember that he was drunk, which means he cannot possibly be expected to take responsibility for his own actions.
After all, it was the alcohol that poured itself into his glass which just conveniently decided to park itself exactly in the right place for the alcohol to come out of a tap into said glass. Then, of course, the glass inadvertently lifted itself up to the level of Monaghan’s mouth and forced its way down his throat totally against his will.
So, a bonus, then, that you have had an opportunity to see your potential suitors rather unique take on life.
For his sake, you may even wish to turn a blind eye to the fact that alcohol generally loosens one’s personality up. The real you will more often than not come out. Thus, one is more inclined to act in a fashion that shows their true character. And what a revelation Monaghan’s personality has been.
The chances are that in all probability Monaghan’s career is all but over and will never play another game of rugby league. This is good for you ladies, though, as he will have extra time to devote to being a loving partner to you. What more could you possibly want than a man that will spend time with you? Well, that is if he can drag himself away from showering attention on his dog. Literally.
Good then that he will have plenty of spare time to devote to you as he is now pretty much unemployable. Not only will rugby league rid themselves of him, but, he is unlikely to gain meaningful employment in the likes of rugby union either. None of these codes are going to want the bad publicity that will follow him wherever he goes.
So, money won’t be in plentiful supply. But money isn’t everything is it? Just think, on the positive side of things, you will have such a wonderful man that can impart his most worthy of morals and values on your future offspring. What a lucky bunch they will be.
I mean, he will have all that extra time to contemplate just what he has done.
Time for Joel to hopefully see how repulsive and repugnant what he has done, is. That society does not and never should accept and tolerate this type of behaviour.
And please don’t let him tell you that it was “just” a dog. Animals have the right to be treated with decency too. That’s why we have laws against cruelty towards animals.
Whichever of you lucky ladies that end up with Joel could help him to see the error of his ways. Maybe get him to one day seek redemption by helping to educate the youngsters of the future on what is acceptable behaviour in a modern liberal society.
It’s those youth of the early teenage years that need to be targeted in regards to educating the future of rugby league on what is right and what is wrong. Attitudes have to change over time. To paraphrase a certain shampoo ad of the past, “it won’t happen overnight, but it will happen”. Or should that be “it won’t happen overnight, but it could happen”.
So there is no point trying to change the current mob as these attitudes are far too ingrained. You could get rid of mad Monday’s. That may stop some of the lunacy that goes on, but it won’t change the attitudes of players.
Go for the next generation, then maybe in ten years time we will have a game played by young men that respect society’s norms and respect the game of rugby league enough not to attempt to bring it to its knees.
Often in rugby league, you will hear players talk of another committing a “dog act”. This is usually referring to an act of foul play such as eye gouging or biting.
The ultimate irony of Monaghan’s actions is that he really has committed a dog act.
So, ladies, do you wish to tame the dog?
Must not mind sharing her man, as this one likes to swing on occasions. But don’t worry too much, will you; it’s only with a dog that he will cheat on you with. So much better, you see, than slinking off to a revendous with another woman.
So, come on ladies, this one’s a real winner. Get in fast before he gets taken by an adoring high class lady. For what woman could possibly resist a man that possesses such high moral integrity as Joel Monaghan clearly does.
When deciding as to whether or not you will take the plunge and date this guy, even knowing that he has been photographed simulating a sex act with a dog during a mad Monday celebration, please do take into account that according to our animal loving friend, this was nothing more than a prank gone wrong.
This, of course, makes it so much better than if he was indulging in sex with a dog in a serious manner. And do remember that he was drunk, which means he cannot possibly be expected to take responsibility for his own actions.
After all, it was the alcohol that poured itself into his glass which just conveniently decided to park itself exactly in the right place for the alcohol to come out of a tap into said glass. Then, of course, the glass inadvertently lifted itself up to the level of Monaghan’s mouth and forced its way down his throat totally against his will.
So, a bonus, then, that you have had an opportunity to see your potential suitors rather unique take on life.
