As published in my column 'The Blog Roll' in the April edition of SPORTElizabeth.
@##%$% %$*@#$% #%#%$^ #@#%@#%$. And, of course, #@#%$#$#^Y&. That is pretty much exactly what I said just after 6pm on Friday 18 March 2011. In fact, as much as I could believe it, at the same time, I could not. 108/2 and you lose it? New Zealand? Really? As is customary when speaking about the ‘less-respected’ cricketing teams, I’ll say the whole ‘no disrespect to the Black Caps’ thing, but for suck’s fake, come on. And for some reason, it just felt worse than all of those other World Cup knockout losses that came before. I think it is because this was THE World Cup. This was the one when all the commentators and cricketing gurus were saying, “This Proteas team has what it takes. Watch out world”. Do you know what? I still cannot believe it. This WAS the World Cup when we were supposed to all be teary eyed while we watch our boys drown in champagne and those little green and gold paper thingies.
And, we’re back in the room. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I am not at all happy at the moment, so I might not keep you too long. Well, it will be longer than the Proteas’ 2011 Cricket World Cup campaign. What went wrong? That’s the question that once again flies around, dominating pub conversations. I think the problem is that nothing went wrong. The only little hiccup along the way was the frustrating loss to England in the group stages. Other than that, the Proteas seemed to have all their bases covered. As Herschelle Gibbs said after the quarter-final loss, our boys had everything covered, except BMT. My girlfriend, Debby says that we’re all silly to keep on debating and discussing possible reasons for South Africa’s poor performances in World Cups, and especially their most recent loss. She says it’s nothing more than the fact that, unless it’s a tie of course, one team must win every match, and one team must lose – simple as that. Maybe Debby is onto something.
One thing that irritates me is the popular perception that the Proteas did not win the World Cup purely because Mark Boucher was not there. That really irritates me. It’s as if Bouch has won every World Cup in which he’s played. I’m also a big Boucher fan, but let’s not get lost in a little fantasy world here. What happened during all those other World Cups when he was there? There was absolutely nothing wrong with the team that lost to New Zealand that night. Yes, the selectors might have gone for the extra batsman, for instance, but come on, that still does not justify the loss of eight wickets for just 64 runs against a very average bowling attack. Yes, they say, but Boucher has BMT – he would have rescued the innings towards the end. Ok, love. Hashim Amla, Graeme Smith, AB De Villiers, Jacques Kallis, JP Duminy, Faf Du Plessis and Johan Botha should all have ‘rescued the innings towards the end’. Dammit, if they had each just scored their respective ODI batting averages, they would have danced through to the semi-final. It is a pity that cricket is not played on paper.
One thing that did strike me before the match is what New Zealand bowling coach, Allan Donald (I know, it hurts) said in the KFC Sports Cage on Algoa FM during the week. Donald said his team (ouch) is excited about playing against South Africa, and that of all the teams left in the competition, the Proteas would have been their first choice anyway. Whether that was some pre-match confidence banter or not, I do not know, but it worked. And I must admit, when he said that, I became a little unsettled. It is exactly that kind of attitude that wins World Cups. The problem for the Proteas, possibly, is that they thought the same thing about the Black Caps.
Another thing that irritates me (aren’t I just a bundle of fun today?) are those immediate post-match press conferences. That seems a little bit strange coming from a member of the media, but hear me out. What do you want a losing (or winning) captain to say 10 minutes after the match, that has not been said before? I spoke about this issue briefly when I discussed our Bok coach, Peter de Villiers a few months ago. For instance, one of the journos asked Smith, “What went wrong today?” Um, sorry sir, did you only just arrive at the match venue? What the hell do you expect Smith to say? Until I’ve had a proper conversation with each and every player in my team, nothing other than the loss of 8 wickets for 64 runs is what went wrong today, you stupid fool. And then the pointless questions continued, with Smith eventually saying that he has no idea what else to say. It was as if they had a big cake with the ‘c’ word inside it, and they were trying to coerce Smith to take a bit of the cake. I have just read that, and I have no idea where it came from. I’m going to leave it there. As in, much like a tortured Iraqi prisoner at Abu Ghraib, “You tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll say it so you can scribble it into your little notebook and write a nice, juicy story about why the Proteas lost another World Cup knockout match”. One of the ‘journalists’ (quotation marks intended) ostensibly tried to pose a question, but it seemed more like an insult or a direct verbal attack, as he played around with ‘choker’ and ‘joker’. Sorry sir, this is a press conference for big people. The kiddies’ playroom is just down the hall.
