That's England at Headingley for you.
They just did test cricket a huge disservice. Almost predictably, they lost it after Strauss’ wicket, not once but twice. On an Early Bored Call @ twitter after Strauss’ first innings’ wicket, this – “Australia will win the 4th Ashes test at Headingley. Looked over my shoulder, and it was 2 wickets down.
Funny bit is England was set for defeat: much before they took the field, and even before they were hurled out of bed by the fire alarm. For a side that can obsess with one player, even if he’s the only player they got, England deserved to lose.
Think they believed in their inadequacies as a team, in the Langer dossier, in basically nothing.
If this is not match fixing then what is?
England takes the field with eleven players. Amongst them are two non-players, Bopara and Harmison. Was Harmison there on Freddie’s behest, ‘eh, keep my mate, willya?’ That Harmison can still make the side is an advertisement for scrapping test cricket.
That teams continue to blunder on selection until they are thrown by a defeat shows just how safe most selection is– the whole world knows Bopara is not going to score any runs, but they still must give the kid another chance. If anything it’s a disservice to Bopara. He goes in No. 3, a lamb to the slaughter.
If England wants to win the Ashes, they first have to weed out the losers. And they don’t need the Langer dossier for that. Just a stomach for a fight.
The rest can go on holiday, but not on our expense this time.
Showing posts with label Bopara. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bopara. Show all posts
August 10, 2009
April 12, 2007
Losing our religion.
The last over of the England-Sri Lanka game felt like the first over of the World Cup. The World had finally come together, and some more. A heightened frenzy that only last-over crazies can conjure – if you’re not at the edge of your lazyboy, you’ve already keeled over. Perhaps, you’re being sucked in by the friendly cricketing poltergeist. Far removed from a day of resignations, derogations. You are in a cricketing orbit – you are in the game, the game is inside you. Innuendos aside, this is it.
And as I watch, it dawns upon me, somewhat prematurely, at 3.10 in the A.M., that Ravinder Singh Bopara (Rav Party?) who’s taking strike, and Sajid Iqbal Mahmood (Saj Pepper?) the non-striker, and Congenige Randhi Dilhara Fernando (Fernando!) who intends to strike the stumps out of the ground, are complete music in their diversity.
And that’s not all, there’s Nasser Hussain (former English skipper with an Indian father) coupled with Ranjit Fernando, former Sri Lankan player and member of the Nondescripts Cricket Club, on air. I’m on air.
If you started the 50th over, invoking the islanders to overcome the imperialists, Ravi Bopara’s four through square juggles your loyalties like a media savvy Indian cricketer. And whilst your mind does the proverbial ponder, the Pommies in the pond Splash, Boom, Bang! Can swear I counted every conceivable age group in that Pommy Pond. In a World Cup where the locals can’t afford the obscenely priced tickets, it takes the Barmy Army to make you feel frenzy.
And you’re forced to splash too, pumping the headphones till you go stone-deaf like Pete Townshend. Who’s that? Who cares! Boy, this is heaven-sent, godsend, and we’re not even half-way through the 50th.
The tension is tumultuous – in the media box, Nasser Hussain and Ranjit Fernando have completely lost their bearings, and rightly so. They have both settled for a tie, and have almost shaken on it. It’s too darn tricky. It’s now down to the last ball - 2 for a tie, 3 for an English victory. Bopara has the strike. Fernando to bowl, but he doesn’t. Nerves. Second take: He clean bowls Bopara. Sri Lanka win. Man of the Match: Bopara.
A matchless game – that created by default a level playing field for nearly every ethnic group. It didn’t matter whether Saj Mahmood was once labeled a “traitor” by the British Pakistani fans at Headingley. It didn’t matter if Bopara is a Singh. And Monty Panesar’s no flying Sikh. It didn’t matter whether Kevin Pietersen was once more South African than English. It didn’t matter that Nasser Hussain’s Daddy was Indian. What did matter was that they all wanted England to win. And like Kevin Pietersen’s visiting card once read, “Professional Cricketer”, there’s no greater commitment to sport than professionalism.
Written 5th April, 2007
And as I watch, it dawns upon me, somewhat prematurely, at 3.10 in the A.M., that Ravinder Singh Bopara (Rav Party?) who’s taking strike, and Sajid Iqbal Mahmood (Saj Pepper?) the non-striker, and Congenige Randhi Dilhara Fernando (Fernando!) who intends to strike the stumps out of the ground, are complete music in their diversity.
And that’s not all, there’s Nasser Hussain (former English skipper with an Indian father) coupled with Ranjit Fernando, former Sri Lankan player and member of the Nondescripts Cricket Club, on air. I’m on air.
If you started the 50th over, invoking the islanders to overcome the imperialists, Ravi Bopara’s four through square juggles your loyalties like a media savvy Indian cricketer. And whilst your mind does the proverbial ponder, the Pommies in the pond Splash, Boom, Bang! Can swear I counted every conceivable age group in that Pommy Pond. In a World Cup where the locals can’t afford the obscenely priced tickets, it takes the Barmy Army to make you feel frenzy.
And you’re forced to splash too, pumping the headphones till you go stone-deaf like Pete Townshend. Who’s that? Who cares! Boy, this is heaven-sent, godsend, and we’re not even half-way through the 50th.
The tension is tumultuous – in the media box, Nasser Hussain and Ranjit Fernando have completely lost their bearings, and rightly so. They have both settled for a tie, and have almost shaken on it. It’s too darn tricky. It’s now down to the last ball - 2 for a tie, 3 for an English victory. Bopara has the strike. Fernando to bowl, but he doesn’t. Nerves. Second take: He clean bowls Bopara. Sri Lanka win. Man of the Match: Bopara.
A matchless game – that created by default a level playing field for nearly every ethnic group. It didn’t matter whether Saj Mahmood was once labeled a “traitor” by the British Pakistani fans at Headingley. It didn’t matter if Bopara is a Singh. And Monty Panesar’s no flying Sikh. It didn’t matter whether Kevin Pietersen was once more South African than English. It didn’t matter that Nasser Hussain’s Daddy was Indian. What did matter was that they all wanted England to win. And like Kevin Pietersen’s visiting card once read, “Professional Cricketer”, there’s no greater commitment to sport than professionalism.
Written 5th April, 2007
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