For his sake, you may even wish to turn a blind eye to the fact that alcohol generally loosens one’s personality up. The real you will more often than not come out. Thus, one is more inclined to act in a fashion that shows their true character. And what a revelation Monaghan’s personality has been.
The chances are that in all probability Monaghan’s career is all but over and will never play another game of rugby league. This is good for you ladies, though, as he will have extra time to devote to being a loving partner to you. What more could you possibly want than a man that will spend time with you? Well, that is if he can drag himself away from showering attention on his dog. Literally.
Good then that he will have plenty of spare time to devote to you as he is now pretty much unemployable. Not only will rugby league rid themselves of him, but, he is unlikely to gain meaningful employment in the likes of rugby union either. None of these codes are going to want the bad publicity that will follow him wherever he goes.
So, money won’t be in plentiful supply. But money isn’t everything is it? Just think, on the positive side of things, you will have such a wonderful man that can impart his most worthy of morals and values on your future offspring. What a lucky bunch they will be.
I mean, he will have all that extra time to contemplate just what he has done.
Time for Joel to hopefully see how repulsive and repugnant what he has done, is. That society does not and never should accept and tolerate this type of behaviour.
And please don’t let him tell you that it was “just” a dog. Animals have the right to be treated with decency too. That’s why we have laws against cruelty towards animals.
Whichever of you lucky ladies that end up with Joel could help him to see the error of his ways. Maybe get him to one day seek redemption by helping to educate the youngsters of the future on what is acceptable behaviour in a modern liberal society.
It’s those youth of the early teenage years that need to be targeted in regards to educating the future of rugby league on what is right and what is wrong. Attitudes have to change over time. To paraphrase a certain shampoo ad of the past, “it won’t happen overnight, but it will happen”. Or should that be “it won’t happen overnight, but it could happen”.
So there is no point trying to change the current mob as these attitudes are far too ingrained. You could get rid of mad Monday’s. That may stop some of the lunacy that goes on, but it won’t change the attitudes of players.
Go for the next generation, then maybe in ten years time we will have a game played by young men that respect society’s norms and respect the game of rugby league enough not to attempt to bring it to its knees.
Often in rugby league, you will hear players talk of another committing a “dog act”. This is usually referring to an act of foul play such as eye gouging or biting.
The ultimate irony of Monaghan’s actions is that he really has committed a dog act.
So, ladies, do you wish to tame the dog?
Saturday, October 23, 2010
We all have them; dreams that is. Some dreams come true, some don’t.
You see, I had a dream, a dream that Jesse Ryder has put his errant ways of putting his fist through glass panes behind him. That he no longer went into emergency wards yelling “don’t you know who I am”. We all know who you are, Jesse.
I dreamed a dream that Jesse Ryder has finally got off the bottle. That he has seen that booze is a cure for nothing. You still wake up the next morning and the problems you had yesterday are still there today.That you have realised that all your so called “mates” that egg you on to have one more drink and be the life and soul of the party aren’t really your mates. Hey, they would be nowhere to be seen if you weren’t well known. But, Jesse, you don’t need them. They’re not really your friends.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that Jesse Ryder becomes as comfortable with himself away from the crease as he is at it. That he finds that inner peace that will allow him to fulfil his enormous potential. To let him float like a butterfly and sting like a bee when opposing bowlers deliver balls that he is capable of swatting away like flies.You see, Jesse, your true fans, we all like you just the way you are.
I had a dream, a dream that New Zealand cricket stood up to the convoluted egos within the Black Caps. That Justin Vaughan and the New Zealand Cricket Board structured the player’s payments to be focused more on results. Oh, see how things start to turn around, then.
I had a dream of a dream that Daniel Vettori takes his medicine and accept that one person having as much control as he desired does more harm than good. That he is retained as captain, but loses all his other roles leading to him concentrating on what he should be concerned about: what occurs on the field.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that New Zealand cricket finally sees the light and appoints John Wright as coach. That they come to realise that Wright coached India successfully for five years- and eternity in cricketing terms- hence, obviously having the organisational skills for the job, as well as the necessary coaching no-how.