Yes, and that ‘c’ word, it’s old now. It has become the result, as well as the perfect evidence of, the self-fulfilling prophecy. Our ‘best friends in rugby’ the All Blacks are also victims of it. Language is a very, very powerful thing. So if you’re going to keep on using that silly little ‘c’ word, use it constructively and throw it at the All Blacks! I know, I know, we have a Rugby World Cup in September, but we’re talking about cricket now. The more you use the ‘c’ word, I start thinking of another delightful ‘c’ word to throw at you. So shut up, because you’re not making it any better, and the mindless echo of a concept you probably know very little about, really is not impressive.
I am not at all defending Smith in my ‘post-match press conference’ rant, but rather exploring the legitimacy of it. Smith is (was) the captain and it is his duty to face the media. I fully understand that news needs to be written and submitted immediately after the match, but the ability of a captain to fully comprehend the intricate details of a win or loss so soon afterwards is, I’m afraid, impossible. While we’re on Smith, there is no excuse for the fact that he did not arrive back in South Africa with his teammates, but rather flew straight to Ireland ‘to sort out some personal issues’. I wonder if he would have travelled straight to Ireland if the Proteas had won the World Cup. That is not good enough, Biff. Especially considering this was your last stint as ODI skipper. I cannot understand why he wasn’t forced to return home and accompany his ‘crew’ in facing the music. He could have travelled to Ireland from here. Poor show, Smith. Poor, poor show.
Amid all of this doom and gloom, there is some excitement ahead in that the Proteas will have a new coach and ODI captain very soon. I do think Corrie van Zyl did a magnificent job in such a short time though. There’s a ‘c’ word you can use. In fact there are two you can talk about over the next few weeks: captain and coach.
The Proteas’ next assignment is a series against Australia in October. Let’s leave that ‘c’ word alone and support the boys as they look to teach the Aussies a thing or two about cricket. After all, we have a World Cup in four years time and the preparation starts here. One of my good friends, Greig summed it all up quite beautifully in a ‘tweet’ shortly after the quarter-final loss. He said, “Our loveless and abusive marriage is taking strain. I’ll forgive you in the morning, Proteas. But tonight, you’re sleeping on the couch in the garage.” He also said what upset him most was not getting to see AB ride the umpire like a horse. I think I agree.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Pubs and Fitness Clubs
As published in my column 'The Blog Roll' in the March edition of SPORTElizabeth.
These are very, very exciting times for sports fans. We find ourselves spoiled with the brand new (and improved?) Super Rugby competition in which we now have to deal with ‘conferences’ and ‘wild cards’ (please don’t ask) and there is of course the 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup in India, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. On the domestic sporting front, we have the Standard Bank Pro20 which reaches its climax on 18 March. And once again, the two finalists will qualify for the very lucrative Champions League. And as if that was not enough, the new Formula One season gets underway in Bahrain on 13 March. Let’s not even mention the ongoing Absa Premiership, The Barclays Premier League, FA Cup, Champions League, the Trinations, the Six Nations which is already underway, the upcoming Rugby World Cup, the IRB Sevens Series (Did you see the Blitzbokke and their superb victory in Las Vegas?) and of course the exciting ongoing battle for world golf supremacy.
So, with all of those fantastic excuses to drink, and the fixture lists for all of these (and more) sporting events printed and kept at hand, I decided I now need an excuse not to drink; if that makes sense. Because, let’s face it, as per the February edition of my Blog Roll, watching sport does make it quite simple to justify spending hours (days) at the bar counter. We know that. To make matters worse, I have just moved to within 400 metres of a pub. Well, I’m sure the stumble home is longer taking into account the zigzag effect. So, what did I do to try and persuade myself to abstain a little? I dragged my small, but developing beer gut off to the newly revamped Profiles Health Club in William Moffett Expressway, and had a chat with the enthusiastic owners, Colin and Helen Mentzel, and just like that – sorted! I hadn’t been into the club for years, and I must say, it really is impressive. So how does all of that curb the hours spent at the pub watching sport? Well, I don’t really know how it works for me, but it does. Maybe it’s the thought of the treadmill with a hangover that puts me off. I know what you’re thinking: It only works for as long as I choose the treadmill over the hangover. Yes, I know, now shut up and let me try this thing. Besides, I didn’t say I’d ‘stop drinking’; I said I would ‘abstain a little’.
