Voice in my head

I haven’t had enough wine
I haven’t played enough cricket
I’m just one step closer to the edge
And I’ll keel over, but I think I’ll hang on
For this little accident that will define me

And they’ll say, he was done and he was dusted
And they’ll say, he was gone and he was busted
And they’ll say, he was Vaughan and he was rusted
And they’ll say, he was Tom and he was sussed out

But I hung on, I just couldn’t let go
So I hung on, I wouldn’t let go
I was resigned to my fate
I was designed for my fate
I wasn’t God, I was Tait
I wasn’t a passenger, I wasn’t freight
I wasn’t early, I wasn’t late
I was somewhere in between
Not letting go, coz this was my destiny
And this was my date
I was fucked up, and without a mate
And it was such a ride, it didn’t matter
Whether I was the hunter or the bait
I just had to be there to the bitter end
And it was so sweet
Extracting every last second of playing time
And it was sweet
Extracting every last second of playing dime
Till the bitter end
And it wasn’t that bitter at all
And it wasn’t that sweet at all
It was something I had to do
For the voice in my head

Two pints

Round at the old pub
With a lone light
Sits a lone man
With two pints
One for him
One for you

He’s been waiting so long
But you never did come along
He’s been waiting so long
But you wanted to go on strong
But you were weak

How do you know
Your time has come
The umpire knows
Your time has come
He gives you out more than in
And then you know
Your luck’s running thin
You’re out of time
You’re out of lives
You’re waiting for one lucky break
But this is one bad run you cannot shake
You’re waiting

Just like
Round at the old pub
With a lone light
Sits a lone man
With two pints
One for him
One for you

He's waiting.

Haydos, go have that drink with JL.


Why Bored Cricket Crazy Indians.com (BCC!) is still offline

You will rue

They roam the countryside
In search of victims
They roam all at once
As once Romans do

The gall of these guys
No Gaul could ever take ‘em
The gall of these guys
No Gaul could ever take ‘em
No ‘mount of magic potion too

They’re not out of comic books
They’ll throw your book back at you

You will rue
The day your paths crossed
You will rue
The day they set eyes upon you
You will rue
That you ever shook hands at a toss
You will rue
That you ever played such a lame game
You will rue
That you could never cop the blame
You will rue
That you could not sit naked in the shame
You will rue

For, you are but a blister
For, you are but a blot
A blot on the landscape
Of the game

Don’t for a moment think
Think that you can hide
Hide behind words
Written in your lapses
Hide behind words
Written in your sleep
Hide behind words
Written in a daze
Hide behind words
Written in an alcoholic maze

Don’t for a moment think
Think that your demons will
Leave you all alone
Sneering in your sleep
They will cuddle up cosy
Like some voodoo doll Josie
With an uncanny likeness
to you
All pinned and pierced by
Who else but You!

You will rue
That once you were a captain
You will rue
The day you became a pirate
You will rue
The day you highjacked the game
You will rue
That you ever called for a ransom
You will rue
That your price was just a bowl of rice
You will rue
That you are not in Somalia
You will rue

For, you are but a blister
For, you are but a blot
A blot on the landscape
Of the game.

You will rue
Yahoooo!

(to be performed by Bob Dylan+John Fogarty)

You was already dead.

Seven thousand foot soldiers couldn’t save thee
While the God on the off side enslaved thee
Some kind of Crusade you led
While the ablest of Generals bled
Falling off the horse you said
“If we don’t make it by nightfall, we’ll be dead”
While the ablest of Generals led
You knew, it didn’t matter at all,
Because you was all
Already dead
You was all
Already dead
Already dead, you was already dead

The first to go was the biggest blow
As he felled down on one, to axe himself done
Next it was you, something you’ll rue
As the man with a horse’s mane, also your bane
Flung a spike ball at you, as it went right through
You knew, it didn’t matter at all,
Because you was all
Already dead
You was all
Already dead
Already dead, you was already dead

And what happened since,
You can go ask your prince
Some kind of Crusade you led
While the Generals bled
And the foot soldiers fled
You knew, it didn’t matter at all,
Because you was all
Already dead
You was all
Already dead
Already dead, you was already dead

You ever come back from the dead, Ricky?


(to be performed by Tom Waits+Grateful Dead, ideally)

Australian for… what?

An opportunity for the Aussie beer brand, Foster’s to extend its ad campaign, “Australian for beer” in India. Place Ponting’s pint sized face after the Brisbane defeat in their ad. Add the line: Australian for whiner. Sign off with Foster’s, Australian for beer.

Now, Foster’s could go the whole Hogg, and include the only just retired Chinaman bowler but that would be a tad overdone. But Brad Hogg (Australian for forgotten) if anyone, has reason to feel belittled, being excluded in his last international. Including Symonds and Hayden in any such sneer fest is tempting. But they are only the troops. Ponting is the General.

Yet Symonds & Hayden (Australian for assault) continue to be the focus of India’s scorn. Ponting, as if less evocative visually, and smaller in stature, almost Hitleresque sans moustache, camouflages with the collective Aussie antipathy. (Australian for gamesmanship)

Ponting is by no means the arrowhead. He is the archer. Invisible in his greens, on the greens.

And whether it was Symond’s shenanigans or Hayden’s heresy or Brett’s beamer or Clarke’s cuddle, were they mere shots in the dark? And in the dieing days of the Commonwealth Bank Series, if that wasn’t enough, Gillispeak (Australian for honesty) was anointed too.

Did the wives and girlfriends follow? Along with the cherubic children who made it for their Daddy’s retirement –did they point fingers at Harbhajan Singh too? And a witch-hunt, no less ensued. And the fanatic hordes of Sydney, Brisbane, Melbourne, took to hunt down Bhajji. Welcome to Salem, Australia, 2007-08. The trials never ended, even though the series has.

And bring back Muralitharan. And hang him with your words too.

In the meantime, Australia hangs on to every word. That could have been spoken, must have been spoken, will be spoken. As Ricky Archer will admit, a spoken word, and a sped arrow never come back.

Coming back to beating Australia, it’s so seldom, yet so sweet. But beating Ponting’s team was more about defying a nation’s scorn.

In the latter days of the series, it was almost like taking on a bunch of meandering mercenaries - who sensed they were playing on borrowed time. Thinking when that last bullet ball gets them, will it be a LBW or a run-out?

In the second final, it was as if both Symonds & Hayden were tempting fate – Almost a touch of Yeat’s “An Irish Airman forsees his death” in their dismissals. One over of poetry for the Indians by you-know-who Singh, and the ablest two lieutenants went down, somewhat predictably, run-out and LBW. It was over then. As General Ponting said so himself!

But when exactly did General P think it was over? When his IPL bid was upsettingly low? When India took Perth? Or when he let the Sydney test take him?

Does General P even recall where, why and when this Aussie summer started to go awry? And did he feed the flames and flies of Perth? When he’s alone, at home, flicking the lamp switch, on-off-off-on, will he in between see the light?

That he once was the best batsman in the world. That he captained the best team in the world. That not just Australia, but Indians too, not only feared but respected his craft.

Long before it became craftiness (Australian for mental). Disintegration just backfired with interest, mate.

PS: In spite of being twin bros. both Mark Waugh and Steve Waugh were quite unlike each other; they were Australian for Foster (‘s) brothers!