I had a dream, a dream that come January, as we settle down to the Heineken Open and a touch of tennis with strawberries and cream and a dash of champagne on the side, we will not be subjected to that diatribe of the senses that is grunting.
I dreamed a dream that Serena Williams was in the near vicinity, ready to shove a tennis ball down the throat of any player that dares to force the crowd and the television viewer to listen to this insanity. Maybe she could even force a ball down her own throat, too. Oh the silence, how sublime.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that local lass Marina Erakovich powers her way back up the world rankings just in time to make a heart-warming tilt at tournament glory.That she puts New Zealand tennis back on the map instead of its current position in the deep dark carvasses that it currently lurks.
I had a dream, a dream that the words rest and rotation make a hasty retreat into the realms of darkness as they do a miraculous disappearing act from our vocabulary, never to be heard of again. That as we held our collective breathes, the sporting public were pleasantly surprised that these words that can no longer be named didn’t rare their ugly heads once again.
I dreamed a dream that any coach of a National sporting side that even so much as contemplated using those words that can no longer be named is punished by being locked in a room and forced to watch yet another replay of the All Blacks quarter-final match at the 2007 World Cup.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that as those words that can no longer be named will not be used in preparation for any major sporting event, players were no longer getting injured as regularly due to the obvious fact that as they were playing more, their bodies would become use to the rigours of a contact sport and no longer get injured so often.
But, then, this was just a dream: wasn't it?
You see, I had a dream, a dream that Jesse Ryder has put his errant ways of putting his fist through glass panes behind him. That he no longer went into emergency wards yelling “don’t you know who I am”. We all know who you are, Jesse.
I dreamed a dream that Jesse Ryder has finally got off the bottle. That he has seen that booze is a cure for nothing. You still wake up the next morning and the problems you had yesterday are still there today.That you have realised that all your so called “mates” that egg you on to have one more drink and be the life and soul of the party aren’t really your mates. Hey, they would be nowhere to be seen if you weren’t well known. But, Jesse, you don’t need them. They’re not really your friends.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that Jesse Ryder becomes as comfortable with himself away from the crease as he is at it. That he finds that inner peace that will allow him to fulfil his enormous potential. To let him float like a butterfly and sting like a bee when opposing bowlers deliver balls that he is capable of swatting away like flies.You see, Jesse, your true fans, we all like you just the way you are.
I had a dream, a dream that New Zealand cricket stood up to the convoluted egos within the Black Caps. That Justin Vaughan and the New Zealand Cricket Board structured the player’s payments to be focused more on results. Oh, see how things start to turn around, then.
I had a dream of a dream that Daniel Vettori takes his medicine and accept that one person having as much control as he desired does more harm than good. That he is retained as captain, but loses all his other roles leading to him concentrating on what he should be concerned about: what occurs on the field.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that New Zealand cricket finally sees the light and appoints John Wright as coach. That they come to realise that Wright coached India successfully for five years- and eternity in cricketing terms- hence, obviously having the organisational skills for the job, as well as the necessary coaching no-how.
I had a dream, a dream that come January, as we settle down to the Heineken Open and a touch of tennis with strawberries and cream and a dash of champagne on the side, we will not be subjected to that diatribe of the senses that is grunting.
I dreamed a dream that Serena Williams was in the near vicinity, ready to shove a tennis ball down the throat of any player that dares to force the crowd and the television viewer to listen to this insanity. Maybe she could even force a ball down her own throat, too. Oh the silence, how sublime.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that local lass Marina Erakovich powers her way back up the world rankings just in time to make a heart-warming tilt at tournament glory.That she puts New Zealand tennis back on the map instead of its current position in the deep dark carvasses that it currently lurks.
I had a dream, a dream that the words rest and rotation make a hasty retreat into the realms of darkness as they do a miraculous disappearing act from our vocabulary, never to be heard of again. That as we held our collective breathes, the sporting public were pleasantly surprised that these words that can no longer be named didn’t rare their ugly heads once again.