Well, what I failed to tell myself is that the acquisition of a gym membership card is not enough if one wishes to get fitter. No. So, the first few sessions I spent around 30 minutes or so, missioning around from the treadmill, to the cross-trainer and if I was feeling particularly energetic, maybe also the cycles. It went really well at first. I fooled myself into thinking that I was super fit because I could do 10 minutes on each of the above-mentioned machines, while hardly breaking a sweat. No, in fact I told myself I was ready for the likes of the Comrades Marathon, and the Spec-Savers Ironman.
Things went well and my new little hobby was simple until I tentatively decided to approach the reception desk and enquire about their ‘Fitmap’ initiative. This is where the wheels fell off. I was introduced to Personal Trainer, Matthew. Matthew very kindly did all the various tests to gauge my (un)fitness and fatness before setting out to compile a training regime for me. I thought to myself, “Bring it! I’m fit, young(ish) and ready for whatever you throw at me.” Well, I can honestly say the ‘activity roster’ Matt so carefully concocted for me involves a helluva lot more than 30 minutes drifting aimlessly between exercise machines. Oh, how I do regret getting that little blue cardboard death sentence from him! Admittedly, Matt did warn me by saying, “I’ve given you a good one. But you’re going to work.” He wasn’t lying. But even in saying so, when I first looked at it, I thought it would be ok. I mean the 35 minutes odd of cardio was only 5 minutes more than I was doing anyway. Easy? And then the various weight-training ‘treats’ looked simple enough at first glance too. I was in for a surprise.
We started on a Thursday; no, not to be subversive or anything, it just happened to be the day that I requested my exercise regime of death. Thursday is arms, cardio and abs day. Well, it’s a 4-day torture timetable and all days involve cardio and abs – just the target muscle group changes. Yes, so Thursday was day one for me. After a quick introduction to the various exercises on my card for Thursday, Matt left me to do my thing.
An hour and a half later, I can sort of remember leaving Profiles, and sort of remember panting goodbye and thank you (?) to Matt as I left. I am not embarrassed to say that there must have been a trail of my sweat all over the place from pretty much 28 minutes into the cardio routine, all over the club to and from every other machine I worked on. I had a towel, but there really is only so much a fabric can absorb before it too starts to expel liquid. I would have given a super-absorbent disposable nappy a problem or two living up to its impressive television advert. At one point I kept thinking there was a family of flies walking down my arm. There were no flies. It was those little beads of sweat. Now that I think of it, I must have looked quite the crackpot swatting at my arm repetitively, before shaking my head in disbelief.
Driving home that night, I was convinced my power-steering had conked out and/or all my tyres were flat. I had to operate my car like a cruise ship and start steering about a kilometre before each turn. I didn’t even bother to indicate as that would involve needing to lift my left hand from where it was resting so comfortably on the steering wheel. Don’t even ask how I changed gears. I might have driven home in first gear. I considered phoning Good Fellas and pretending to be drunk to get a ride home. I had all the symptoms: delirious, weak, confused, dizzy. I was a mess. When he handed me the blue card, Matt wasn’t lying.
As I write this, it has been exactly one week since I signed up for military service, and it is already going much, much better. I am at the point where I can remember leaving the club, and I have purchased a few new, thirstier towels. While driving home I am changing gears and indicating. Matt and I are friends again and I am happy I visited the reception desk that day!
And yes, my new distraction has kept me out of (too much) mischief, which even on its own is good. But then again, as I write this, the Cricket World Cup and the Super Rugby competition are yet to start, and the F1 cars are still parked. By the time you read this though, both the World Cup and Super Rugby will be well underway, and yes, I’ll more than likely be at the pub. I think it’s perfectly fair to reward myself with a match at the pub for every gym session completed at Profiles. Problem solved!
