Friday, September 24, 2004
Only one Freddie Flintoff
yes, yes, I know it was days ago, but c'mon, this was five years coming. England beat Australia on Tuesday, it's now Friday and I'm still grinning. Now I'm aware that this post is of limited interest to most of you, I can think of only three coastalblog readers who are cricket fans, so this one's for them. So some thoughts.
What was pleasing (despite the title, you try getting Marcus Trescothick to scan) about England's win was how little of it was down to that man Flintoff, one wicket and one steepling six aside there was little for the crowd's folk hero to do, which seems fair enough, he's done quite a bit already this summer. Before the game I had a feeling that the damage would be done by someone the aussies knew little about, and so (in part) it proved to be. That man Strauss played a delightful innings. Even more pleasing though was that the real damage was done by two men Australia know all about. How many times has McGrath had Trescothick out fishing outside his off stump? Not on Tuesday, the four fours in an over left the usually voluble McGrath speechless and fuming. And then he misfielded on the boundary. That was sweet. Vaughn was magnificent, the transformation, with one lacerating boundary off Lee from the haphazard Dominic Cork-style batting of the main body of the summer to the colossus who terrorised the aussies last time out was complete, instantaneous and shocking, and it scared the hell out of them. His captaincy was also impressive; the decision on the hoof to bowl himself for ten overs on a putch that gripped was an intelligent and daring one, two characteristics missing in recent England captaincy (sorry Nasser), even though he did lose control over the side as a pumped up Darren Gough autocratically called the field in for his hat-trick ball (what next for Goughy is a whole other post).
My only doubt remains over Vikram Solanki. I often feel that he's in the side largely because the selectors fear him being dropped, going back to county and making a stack of runs. We've been here before, with Ramprakash and Hick, and a decision should be made sooner rather than later. Perhaps he should be given more responsibility, send him (seeing as the damn thing's going ahead) on the Zimbabwe tour as a senior player in a young side. It's a great opportunity to blood a couple of middle order batsmen and maybe a spinner or two, and at least sending a weakened side will make the games more competitive, which can only be good news for poor old zimbabwe, who've been under the cosh since cricket became a political football (to mix analogies) in Zim. A series of games against opposition below full international strength can only help them learn. No batsman learns anything from having his off stump ripped out third ball, and no bowler learns anything from being carted, except to bowl a negative line. The same applies to Bangladesh and Kenya, perhaps there should be an ICC directive which rules that the major test playing nations should only field under 21 sides, with a couple of senior pros in, a la olympic football, when playing the minnows, then they might not have their confidence ground into the dust each time out.
But one last thought. Vic Marks on Strauss "He's not played them before has he? He must be out there thinking, who are these fellows in the yellow? They're not very good are they?"
What was pleasing (despite the title, you try getting Marcus Trescothick to scan) about England's win was how little of it was down to that man Flintoff, one wicket and one steepling six aside there was little for the crowd's folk hero to do, which seems fair enough, he's done quite a bit already this summer. Before the game I had a feeling that the damage would be done by someone the aussies knew little about, and so (in part) it proved to be. That man Strauss played a delightful innings. Even more pleasing though was that the real damage was done by two men Australia know all about. How many times has McGrath had Trescothick out fishing outside his off stump? Not on Tuesday, the four fours in an over left the usually voluble McGrath speechless and fuming. And then he misfielded on the boundary. That was sweet. Vaughn was magnificent, the transformation, with one lacerating boundary off Lee from the haphazard Dominic Cork-style batting of the main body of the summer to the colossus who terrorised the aussies last time out was complete, instantaneous and shocking, and it scared the hell out of them. His captaincy was also impressive; the decision on the hoof to bowl himself for ten overs on a putch that gripped was an intelligent and daring one, two characteristics missing in recent England captaincy (sorry Nasser), even though he did lose control over the side as a pumped up Darren Gough autocratically called the field in for his hat-trick ball (what next for Goughy is a whole other post).
My only doubt remains over Vikram Solanki. I often feel that he's in the side largely because the selectors fear him being dropped, going back to county and making a stack of runs. We've been here before, with Ramprakash and Hick, and a decision should be made sooner rather than later. Perhaps he should be given more responsibility, send him (seeing as the damn thing's going ahead) on the Zimbabwe tour as a senior player in a young side. It's a great opportunity to blood a couple of middle order batsmen and maybe a spinner or two, and at least sending a weakened side will make the games more competitive, which can only be good news for poor old zimbabwe, who've been under the cosh since cricket became a political football (to mix analogies) in Zim. A series of games against opposition below full international strength can only help them learn. No batsman learns anything from having his off stump ripped out third ball, and no bowler learns anything from being carted, except to bowl a negative line. The same applies to Bangladesh and Kenya, perhaps there should be an ICC directive which rules that the major test playing nations should only field under 21 sides, with a couple of senior pros in, a la olympic football, when playing the minnows, then they might not have their confidence ground into the dust each time out.
