Three things

1. Who in the world is Michael Beer?

I'm reminded of my up-ended jigsaw-puzzle analogy (because I'm self-obsessed like that). What's next? Warney's Sunday drinking buddy?

2. Why, thank you, Gauti. We must all bask in Ashwin's awesomeness. *basks*

(Are you listening to/reading this, CSK? You can always replace Vijay any old day, but not Ashwin! Hold on to the man and release Vijay! Come on, now!)

3. I thought I could go to the match yesterday, I really did. I had an exam in the afternoon, but once I finished that, I thought, hey, I could go home and take up my friend's offer (an open invitation to the match, because he's awesome like that).

I checked the score once the exam finished: NZ 103 all out. I rechecked after I got home: India 52/2.

Not much point in going after that.

(but it didn't rain, which I'm willing to count as a miracle, because just a week ago this city was almost drowning in a torrential downpour that lasted for more than 2 days).

Still on the Ashes

I thought there was nothing funnier than Kevin Pietersen hitting a double-century in Australia against Australia, before I rediscovered this little gem:



A little out-dated, but still priceless!

The absolute pinnacle atop the pinnacle of... something.

So. Let's talk Ashes, shall we?

Today was the first day of the first Test, in Brisbane. Peter Siddle got three wickets in three balls - Alastair Cook, Matt Prior and Stuart Broad, causing me much delight, because, dude, fabulously hand-picked victims - and England ended up folding for 260. The Australian openers sauntered to a cool 25/0 before stumps, and look nicely poised for a team that got whitewashed by a team that struggled to win against a team that got whitewashed by the lowest ranked Test team in the world.

Yeah.

I'm not going to talk about what actually happened at the 'Gabba today because I didn't see it and there are more well-informed observers who can tell you all about it. Today, I decided, I was going to get to the bottom of this whole Ashes shindig. Someone asked me the other day what the Ashes was really all about - I'm suddenly considered an authority on cricket in my university, it's crazy, especially when I stand there blinking when their questions get too technical, because my expertise in the technicalities extend only to extricating myself out of the tangled mess of another Ravi Shastri metaphor - and I had to admit that all I knew was that it had something to do with England, Australia, Test cricket, a teeny-tiny urn containing the burnt remains of an old stump, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and a LOT of empty bravado.

But not much else, really.

For the shame!

So it was that I decided to do a bit of research.

As is the (very unprofessional) norm, I looked it up on Wikipedia. This is what it had to say:

The Ashes is a Test cricket series played between England and Australia. It is international cricket's most celebrated rivalry and dates back to 1882. It is currently played biennially, alternately in the United Kingdom and Australia. Cricket being a summer sport, and the venues being in opposite hemispheres, the break between series alternates between 18 and 30 months. A series of "The Ashes" comprises five Test matches, two innings per match, under the regular rules for Test match cricket. If a series is drawn then the country already holding the Ashes retains them.

The series is named after a satirical obituary published in a British newspaper, The Sporting Times, in 1882 after a match at The Oval in which Australia beat England on an English ground for the first time. The obituary stated that English cricket had died, and the body will be cremated and the ashes taken to Australia. The English media dubbed the next English tour to Australia (1882–83) as the quest to regain The Ashes.

[...]

The urn is erroneously believed by some to be the trophy of the Ashes series, but it has never been formally adopted as such and Bligh always considered it to be a personal gift. Replicas of the urn are often held aloft by victorious teams as a symbol of their victory in an Ashes series, but the actual urn has never been presented or displayed as a trophy in this way. Whichever side holds the Ashes, the urn normally remains in the Marylebone Cricket Club Museum at Lord's since being presented to the MCC by Bligh's widow upon his death.

Since the 1998–99 Ashes series, a Waterford Crystal representation of the Ashes urn has been presented to the winners of an Ashes series as the official trophy of that series.

Ah ha! So Douglas Adams got it wrong, did he? That sorry little urn does not contain the Ashes of the Wooden Pillar of the Wicket Gate! I feel like my teenage years have been violated.

So much fuss for this? It reminds me of a once-renowned clique trying to maintain illusions of their ~exclusivity~ and relevance in a world that's moved on and doesn't really give two shits anymore. Damn Indian money and eyeballs, we are still the most important things in this sport! So let's milk this tradition for all it's worth, even if we are playing for a tiny fake urn every two years!

Y'know, this can be a good thing, too. It's amusing to see/hear people compare any decent rivalry in international cricket to the Ashes (Ashes marketing dudes need to take classes), and occasionally these two teams produce sensational contests. I watched highlights of the Ashes '05 a couple of years back, and it isn't possible for me to love cricket any more than I did while watching them. It was the cricketing equivalent of rainbows and bunnies and unicorns. Of course, after that, I watched the Ashes '09, and that was the cricket-equivalent of a three-week long Pharmacology lecture. Like watching Rahul Dravid on freakin valium. God.