PS: No, I am not going to give any predictions for the Cricket World Cup. Go away.
These are very, very exciting times for sports fans. We find ourselves spoiled with the brand new (and improved?) Super Rugby competition in which we now have to deal with ‘conferences’ and ‘wild cards’ (please don’t ask) and there is of course the 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup in India, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. On the domestic sporting front, we have the Standard Bank Pro20 which reaches its climax on 18 March. And once again, the two finalists will qualify for the very lucrative Champions League. And as if that was not enough, the new Formula One season gets underway in Bahrain on 13 March. Let’s not even mention the ongoing Absa Premiership, The Barclays Premier League, FA Cup, Champions League, the Trinations, the Six Nations which is already underway, the upcoming Rugby World Cup, the IRB Sevens Series (Did you see the Blitzbokke and their superb victory in Las Vegas?) and of course the exciting ongoing battle for world golf supremacy.
So, with all of those fantastic excuses to drink, and the fixture lists for all of these (and more) sporting events printed and kept at hand, I decided I now need an excuse not to drink; if that makes sense. Because, let’s face it, as per the February edition of my Blog Roll, watching sport does make it quite simple to justify spending hours (days) at the bar counter. We know that. To make matters worse, I have just moved to within 400 metres of a pub. Well, I’m sure the stumble home is longer taking into account the zigzag effect. So, what did I do to try and persuade myself to abstain a little? I dragged my small, but developing beer gut off to the newly revamped Profiles Health Club in William Moffett Expressway, and had a chat with the enthusiastic owners, Colin and Helen Mentzel, and just like that – sorted! I hadn’t been into the club for years, and I must say, it really is impressive. So how does all of that curb the hours spent at the pub watching sport? Well, I don’t really know how it works for me, but it does. Maybe it’s the thought of the treadmill with a hangover that puts me off. I know what you’re thinking: It only works for as long as I choose the treadmill over the hangover. Yes, I know, now shut up and let me try this thing. Besides, I didn’t say I’d ‘stop drinking’; I said I would ‘abstain a little’.
Well, what I failed to tell myself is that the acquisition of a gym membership card is not enough if one wishes to get fitter. No. So, the first few sessions I spent around 30 minutes or so, missioning around from the treadmill, to the cross-trainer and if I was feeling particularly energetic, maybe also the cycles. It went really well at first. I fooled myself into thinking that I was super fit because I could do 10 minutes on each of the above-mentioned machines, while hardly breaking a sweat. No, in fact I told myself I was ready for the likes of the Comrades Marathon, and the Spec-Savers Ironman.
Things went well and my new little hobby was simple until I tentatively decided to approach the reception desk and enquire about their ‘Fitmap’ initiative. This is where the wheels fell off. I was introduced to Personal Trainer, Matthew. Matthew very kindly did all the various tests to gauge my (un)fitness and fatness before setting out to compile a training regime for me. I thought to myself, “Bring it! I’m fit, young(ish) and ready for whatever you throw at me.” Well, I can honestly say the ‘activity roster’ Matt so carefully concocted for me involves a helluva lot more than 30 minutes drifting aimlessly between exercise machines. Oh, how I do regret getting that little blue cardboard death sentence from him! Admittedly, Matt did warn me by saying, “I’ve given you a good one. But you’re going to work.” He wasn’t lying. But even in saying so, when I first looked at it, I thought it would be ok. I mean the 35 minutes odd of cardio was only 5 minutes more than I was doing anyway. Easy? And then the various weight-training ‘treats’ looked simple enough at first glance too. I was in for a surprise.
We started on a Thursday; no, not to be subversive or anything, it just happened to be the day that I requested my exercise regime of death. Thursday is arms, cardio and abs day. Well, it’s a 4-day torture timetable and all days involve cardio and abs – just the target muscle group changes. Yes, so Thursday was day one for me. After a quick introduction to the various exercises on my card for Thursday, Matt left me to do my thing.