I dreamed a dream that any coach of a National sporting side that even so much as contemplated using those words that can no longer be named is punished by being locked in a room and forced to watch yet another replay of the All Blacks quarter-final match at the 2007 World Cup.
I dreamed a dream of a dream that as those words that can no longer be named will not be used in preparation for any major sporting event, players were no longer getting injured as regularly due to the obvious fact that as they were playing more, their bodies would become use to the rigours of a contact sport and no longer get injured so often.
But, then, this was just a dream: wasn't it?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Just as the sporting population of this fine country of ours was feeling all warm and fuzzy over the splendid efforts of our Commonwealth games athletes, along comes a sporting team determined to take the sheen off. A team so well practised in the dark arts of poor performance, that to expect them to contribute a high standard of cricket day in, day out would be as attainable as submerging themselves in a vat of molten lava and living to tell the tale.
Who am I eluding too, you may well ask? Well, I’ll tell you . . .yep, the Black Caps, of course. Yes, those titans of world cricket, those sultans of cricketing excellence, and those modern day wonders of that tough as nails mentality that wins matches so readily.
Just when they have produced a solid series performance and you think it is safe to assume that there is some light appearing at the end of the tunnel, they then travel to their next destination and proceed to supply a run of bumbling efforts such as their recent clashes with those heavyweights of world cricket, Bangladesh. That tunnel once again becomes a dim dark hell hole leaving you wishing that you could venture off to fifty thousand feet and jump out of an aeroplane without a parachute, all the while having your googlies frozen off as you freefall and calculate how long it will take you to plummet to a rather snappy oblivion.
Okay, admittedly, Bangladesh are a side on the improve. And it was played in Bangladesh on slow turning tracks that suited the locals. But this was Bangladesh, for heaven’s sake. Not only did they lose 4-0, but, did they even look remotely capable of winning a match? Not on your Nellie.
Perhaps this is a cunning ploy on the part of captain, coach, selector Daniel Vettori to lure their opposition in the upcoming World Cup into a false sense of security. If so, one would suggest that he’s onto a winner with this well thought out strategy. What better way to achieve this than giving a mighty fine impersonation of a team that can’t bat, bowl and catch. And after watching the New Zealander’s over the last week, what team could not fall for this dastardly scheme. To expect any opposition to take this lot seriously is simply asking the impossible. So, a World Cup win is a given, then.
The sad thing about the state of the national team is that they clearly possess some very talented individual’s in the form of Vettori, Brendon McCullum, Jessie Ryder and Ross Taylor. Then they have youngster Kane Williamson to add to the mix. All the cricketing experts have said they he is a superstar in the making. The best technique of any batsman in the country, they say. Clearly for good reason, too, as even a cricketing layman can see the kid has talent. Yet here he is, thrown into a team delving deeply into the realms of mediocrity, struggling for runs. Let us hope that such a superb cricketing talent does not fall by the wayside.
Which could well happen if New Zealand cricket does not eliminate the cancerous parts before they become maligment. However, knowing there is a problem and actually finding viable solutions to solve those issues are two totally different things altogether.
Twenty/twenty cricket is not helping their situation. With the ever increasing popularity of the newer version of the game, power has shifted somewhat in the players favour. With the money that can now be earned for six weeks work in the Indian league, players can now threaten to forgo signing with New Zealand cricket and go on the open market as a freelancer.
That added bargaining tool has already seen player power pull enough strings to have Andy Moles removed as coach. They wanted a better technical coach, was their reasoning. Fair enough, except, that since Mark Greatbatch has been appointed as Moles successor, nothing has changed. In fact, one could argue that they have lost ground under Greatbatch’s watch.
Having said that, blame cannot be solely aimed at Greatbatch. He has not been in the job all that long and Vettori has to take his share of responsibility for the current crisis within the team. It was he who wanted complete control over his and the team’s destiny. Trouble with being the recipient of large doses of power is that when the results do not occur in a favourable light, the spotlight of dissatisfaction soon turns its bright glare on you.