Probably the most amusing thing is the testosterone-sloshing, uh, I mean, the 'verbal duels' before the series. Because, lord, it is funny. Everybody builds it up so much that when somebody farts during an Ashes Test, it's a special fart, because, you know, it's THE Ashes.

The contest for the tiny fake urn has started off well this year. I eagerly await more amusement, and hopefully, some great cricket.

Dear Cricket, Dhoni is smarter than you.

I'm still alive, still watching cricket, still keeping up with it online. After watching the third day's play against NZ I came across this article that reminded me just why I hate reading about cricket online these days:

He doesn't normally flick; he drags. He doesn't drive fluently; he shoves. He doesn't cut; he chops. He doesn't sweep; he hammers. He doesn't lean forward; he lunges. He doesn't defend; he stabs. He doesn't swing to the on side; he muscles and heaves. He doesn't upper cut; he carves. His most famous shot is the helicopter-whirl - a bottom-handed twirl that sends full deliveries from outside off to screaming fans beyond long-on. Even genial farmers might take offense if you call him agricultural, so we shall stick to natural. Is he effective? You bet he is, as he showed today.

[...]

A moment arrived, soon, which captured his style of batting perfectly: he opened the bat-face and steered a Tim Southee delivery that straightened after being angled in between the keeper and wide slip. It wasn't an edge. What wasn't clear was whether it was just a late adjustment to the straightening of the delivery or if he had the gap in mind? Dhoni often leaves you similarly confused about his intentions behind a shot. Often, there were cries of "catch it" from the New Zealanders when Dhoni hit them in the air, but it invariably climbed over a fielder or flew through a gap.

"Lunge". "Bunt". "Whip". Aeeeesthetically pleasing. Dear Sir. I want to watch you carressss that through the off-side as I sit here and primly drink my afternoon tea - with my little finger sticking out - ah! Just so!

RANDOM WRITER: Your batting is ugly!
DHONI: Oh yeah? Well... your face is ugly!

And then, Dhoni comes and rescues my mood with this:

MS Dhoni, the India captain, has said that Suresh Raina needs a break from cricket, and if he doesn't get it after the first two ODIs against New Zealand, he might have to be replaced for the first Test in South Africa, which begins on December 16.

Dhoni was specifically asked whether Raina would be replaced at Centurion by Cheteshwar Pujara or M Vijay if he didn't have a break for the last three one-day matches against New Zealand. "If he doesn't get a break in the ODI series [after the first 2 games] then you have to [replace him]," Dhoni said. "He is at a point where he needs a break from cricket."

A HA. Dhoni, I C WHUT U DID THAR.

You know what's funny?

I missed the anniversary of this blog... again. Not that anyone aside from me cares, but yeah. For more than two years now, this little blog has been festering in its corner of cyberspace.

I've blogged even less this year than the previous one, and I wish I could blame my academic obligations for this, but the truth is that I'm kind of lazy, and I'm sick of ferreting opinion on cricket on the Internet - most of it is acerbic, hypocritical and completely infuriating, anyway. I just want to watch and enjoy the game - I don't give two shits if it's a Test or the IPL that I'm watching. It's all still the same damn circus, just that one form is more pretentious than the other.

So. When you visit the blog, you pretty much know what you're going to get, don't you? I make no pretensions about myself or my writing. This is pure armchair snark and fangirling - the lowest strata of cricket blogging out there, I know, and I'm perfectly happy with that. No heavily-worded tl;dr analysis over here, thank you very much.

But recently I've found that fangirling? A pretty tough thing to do, especially when it comes to cricket, because, quite clearly, it frequently hates its fans.

For one, much of cricket itself is tl;dw - it practically begs tl;dr in response. I think it's one of the things that attracted me to this sport in the first place. There is nothing I love more than rambling and ruminating and debating minutiae - and cricket lends itself rather beautifully to that purpose. There is such a wealth of time - you can dock away a whole day to watch a match and give yourself to the ebbs and flows of the game; much like well-crafted drama, a game that might have been quiescent, coasting smoothly to a seemingly pre-destined result, a single moment of brilliance and/or mediocrity - a flash of genius, a lapse in concentration - is enough to change the scenario drastically. The script's changed, folks, and there're no stage-whispers to help you. Can you improvise? Can you start a brand new story? It appeals to the romantic in me; makes me scream and curse and laugh, because, that? That is drama; that is joy.

And as long as I continue to find that joy, this blog will continue to grow.

What needs to be done

... is to have these people who work out the scheduling and rotation of international venues in India attend a few intensive classes of ninth standard geography. Particularly: climactic changes across the peninsula, and the movement of the south-west and retreating monsoons, because, clearly, they have no idea that such things exist.