An hour and a half later, I can sort of remember leaving Profiles, and sort of remember panting goodbye and thank you (?) to Matt as I left. I am not embarrassed to say that there must have been a trail of my sweat all over the place from pretty much 28 minutes into the cardio routine, all over the club to and from every other machine I worked on. I had a towel, but there really is only so much a fabric can absorb before it too starts to expel liquid. I would have given a super-absorbent disposable nappy a problem or two living up to its impressive television advert. At one point I kept thinking there was a family of flies walking down my arm. There were no flies. It was those little beads of sweat. Now that I think of it, I must have looked quite the crackpot swatting at my arm repetitively, before shaking my head in disbelief.
Driving home that night, I was convinced my power-steering had conked out and/or all my tyres were flat. I had to operate my car like a cruise ship and start steering about a kilometre before each turn. I didn’t even bother to indicate as that would involve needing to lift my left hand from where it was resting so comfortably on the steering wheel. Don’t even ask how I changed gears. I might have driven home in first gear. I considered phoning Good Fellas and pretending to be drunk to get a ride home. I had all the symptoms: delirious, weak, confused, dizzy. I was a mess. When he handed me the blue card, Matt wasn’t lying.
As I write this, it has been exactly one week since I signed up for military service, and it is already going much, much better. I am at the point where I can remember leaving the club, and I have purchased a few new, thirstier towels. While driving home I am changing gears and indicating. Matt and I are friends again and I am happy I visited the reception desk that day!
And yes, my new distraction has kept me out of (too much) mischief, which even on its own is good. But then again, as I write this, the Cricket World Cup and the Super Rugby competition are yet to start, and the F1 cars are still parked. By the time you read this though, both the World Cup and Super Rugby will be well underway, and yes, I’ll more than likely be at the pub. I think it’s perfectly fair to reward myself with a match at the pub for every gym session completed at Profiles. Problem solved!
PS: No, I am not going to give any predictions for the Cricket World Cup. Go away.
For @%$# sake, I told you so
As published in my column 'The Blog Roll' in the February edition of SPORTElizabeth.
For cricket fans, it is currently the most talked about subject and has been for quite a while. South African cricket fans, have also had the home tour against India to cajole us into spending hours at the bar counter(s). Oh yes, we’ve also had The Ashes. You’ve got to love sport, if for nothing else, the excuse it gives one to spend hours and hours drinking ‘constructively’. It’s true. As per usual, I am going to provide an example. You enter a pub and see a man sitting on his own nursing a double scotch on the rocks with an overflowing ashtray in front of him, as he stares ahead in silence. You avoid eye contact and think something along the lines of, “Shame, that is sad. I wonder what went wrong.” Now take that same man, the same double scotch on the rocks (for example) and the same oozing ashtray, but put a television in front of him showing the Australian Open Women’s Singles Final, and you think, “What a legend! I think I’ll order a drink and ask him who he is supporting and/or perving over!” Point proven?
I’m doing it again. Where was I? The bloody 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup in India, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. Hey! Focus! We’ll talk about Maria Sharapova another time – I promise! At the time of writing, India had just beaten the Proteas by 2 heart-breaking wickets at Newlands, and Prince Charles had made the announcement. Yes, that one. During the match, I sent a text to my friend, Jon with my prediction for the Proteas 15-man squad. My message read as follows: “My prediction: Smith, AB, Amla, Kallis, Steyn, Botha, Duminy, Van Wyk, Tahir, Morne Morkel, Lopsy, Faf du Plessis, Ingram, Albie Morkel.” I then sent another one a while later saying, “I clean forgot about Parnell, so no Albie then.”
As you’ll see, I clearly cannot count as in my first message there are only 14 players. I have since acquired an abacus. So, I pretty much got it all right, but left out Robin Peterson. And, I am not so sure had I realised I only had 14 players, that I would have included him. In fact, no, I definitely would not have. I would still have had Albie and then added Rusty Theron or David Miller, but with (the somewhat recently out of sorts) Parnell. But I do have faith in him. So let’s make it clear that my message to Jon in no way indicated my Proteas World Cup squad, but what I thought the selectors would go with.
I have a few questions for the selectors, besides the anticipated role of Peterson this time around. I only say that because they have more than enough spin bowling options without him, and during the 2007 World Cup in the West Indies, he spent his time carrying refreshments. Maybe this time they’ll at least give him a branded, personalised apron.