So, the pressure must surely be weighing on Vettori’s mind. How could it not? Maybe it is time for him to relinquish some of his added roles and concentrate his efforts on leading his team, instead of worrying about what power he has within New Zealand cricket. And if he won’t take a step backwards for the good of the Black Caps, then, the time has come for Justin Vaughan and New Zealand cricket to stand up to Vettori and the player power within the side and regain control. Even if that means stepping on some large but fragile egos.And even if that means some players decide to pass on representing their country. Yes, it may mean a weaker Black Caps unit, but then, they can’t sink much lower than what they have recently.
So, let’s see how much this current mob really desire playing for New Zealand.
Who am I eluding too, you may well ask? Well, I’ll tell you . . .yep, the Black Caps, of course. Yes, those titans of world cricket, those sultans of cricketing excellence, and those modern day wonders of that tough as nails mentality that wins matches so readily.
Just when they have produced a solid series performance and you think it is safe to assume that there is some light appearing at the end of the tunnel, they then travel to their next destination and proceed to supply a run of bumbling efforts such as their recent clashes with those heavyweights of world cricket, Bangladesh. That tunnel once again becomes a dim dark hell hole leaving you wishing that you could venture off to fifty thousand feet and jump out of an aeroplane without a parachute, all the while having your googlies frozen off as you freefall and calculate how long it will take you to plummet to a rather snappy oblivion.
Okay, admittedly, Bangladesh are a side on the improve. And it was played in Bangladesh on slow turning tracks that suited the locals. But this was Bangladesh, for heaven’s sake. Not only did they lose 4-0, but, did they even look remotely capable of winning a match? Not on your Nellie.
Perhaps this is a cunning ploy on the part of captain, coach, selector Daniel Vettori to lure their opposition in the upcoming World Cup into a false sense of security. If so, one would suggest that he’s onto a winner with this well thought out strategy. What better way to achieve this than giving a mighty fine impersonation of a team that can’t bat, bowl and catch. And after watching the New Zealander’s over the last week, what team could not fall for this dastardly scheme. To expect any opposition to take this lot seriously is simply asking the impossible. So, a World Cup win is a given, then.
The sad thing about the state of the national team is that they clearly possess some very talented individual’s in the form of Vettori, Brendon McCullum, Jessie Ryder and Ross Taylor. Then they have youngster Kane Williamson to add to the mix. All the cricketing experts have said they he is a superstar in the making. The best technique of any batsman in the country, they say. Clearly for good reason, too, as even a cricketing layman can see the kid has talent. Yet here he is, thrown into a team delving deeply into the realms of mediocrity, struggling for runs. Let us hope that such a superb cricketing talent does not fall by the wayside.
Which could well happen if New Zealand cricket does not eliminate the cancerous parts before they become maligment. However, knowing there is a problem and actually finding viable solutions to solve those issues are two totally different things altogether.
Twenty/twenty cricket is not helping their situation. With the ever increasing popularity of the newer version of the game, power has shifted somewhat in the players favour. With the money that can now be earned for six weeks work in the Indian league, players can now threaten to forgo signing with New Zealand cricket and go on the open market as a freelancer.
That added bargaining tool has already seen player power pull enough strings to have Andy Moles removed as coach. They wanted a better technical coach, was their reasoning. Fair enough, except, that since Mark Greatbatch has been appointed as Moles successor, nothing has changed. In fact, one could argue that they have lost ground under Greatbatch’s watch.
Having said that, blame cannot be solely aimed at Greatbatch. He has not been in the job all that long and Vettori has to take his share of responsibility for the current crisis within the team. It was he who wanted complete control over his and the team’s destiny. Trouble with being the recipient of large doses of power is that when the results do not occur in a favourable light, the spotlight of dissatisfaction soon turns its bright glare on you.