But one last thought. Vic Marks on Strauss "He's not played them before has he? He must be out there thinking, who are these fellows in the yellow? They're not very good are they?"
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Sometimes it all feels good.
It's a sad fact but my personal sense of wellbeing is linked, as is that of millions of other men, in some (small, but palpable) way. So habitually unsuccessful are the teams I follow that I have, of necessity developed a personal voodoo of failure, feeling oddly comforted when I see that they've folded again.
Over the past few days, however, there has been a bounce in my step, partially the signals of autumn in the air, but also partly due to an unaccustomed amount of success. Somerset and Spurs, I thank you. The England cricket team, I thank you even more. Sad really, but what are you gonna do?
Over the past few days, however, there has been a bounce in my step, partially the signals of autumn in the air, but also partly due to an unaccustomed amount of success. Somerset and Spurs, I thank you. The England cricket team, I thank you even more. Sad really, but what are you gonna do?
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Matt's capsule reviews:special update
Natasha Bedingfield. She has huge teeth. Also, they are not worthy of trust. To sum up, I fear Bedingfield. I think she wants me killed.
Friday, September 17, 2004
The house of no light
These are interesting times here at coastalblog towers. Due to a frankly wonky lighting circuit the house is plunged into darkness of an evening (all attempts to fix it have led to small, but exciting, explosions), our landlord is elusive and Jim and I despair, like an overly sarcastic Vladimir and Estragon of the arrival of the mythical electrician who will somehow make everything better.
To compound this we then endured three days (three!) without internet. No internet and no source of light leaves one, sadly, with only the television for company (romantic image it may be, but reading by candlelight gives me the most phenomenal headaches). Ah, television, I am reminded now of why I never watch it.
No, this is not entirely fair, there was a programme on last night with a jolly enthusiastic silver haired chap yomping up and down the highlands waving maps about. Now that's the sort of programme I like, I hope one day to become a jolly enthusiastic silver haired chap who yomps up and down hills, though I fear I'm more likely to go down the embittered silver haired chap who props up bars and snarls at teenagers route. I've got the snarling down pat already.
But map-waving guy aside it really was unmitigated dross, morning, and light, and a book by Gombrowicz brought sweet salvation.
In other news Robin's gone to Thailand. Bye Robin! Gosh, it's awfully quiet round here...
To compound this we then endured three days (three!) without internet. No internet and no source of light leaves one, sadly, with only the television for company (romantic image it may be, but reading by candlelight gives me the most phenomenal headaches). Ah, television, I am reminded now of why I never watch it.
No, this is not entirely fair, there was a programme on last night with a jolly enthusiastic silver haired chap yomping up and down the highlands waving maps about. Now that's the sort of programme I like, I hope one day to become a jolly enthusiastic silver haired chap who yomps up and down hills, though I fear I'm more likely to go down the embittered silver haired chap who props up bars and snarls at teenagers route. I've got the snarling down pat already.
But map-waving guy aside it really was unmitigated dross, morning, and light, and a book by Gombrowicz brought sweet salvation.
In other news Robin's gone to Thailand. Bye Robin! Gosh, it's awfully quiet round here...
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Philosophiblog
Okay, there haven't been a great deal of posts recently (how many times has that sentence been typed throughout blogland - always with the same layer of minor guilt?). Too busy, too tired, too libidinous, too besieged by demon monkeys - pick your own excuse.
So nevertheless, conforming to actualite coastalblog needs to take a minute or to to cry into it's pint at the departure from Ormskirk's sunny climes of Porl and Cel. They're both aware of how much I love them, so further eulogies are unnecessary. Nevertheless huge hole in life, and what have you.
Confining myself to actual news would prove depressing in the extreme, so some inchoate thoughts from the last few days, as ever, make of them what you will:
sometimes you will encounter someone who you just plain don't like, often without good reason, don't feel guilty about this, just accept it and you'll save yourself a lot of worrying. Don't feel guilty about plotting their downfall either, they've got it coming. You're right, don't forget this.
cook too much, way, way too much, there's nothing tastier when drunk than leftovers (the wannabe cook who invites people back to cook for them after hours is trying far too hard, better to have a half a leftover risotto sat in the pan)
Keane are bad, a soft target, but none the less relevant for that. Whilst I'm on the subject the Libertines are also bad.