Cricket South Africa Convenor of Selectors, Andrew Hudson explained after the announcement that Ingram would be used as a number seven batsman. If you’re planning on doing really well in each game, and you have the confidence you say you have, then why do you have a specialist batsman so low down your order? Either you have no confidence whatsoever in your top order (which, judging by current form is not surprising!) so you need a specialist batsman low down OR you’re taking Ingram as a passenger, as he does not bowl. So, in the perfect match you’ve envisaged, your team scored 295/5. Ingram was there for an over or two right at the end. Now he fields.
Firstly, Ingram is not a number seven batsman and secondly, when a team does well, as you’re expecting yours to, you don’t really expect to need anyone at the crease with their pads on lower than say, six. Maybe you’ll need number seven or eight towards the last five overs, but then, you need a ‘master-blaster’ – someone who is renowned for smashing the ball all over the park, regardless of the situation; not a batsman with an average of 41 but a strike rate of less than 90. So, if you’re going the route of ‘safety at the end of the innings’, I do not believe Ingram is your man. Miller has an ODI average of 27 and a strike rate of 121, while Albie’s average is 23 and his strike rate is 100. Now there are your number seven batsmen. For possibly the first time, there are no really big-hitters in the squad. This worries me.
Ingram is currently my second best cricketer in the world (I’ll leave you guessing), but I just do not believe he is in the right space at the moment. I have no doubt whatsoever that he will still be around come the next Cricket World Cup, so I would have saved him until then. At the Chevrolet Warriors end-of-season dinner last year, Dave Emslie told a beautiful story about how Ingram was dropped, and then not only worked his own way back into the Warriors squad, but was named Player of the Season. Now that is some pretty inspiring stuff, and it tells you that the 25-year-old Ingram is never going to go away, and moreover, that he is going to keep on getting better and better. That’s Ingram discussed.
There is a debate going on around Mark Boucher. I think the selectors made the correct decision in taking Morne van Wyk, but I do not agree with A.B De Villiers as the first-choice keeper. Is it just me, or has it ruined his batting somewhat? And not only that, but he really is not solid behind the stumps. Well, not Boucher-solid, as a specialist keeper is expected to be. People go on about experience at World Cups for their justification that Boucher should not have been left at home. No denying the fact that Boucher is a legend of the game, and yes I agree experience is important, but if the Proteas win the World Cup, I don’t think it’s going to be the experience that is going to do it. The only experience all the ‘older’ South African players have at World Cups is losing anyway! No, I did not use the ‘c’ word. Stop putting words in my mouth. My prediction is that it is going to be the innocent naivety of one of the newcomers that will blast his way through the tournament, hardly putting a foot wrong while astounding the cricketing world. World Cups are where heroes are born. *cue ‘Chariots of Fire’*
One more thing I’d like to mention is the inclusion of leg-spinner Imran Tahir. At the time of writing Tahir had still not played an international match, and I don’t think there has ever been a player in South Africa that has been selected for a World Cup, without first earning a cap; which he will remain whether he plays in one of the remaining two one-dayers against India or not. In fact, yes, if the Proteas ‘do well’ (note I didn’t jinx it by saying ‘win it’), Tahir is my pick for that newcomer who is going to rock the cricketing world. I do not need to elaborate on the extent to which the subcontinent suits his game. He might not have a cap, but he definitely has experience, and the man can turn a ball. In fact, I reckon Tahir is going to be an international cricketing superstar. Touch wood. Quick.
It must be said though, that whenever a squad is named ahead of any big tournament, there are always at least one or two questions. For the most part, I am happy. My squad, though, would have been: Graeme Smith, AB de Villiers, JP Duminy, Hashim Amla, Jacques Kallis, Faf du Plessis, Rusty Theron, Morne Morkel, Dave Miller, Morne van Wyk, Dale Steyn, Wayne Parnell, Johan Botha, Lonwabo Tsotsobe and Imran Tahir.
I can still remember where I was in 1992 during that semi-final against England when Brian McMillan and Dave Richardson were batting, and the scoreboard flashed, “22 runs from 13 balls”. The rain was pouring down while England all-rounder Ian Botham kept chatting to the umpires (obviously to waste time), and then the scoreboard showed, “22 runs from 7 balls”, and before you could even blink, it said, “22 runs off 1 ball”. I am still not over that. And no, I am not going to mention that man that dropped his bat all those years later.