So, the pressure must surely be weighing on Vettori’s mind. How could it not? Maybe it is time for him to relinquish some of his added roles and concentrate his efforts on leading his team, instead of worrying about what power he has within New Zealand cricket. And if he won’t take a step backwards for the good of the Black Caps, then, the time has come for Justin Vaughan and New Zealand cricket to stand up to Vettori and the player power within the side and regain control. Even if that means stepping on some large but fragile egos.And even if that means some players decide to pass on representing their country. Yes, it may mean a weaker Black Caps unit, but then, they can’t sink much lower than what they have recently.
So, let’s see how much this current mob really desire playing for New Zealand.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The path to grand final day is a road travelled by many over the years. Once there, some turn onto the highway that takes them to the ultimate in rugby league glory; a grand final victory. Others though aren’t so lucky. Some will collect grand finals medals more than once; others will never achieve that honour. Some coaches will mentor their sides to victory. In Wayne Bennett’s case, six times. Others will try on numerous occasions but miss out on the ultimate prize; just ask Brian Smith.
Grand finals take no prisoners. No one is spared their wrath. The glare of a capacity crowd on a team can have its impact. Half of that crowd baying for your team’s blood. And then there are thirteen opposition players; they’re not fond of you, either.
The 2010 vintage pitted the attack of the Sydney Roosters up against the discipline and defence of the St George Dragons in an all-Sydney grand final. A first, that, since 2004. The former, a team that finished last in 2009, who under the tutelage of Brian Smith achieved one of the most stunning form reversals in the last seventy years by reaching the grand final. The latter, the once mighty Dragons who had dominated rugby league in the sixties and seventies- but had not won since 1979- had of late become known for their inconsistency. So St George brought in Bennett two years ago to rotate things around for them. But would Wayne’s world bring them that title that they so coveted?
Time would only tell. First there was eighty minutes of energy sapping tackling to complete, bone rattling hits to take, oxygen depleting runs to make, not to mention wet, muddy conditions to navigate. Oh, then there was the pressure cooker environment created by an electric atmosphere that required negotiating.
This is the stuff that sorts the men from the boys. Where you know that a searching examination of one’s mental fortitude is a given. The meek need not apply.
There was nothing meek about the Roosters defence early on. They sent several troops in regularly to extinguish any attacking fires that St George may light. Of the two sides, it was the Roosters who looked the more composed and confident. On the flipside, it was the Dragons that appeared to be suffering from nerves. Michael Weyman knocked on after only ninety seconds. The Roosters threw everything they had at the Dragons during the opening five minutes.
Still, champion sides will take the knocks, then, when opportunity knocks, they open the door and greet it with open arms. This the Dragons did in the 7th minute when in one of their rare forays into the Roosters half thus far, Jamie Soward put up a bomb into the Roosters in-goal. Mark Gasnier chased through and soared above the defence to claim the steeden and touchdown for his 86th career try. With Soward’s conversion, Dragons supporters would have been hearing the first words of the “saints come marching home” entering their thought processes.
Moments earlier, Roosters coach Brian Smith, was seen sitting calmly in the coaches box. Having lost all three of his grand finals appearances as a coach, he must have been wondering if this was going to be number four.
If it hadn’t, it should have crossed his mind over the next ten minutes, as St George started to create some major damage up the middle of the ruck through their forwards. It was relentless and Sydney City was struggling to contain their foe.
Which made it all the more remarkable when the Roosters turned around their predicament with two tries in the space of three minutes. The first in the 16th minute to Dally M captain of the year, Braith Anasta, then followed not long after by Mitch Aubessen, who scythed his way through the usually dependable Dragons defence.
8-6 ahead and momentum has swung back to the Roosters. For the next fifteen minutes they had their way with the match. At various times their fans held sway with a high decibel Roosters chant. Their presence was being felt, and so was their team’s. Bennett, on the other hand looked on grimly as his side absorbed copious amounts of punishment. Not for him to panic though. He had been through it all before in his coaching career that began in 1976. There are some that claim he is the greatest rugby league coach of all time. And not for no reason, either. Any side of Bennett’s is going to hang on for dear life until the tide slowly but surely turns. And that’s what it did.