How else can you explain the three venues for the current ODI series against the Aussies? Kochi, Vishakapatnam, Goa. Three coastal cities where if the rain doesn't get you, the humidity will. I should know. Chennai is in the throes of giving its ever-suffering denizens its habitual Slow Death by Heat and Humidity. And then you complain about ceaseless rains in Kochi, and the threat of more in Vishakapatnam!

About the rest of the series? Bah. Two Test matches that got much closer than they had any right to, because both teams are staggeringly incompetent at pressing whatever advantage they get. A triumph of mediocrity. And, uh, Test cricket. Because one has to be politically correct about these things, you know.

Although, I have to say, watching Sreesanth in his latest get-up was entertaining. Like a demented version of an 80's movie hero, sans the glittery pants. Like Kamal Hassan dancing on top of Sridevi's table in a room that can't quite make up its mind if it's a discotheque, cabaret, or a mad scientist's laboratory.

But you know what's the best damn thing about the whole series? This quote from Dhoni:

After all, if taken in the right sense, we are the performers in the circus, but you need the circus to be full. It [this comment] should be taken in the right sense.

... And I'm instantly reminded just why I adore Dhoni so. Cut all the crap and get to the heart of the matter.

But I gotta say, I laughed and laughed at the "don't take this in the wrong sense" disclaimers. The poor man has gone through many a bitter experience, indeed. "At least then you a-holes won't keep twisting what I say to create controversies out of thin air. And... uh. I didn't mean that! I PROMISE!"

Why India v Sri Lanka = Star Wars

Truth be told, I wanted to post something about the whole spot-fixing business, but I found it was giving me a headache. And making me overtly cynical, which is the kind of stuff I want to avoid in this blog, so maybe I'll put in my two cents when I'm able to gather my thoughts better. Or, you know, not at all.

A friend and I were having a conversation the other day (yes, it's going to be one of those posts). She was bemoaning the sorry state of the Indian ODI team ("you know, with all this experimentation, I bet they'll have Rohit Sharma and Ramesh Powar open the bowling in the World Cup"), citing the recently played final of the Micromax Cup as an example.

I pointed out that with the number of times India and Sri Lanka played each other every year, the results were going to swing both ways equally. Including the 2008 Asia Cup, India and Sri Lanka have played in five tournament finals in the last two-or-so years - the '08 Asia Cup, which Sri Lanka won, then the Compaq Cup in 2009 (I bet you'd forgotten about that, huh), which India won, then the tri-series in Bangladesh in early '10 which Sri Lanka won, then the '10 Asia Cup final, which India won, and now, the Micromax tri-series final going to Sri Lanka, as per the well-established pattern.

After a few choice words delivered at my OCD (which, you know, it totally isn't), she said, "You know, you can say all you want about patterns - and don't you dare start some pop-sociology lecture, freak - but Sri Lanka had to lose."

"Why?"

"Because - because they're evil."

I merely raised my eyebrows.

"Have you seen Kumara Sangakkara recently? Those little eyes - that evil smirk?"

I wanted to protest - it wasn't that long ago that I was endorsing a "brown Mr. Darcy" description of the same man - but I could see her point. "You're right. Kind of like a James Bond villain."

"Come off it." She rolled her eyes. "He isn't that stupid."

"Then?"

"He was a nice guy once. Kind of like-" her eyes gleamed, "-Darth Vader."

"Clearly, then," I said, "someone has got to be Palpatine. You know, the eeevil pointless villain who turns Anakin Skywalker into Darth Vader."

"That's easy," she scoffed. "Mahela Jayawardene."

At this point I was practically out of my seat. "That's perfect! And Dilshan is totally General Tarkin."

"Yes! Now you're getting into it."

I was. Looking back, it was probably sinfully cathartic, but also. We were uncovering a Great Truth, so. "What about the good guys? The Jedi?"

"Pick your random Indian players," she said.

Considering the Jedi don't really exist for any purpose other than "battling" the Sith and vice versa, that made sense. "First off? Let's get Han Solo out of the way. M S Dhoni."

After a lot more choicey words about my "mile-wide bias" (which it totally isn't), it was decided that the Han Solo casting would be decided upon later. "Sachin Tendulkar," she said, "is obviously Master Yoda. Right from the size, to the English, to the nine-hundred-years-old part."

"That makes Dhoni Obi-Wan Kenobi!" I crowed.

"You do realise that makes Suresh Raina Luke Skywalker, right?"

That stopped me short, I had to admit. But hey. I could live with that, you know? "Then Han Solo is Yuvraj Singh. You know, irresponsible friend of the hero who's really, really good if he puts his head into it?"

However, when I started speculating about Chewbacca, she pretty much warned me not to broach the subject with a ten-foot pole. Huh. (Look, Harbhajan Singh would make an awesome Wookiee).

Then there was only one thing left to be determined.

"Who's Princess Leia?" she asked.

It turned out I didn't really have to think too much about that. "Ishant Sharma," I said.

India v Sri Lanka: because the Force Wills it to Be.