The point is that as South African cricket fans, we are in the fortunate position of not expecting much from our team during Cricket World Cups. We’re lucky in that we do not expect our team to win, so we are quite relaxed about it and pretty much see every win during the showpiece as a bonus. This means there is no pressure on the players. What an absolute load of @#$%. Despite that ‘c’ word that follows our team around like a ravenous mosquito, we still hope that one day, just one bloody day, the rain will stay away and the scoreboard will play nicely, the man will keep his bat in his hand, and our boys will lift up the ICC Cricket World Cup Trophy, showered in champagne and tears, and those shiny, bright green little paper thingies will come raining down all over them. I think I just shed a tear. But, if/when they lose their semi-final match, we’ll slam our fists into the bar counters, and say, “For @%$# sake, I told you so.”
For cricket fans, it is currently the most talked about subject and has been for quite a while. South African cricket fans, have also had the home tour against India to cajole us into spending hours at the bar counter(s). Oh yes, we’ve also had The Ashes. You’ve got to love sport, if for nothing else, the excuse it gives one to spend hours and hours drinking ‘constructively’. It’s true. As per usual, I am going to provide an example. You enter a pub and see a man sitting on his own nursing a double scotch on the rocks with an overflowing ashtray in front of him, as he stares ahead in silence. You avoid eye contact and think something along the lines of, “Shame, that is sad. I wonder what went wrong.” Now take that same man, the same double scotch on the rocks (for example) and the same oozing ashtray, but put a television in front of him showing the Australian Open Women’s Singles Final, and you think, “What a legend! I think I’ll order a drink and ask him who he is supporting and/or perving over!” Point proven?
I’m doing it again. Where was I? The bloody 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup in India, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. Hey! Focus! We’ll talk about Maria Sharapova another time – I promise! At the time of writing, India had just beaten the Proteas by 2 heart-breaking wickets at Newlands, and Prince Charles had made the announcement. Yes, that one. During the match, I sent a text to my friend, Jon with my prediction for the Proteas 15-man squad. My message read as follows: “My prediction: Smith, AB, Amla, Kallis, Steyn, Botha, Duminy, Van Wyk, Tahir, Morne Morkel, Lopsy, Faf du Plessis, Ingram, Albie Morkel.” I then sent another one a while later saying, “I clean forgot about Parnell, so no Albie then.”
As you’ll see, I clearly cannot count as in my first message there are only 14 players. I have since acquired an abacus. So, I pretty much got it all right, but left out Robin Peterson. And, I am not so sure had I realised I only had 14 players, that I would have included him. In fact, no, I definitely would not have. I would still have had Albie and then added Rusty Theron or David Miller, but with (the somewhat recently out of sorts) Parnell. But I do have faith in him. So let’s make it clear that my message to Jon in no way indicated my Proteas World Cup squad, but what I thought the selectors would go with.
I have a few questions for the selectors, besides the anticipated role of Peterson this time around. I only say that because they have more than enough spin bowling options without him, and during the 2007 World Cup in the West Indies, he spent his time carrying refreshments. Maybe this time they’ll at least give him a branded, personalised apron.
Cricket South Africa Convenor of Selectors, Andrew Hudson explained after the announcement that Ingram would be used as a number seven batsman. If you’re planning on doing really well in each game, and you have the confidence you say you have, then why do you have a specialist batsman so low down your order? Either you have no confidence whatsoever in your top order (which, judging by current form is not surprising!) so you need a specialist batsman low down OR you’re taking Ingram as a passenger, as he does not bowl. So, in the perfect match you’ve envisaged, your team scored 295/5. Ingram was there for an over or two right at the end. Now he fields.
Firstly, Ingram is not a number seven batsman and secondly, when a team does well, as you’re expecting yours to, you don’t really expect to need anyone at the crease with their pads on lower than say, six. Maybe you’ll need number seven or eight towards the last five overs, but then, you need a ‘master-blaster’ – someone who is renowned for smashing the ball all over the park, regardless of the situation; not a batsman with an average of 41 but a strike rate of less than 90. So, if you’re going the route of ‘safety at the end of the innings’, I do not believe Ingram is your man. Miller has an ODI average of 27 and a strike rate of 121, while Albie’s average is 23 and his strike rate is 100. Now there are your number seven batsmen. For possibly the first time, there are no really big-hitters in the squad. This worries me.