Soon it was the Dragons portion of the crowd that were finding their voice in the 46th minute as Jason Nightingale dived over in the right corner to reclaim the lead for his side. A splendid sideline conversion from Soward and the St George fans were in raptures.
12-8 isn’t much of lead, though. Bennett knew it when he displayed a rare show of emotion five minutes later as Nathan Fien knocks on from dummy-half. Had the dragons left the door slightly ajar for the Roosters to slip through? Fortunately for Fien the answer was no. In fact, it was the Dragons that came home with a wet sail. In the 60th minute Nightingale was at it again as he once again graced the right corner with his presence as he helped his team extend their lead to ten. Soward added the extra two. It was now a twelve point lead, and things were starting to look ominous for the Roosters.
Their composure was beginning to unravel at a great rate of knots. Errors that wouldn’t normally be committed during the regular season were appearing at the most inopportune times. The Dragon’s sensed that they had their enemy under unbearable pressure. The time was nigh to tighten their grip on the NRL trophy. Dean Young was partially responsible for this as he scored under the crossbar.
Out to a 24-8 lead, the Dragons put the final nail in the Roosters coffin when Fien dived over despite the intentions of two defenders. With another conversion to Soward, the Dragons had won their first premiership in thirty-one years. I had been a long wait, but it turns out that Wayne’s world was the right one for St George.
Walking down from his coaching box, Bennett was all smiles as he shook hands with supporters on his way to the sideline. What he had given so many Dragons fans was a reason to smile. The chance to celebrate a grand final win which many old timers would have wondered whether it would be achieved again in their lifetime. Something for the youngsters of today to remember and aspire to be a part of in the future. The famous V was back in all its glory.
The emotion of the moment seeped into the occasion. None more so than for Dean Young and his father, Craig, who was Captain of the 1979 winning team, as they embraced. The tears emanated as one was able to step out from the others shadow and stand tall as equals, two men who had tackled head on the toughest rugby league arena of all, and conquered.
There were others yelling, whooping, high fiving; they had got to experience the joy of reaching the pinnacle of what only a select few achieve.
Meanwhile, there were Roosters players strewn around the field devastated that fate had dealt them so cruel a fate. Not sure they will ever get another chance.
But, they are a young team on the way up. Their time may yet still come. And if they need any added motivation, all they needed to do was take a glimpse at the ecstasy on the faces of their rivals.
That’s what could be in stall for them if they remember what the pain of a defeat was like and use it as positive for the future.
Grand finals take no prisoners. No one is spared their wrath. The glare of a capacity crowd on a team can have its impact. Half of that crowd baying for your team’s blood. And then there are thirteen opposition players; they’re not fond of you, either.
The 2010 vintage pitted the attack of the Sydney Roosters up against the discipline and defence of the St George Dragons in an all-Sydney grand final. A first, that, since 2004. The former, a team that finished last in 2009, who under the tutelage of Brian Smith achieved one of the most stunning form reversals in the last seventy years by reaching the grand final. The latter, the once mighty Dragons who had dominated rugby league in the sixties and seventies- but had not won since 1979- had of late become known for their inconsistency. So St George brought in Bennett two years ago to rotate things around for them. But would Wayne’s world bring them that title that they so coveted?
Time would only tell. First there was eighty minutes of energy sapping tackling to complete, bone rattling hits to take, oxygen depleting runs to make, not to mention wet, muddy conditions to navigate. Oh, then there was the pressure cooker environment created by an electric atmosphere that required negotiating.
This is the stuff that sorts the men from the boys. Where you know that a searching examination of one’s mental fortitude is a given. The meek need not apply.
There was nothing meek about the Roosters defence early on. They sent several troops in regularly to extinguish any attacking fires that St George may light. Of the two sides, it was the Roosters who looked the more composed and confident. On the flipside, it was the Dragons that appeared to be suffering from nerves. Michael Weyman knocked on after only ninety seconds. The Roosters threw everything they had at the Dragons during the opening five minutes.