So are Morcheeba
No, really
Just turn up a few minutes late for work, you'll feel a million times better, no day off feels as good as those few sweet minutes when you're sat in the kitchen reading the paper knowing you really should have left by now
Nothing is worth creating a scene over. Nothing. If I can come to accept my own inherent worthlessness in the face of an ineivitable and utter destruction then you too can accept that your chips not turning up on time is perhaps not a total disaster, whilst we're at it your relationship problems really aren't that interesting, either
Most importantly, get a few people around you who you know have got your back. To those people, I love you. You r0X0r.
So nevertheless, conforming to actualite coastalblog needs to take a minute or to to cry into it's pint at the departure from Ormskirk's sunny climes of Porl and Cel. They're both aware of how much I love them, so further eulogies are unnecessary. Nevertheless huge hole in life, and what have you.
Confining myself to actual news would prove depressing in the extreme, so some inchoate thoughts from the last few days, as ever, make of them what you will:
sometimes you will encounter someone who you just plain don't like, often without good reason, don't feel guilty about this, just accept it and you'll save yourself a lot of worrying. Don't feel guilty about plotting their downfall either, they've got it coming. You're right, don't forget this.
cook too much, way, way too much, there's nothing tastier when drunk than leftovers (the wannabe cook who invites people back to cook for them after hours is trying far too hard, better to have a half a leftover risotto sat in the pan)
Keane are bad, a soft target, but none the less relevant for that. Whilst I'm on the subject the Libertines are also bad.
So are Morcheeba
No, really
Just turn up a few minutes late for work, you'll feel a million times better, no day off feels as good as those few sweet minutes when you're sat in the kitchen reading the paper knowing you really should have left by now
Nothing is worth creating a scene over. Nothing. If I can come to accept my own inherent worthlessness in the face of an ineivitable and utter destruction then you too can accept that your chips not turning up on time is perhaps not a total disaster, whilst we're at it your relationship problems really aren't that interesting, either
Most importantly, get a few people around you who you know have got your back. To those people, I love you. You r0X0r.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Woodford Reserve and associated fun
Okay, distinct paucity of blog action recently, for which I am sorry. In mitigation the manager at work is off on his jollies and I am left holding the fort (with no little aplomb, if I can be allowed a brief moment of self-aggrandisement), I'm currently five days into an eleven day stint.
Some thoughts: managers are liars, learn this and learn it well. Management consists entirely of doing no work and just checking that everything's fine. My predecessors lied to me for years, it's really not that hard. I'm quite angry with them for pretending that it was. When you manage you don't have to do any cleaning, ergo it's easier.
You can't please everyone, this is a concept which anyone who works in service industries should clasp to their knackered breast as a shining torch of hope, my god but the general public will happily whine about anything, just repeat the mantra of "It's really not that important" to yourself the ENTIRE TIME and there is a glimmer of hope, only a glimmer, mind.
Delegation is a skill which I hearti;y wish I'd learned many years ago. There is no shame in telling someone else to do something when you crave a quiet afternoon with a cigar or six, a nice glass of port and a book of well-written essays about slightly ropey poets. Edna st vincent Millay I'm looking at YOU/
Sleep is underrated, badly underrated. Do it every chance you get, you'll be happier I promise, or your house back. Your fucking HOUSE. Think about it, gamble your house if you must. I'm right, if I'm not then fuck, I'll buy you a new house.
Some thoughts: managers are liars, learn this and learn it well. Management consists entirely of doing no work and just checking that everything's fine. My predecessors lied to me for years, it's really not that hard. I'm quite angry with them for pretending that it was. When you manage you don't have to do any cleaning, ergo it's easier.
You can't please everyone, this is a concept which anyone who works in service industries should clasp to their knackered breast as a shining torch of hope, my god but the general public will happily whine about anything, just repeat the mantra of "It's really not that important" to yourself the ENTIRE TIME and there is a glimmer of hope, only a glimmer, mind.
Delegation is a skill which I hearti;y wish I'd learned many years ago. There is no shame in telling someone else to do something when you crave a quiet afternoon with a cigar or six, a nice glass of port and a book of well-written essays about slightly ropey poets. Edna st vincent Millay I'm looking at YOU/
Sleep is underrated, badly underrated. Do it every chance you get, you'll be happier I promise, or your house back. Your fucking HOUSE. Think about it, gamble your house if you must. I'm right, if I'm not then fuck, I'll buy you a new house.