Ingram is currently my second best cricketer in the world (I’ll leave you guessing), but I just do not believe he is in the right space at the moment. I have no doubt whatsoever that he will still be around come the next Cricket World Cup, so I would have saved him until then. At the Chevrolet Warriors end-of-season dinner last year, Dave Emslie told a beautiful story about how Ingram was dropped, and then not only worked his own way back into the Warriors squad, but was named Player of the Season. Now that is some pretty inspiring stuff, and it tells you that the 25-year-old Ingram is never going to go away, and moreover, that he is going to keep on getting better and better. That’s Ingram discussed.
There is a debate going on around Mark Boucher. I think the selectors made the correct decision in taking Morne van Wyk, but I do not agree with A.B De Villiers as the first-choice keeper. Is it just me, or has it ruined his batting somewhat? And not only that, but he really is not solid behind the stumps. Well, not Boucher-solid, as a specialist keeper is expected to be. People go on about experience at World Cups for their justification that Boucher should not have been left at home. No denying the fact that Boucher is a legend of the game, and yes I agree experience is important, but if the Proteas win the World Cup, I don’t think it’s going to be the experience that is going to do it. The only experience all the ‘older’ South African players have at World Cups is losing anyway! No, I did not use the ‘c’ word. Stop putting words in my mouth. My prediction is that it is going to be the innocent naivety of one of the newcomers that will blast his way through the tournament, hardly putting a foot wrong while astounding the cricketing world. World Cups are where heroes are born. *cue ‘Chariots of Fire’*
One more thing I’d like to mention is the inclusion of leg-spinner Imran Tahir. At the time of writing Tahir had still not played an international match, and I don’t think there has ever been a player in South Africa that has been selected for a World Cup, without first earning a cap; which he will remain whether he plays in one of the remaining two one-dayers against India or not. In fact, yes, if the Proteas ‘do well’ (note I didn’t jinx it by saying ‘win it’), Tahir is my pick for that newcomer who is going to rock the cricketing world. I do not need to elaborate on the extent to which the subcontinent suits his game. He might not have a cap, but he definitely has experience, and the man can turn a ball. In fact, I reckon Tahir is going to be an international cricketing superstar. Touch wood. Quick.
It must be said though, that whenever a squad is named ahead of any big tournament, there are always at least one or two questions. For the most part, I am happy. My squad, though, would have been: Graeme Smith, AB de Villiers, JP Duminy, Hashim Amla, Jacques Kallis, Faf du Plessis, Rusty Theron, Morne Morkel, Dave Miller, Morne van Wyk, Dale Steyn, Wayne Parnell, Johan Botha, Lonwabo Tsotsobe and Imran Tahir.
I can still remember where I was in 1992 during that semi-final against England when Brian McMillan and Dave Richardson were batting, and the scoreboard flashed, “22 runs from 13 balls”. The rain was pouring down while England all-rounder Ian Botham kept chatting to the umpires (obviously to waste time), and then the scoreboard showed, “22 runs from 7 balls”, and before you could even blink, it said, “22 runs off 1 ball”. I am still not over that. And no, I am not going to mention that man that dropped his bat all those years later.
The point is that as South African cricket fans, we are in the fortunate position of not expecting much from our team during Cricket World Cups. We’re lucky in that we do not expect our team to win, so we are quite relaxed about it and pretty much see every win during the showpiece as a bonus. This means there is no pressure on the players. What an absolute load of @#$%. Despite that ‘c’ word that follows our team around like a ravenous mosquito, we still hope that one day, just one bloody day, the rain will stay away and the scoreboard will play nicely, the man will keep his bat in his hand, and our boys will lift up the ICC Cricket World Cup Trophy, showered in champagne and tears, and those shiny, bright green little paper thingies will come raining down all over them. I think I just shed a tear. But, if/when they lose their semi-final match, we’ll slam our fists into the bar counters, and say, “For @%$# sake, I told you so.”
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