Still, champion sides will take the knocks, then, when opportunity knocks, they open the door and greet it with open arms. This the Dragons did in the 7th minute when in one of their rare forays into the Roosters half thus far, Jamie Soward put up a bomb into the Roosters in-goal. Mark Gasnier chased through and soared above the defence to claim the steeden and touchdown for his 86th career try. With Soward’s conversion, Dragons supporters would have been hearing the first words of the “saints come marching home” entering their thought processes.
Moments earlier, Roosters coach Brian Smith, was seen sitting calmly in the coaches box. Having lost all three of his grand finals appearances as a coach, he must have been wondering if this was going to be number four.
If it hadn’t, it should have crossed his mind over the next ten minutes, as St George started to create some major damage up the middle of the ruck through their forwards. It was relentless and Sydney City was struggling to contain their foe.
Which made it all the more remarkable when the Roosters turned around their predicament with two tries in the space of three minutes. The first in the 16th minute to Dally M captain of the year, Braith Anasta, then followed not long after by Mitch Aubessen, who scythed his way through the usually dependable Dragons defence.
8-6 ahead and momentum has swung back to the Roosters. For the next fifteen minutes they had their way with the match. At various times their fans held sway with a high decibel Roosters chant. Their presence was being felt, and so was their team’s. Bennett, on the other hand looked on grimly as his side absorbed copious amounts of punishment. Not for him to panic though. He had been through it all before in his coaching career that began in 1976. There are some that claim he is the greatest rugby league coach of all time. And not for no reason, either. Any side of Bennett’s is going to hang on for dear life until the tide slowly but surely turns. And that’s what it did.
Soon it was the Dragons portion of the crowd that were finding their voice in the 46th minute as Jason Nightingale dived over in the right corner to reclaim the lead for his side. A splendid sideline conversion from Soward and the St George fans were in raptures.
12-8 isn’t much of lead, though. Bennett knew it when he displayed a rare show of emotion five minutes later as Nathan Fien knocks on from dummy-half. Had the dragons left the door slightly ajar for the Roosters to slip through? Fortunately for Fien the answer was no. In fact, it was the Dragons that came home with a wet sail. In the 60th minute Nightingale was at it again as he once again graced the right corner with his presence as he helped his team extend their lead to ten. Soward added the extra two. It was now a twelve point lead, and things were starting to look ominous for the Roosters.
Their composure was beginning to unravel at a great rate of knots. Errors that wouldn’t normally be committed during the regular season were appearing at the most inopportune times. The Dragon’s sensed that they had their enemy under unbearable pressure. The time was nigh to tighten their grip on the NRL trophy. Dean Young was partially responsible for this as he scored under the crossbar.
Out to a 24-8 lead, the Dragons put the final nail in the Roosters coffin when Fien dived over despite the intentions of two defenders. With another conversion to Soward, the Dragons had won their first premiership in thirty-one years. I had been a long wait, but it turns out that Wayne’s world was the right one for St George.
Walking down from his coaching box, Bennett was all smiles as he shook hands with supporters on his way to the sideline. What he had given so many Dragons fans was a reason to smile. The chance to celebrate a grand final win which many old timers would have wondered whether it would be achieved again in their lifetime. Something for the youngsters of today to remember and aspire to be a part of in the future. The famous V was back in all its glory.
The emotion of the moment seeped into the occasion. None more so than for Dean Young and his father, Craig, who was Captain of the 1979 winning team, as they embraced. The tears emanated as one was able to step out from the others shadow and stand tall as equals, two men who had tackled head on the toughest rugby league arena of all, and conquered.
There were others yelling, whooping, high fiving; they had got to experience the joy of reaching the pinnacle of what only a select few achieve.
Meanwhile, there were Roosters players strewn around the field devastated that fate had dealt them so cruel a fate. Not sure they will ever get another chance.
But, they are a young team on the way up. Their time may yet still come. And if they need any added motivation, all they needed to do was take a glimpse at the ecstasy on the faces of their rivals.
That’s what could be in stall for them if they remember what the pain of a defeat was like and use it as positive for the future.
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