The Heavy Ball

New Zealand's only hope is if they have a team full of Vettoris. Bring on the cloning technology

11-Dec-2009

I've always been a fan of the New Zealand cricket team. Not because they have ever really been any good. No one likes them for that reason. Not even their own mothers. But I think we all have a soft spot for the Kiwis because we wish more cricket teams could be like them. The way in which they manage to string together competitive performances with a team comprising at least eight players who are fighting for their place at any time is a feat worthy of something akin to praise.

The top order seems to be built like a circus tent. Standing firm for a while, but it's only matter of time until the inevitable, hilarious collapse. Once the shine has been taken off through a series of edges to second slip and the ball crashing into the stumps repeatedly, the real batsmen stroll in at 7, 8 and 9. A half-respectable score is made. Chris Martin gets in. Commentators ridicule his batting for the remaining 20 seconds of the innings. And the Kiwi attack turn up to deliver a billion overs of scintillating middle-of-the-road medium-pace.

Unfortunately, however, cricketers who are particularly good are a little hard to come by in New Zealand. Most local youth are led astray by a primitive form of vigorous mud-bathing known as rugby. This unfortunately leaves them without the physique, the interest, and dare I say, the brain function that is required of good international cricketers. And if they're not head-butting each other into that luscious topsoil, they're too busy planting trees, producing dairy and generally being nuclear-free to take an interest in anything cricket-related, which goes some way to explaining the lack of genuine cricket superstars from New Zealand.

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How Dhoni turned into my dad and won me over

It was when he gave up airborne strikes and devoted himself to nudging uncomfortable singles down fine leg that he became attractive

Alex Bowden

10-Dec-2009

When MS Dhoni hit 15 fours and 10 sixes in a 2005 one-day innings against Sri Lanka, I was impressed but not won over. With his long hair and unusual propensity to hit sixes whilst airborne, everyone loved Dhoni and he continued to tear bowling attacks into their constituent atoms for some time after that - but still I could take him or leave him. Over time and almost unnoticed, he's stopped doing the furious scything quite so much, and the more grimly efficient he's become, the more I've liked him. As the drama and glamour have receded, he's rapidly become one of my favourite players. You can't beat an uncomfortably played single down to fine leg - that's what I always say. (Actually that's the first time I've said it, but I've got plans to say it more often.)

It's almost as if Dhoni asked himself what cricketers he could learn from. Sehwag? Not really, boundary-hitting was sorted. No, Dhoni's true role models were now Mark Richardson and Paul Collingwood. "Why should they get all the plaudits?" he seems to have said. "I can make the most of my abilities too. I can be a fighter, a battler, a scrapper. I can work the ball into the leg side for one as well as the next man. I want some compliments about how many runs I've scored that sneeringly draw attention to the way in which I've scored them as well."

So Dhoni set about perfecting the skills required to earn those back-handed compliments. He probably spent three months in the nets perfecting the nurdle, which is a shot that you simply have to have if you want to be known as the best workmanlike batsman in the world. Perfect it he did, and now he's cranking out three-an-over fifties one after another. I find this even more endearing because of the simple fact that he can still cream the ball to all parts if the mood so takes him. Dhoni actually wants to score in ugly singles. I think he prides himself on it.

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Remembering Sultan Zarawani

In this time of economic turmoil in the UAE, let us turn our minds back to the deeds of a stalwart from the 1990s

Sidin Vadukut

04-Dec-2009

Dubai Duty Free is perhaps the greatest concentration of frenzied retailing insanity anywhere on the surface of the planet. It is a heady cocktail of over-oxygenated buyers, tax-free shopping, too-short stopovers, expats seeking familial redemption with Toblerone, and children on escalating sugar highs.

It was also a great place to spot cricketers flying through Dubai. They were either flying through on tour or returning after a quick predetermined tri-series in Sharjah. Two years ago I ran into Farveez Maharoof as he frantically ran around speaking into a mobile phone while holding up several large Toblerones.

"Look, Farveez Maharoof!" I told a cricket-oblivious co-passenger.

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Let us now worship Viru

Sehwag is no cricketer; he is a religion all by himself

Jarrod Kimber

04-Dec-2009

The credit crunch, global warming, Barack Obama's peace prize, Michael Jackson dying, and your favourite pop starlet being voted off some reality singing contest all seem like important events worthy of your time, thought and attention.

They are not. Your time, thought and attention should be dedicated to the cricket-themed religion that will enhance your spirit, make you better-looking and improve every single facet of your daily existence.

The religion is Sehwagology. Although some people like to think of it as an applied religious philosophy.

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Letter to Akmal and Aamer

Pakistan's two teen sensations get some unsolicited advice

Imran Yusuf

03-Dec-2009

My father used to sleep like a log… but then his first child was born. Overnight he became a paranoid insomniac, waking at the slightest shake, sigh, or eyelash flutter from the tiny being sleeping between him and my mother. (Let's not get all cute: that little monkey evolved into the overgrown ape also known as my elder brother.)

I am one of the blessed few who can sleep through earthquakes, hurricanes and Karachi's nightly smattering of random gunshots, so I never thought my father's instant transformation could happen to me. But then, in one single summer, two innocents came tumbling into the cricket world: Mohammad Aamer and Umar Akmal, the apples of my eye.

Now my bedsheets are soaked in nervous sweat. My mind refuses to switch off through the dark hours. Are they okay? Will they be okay? Do I expect too much of them? Do I to expect too little (or pretend to)? Oh, it's such a mean, scary world that lies in wait. Under-19 tournaments and A team tours are over. This is the real world, this is Pakistan cricket. Oh, what horrors, what wickedness, in wait for such pure young hearts.

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Revolutionary scheduling, boxing tests, and a clerical error

The game's finest brains come up with innovative ways to save Test cricket, and India get their excuses strategy into top gear

Anand Ramachandran

03-Dec-2009

In a short period, which produced a classic Test match in Dunedin, and a stupendously dull one in Ahmedabad, the ICC's secret brainstorming session to generate ideas to save Test cricket took on special significance.

Rather predictably, many of the suggestions that emerged were rather clichéd and fairly useless. "We should play day-night Tests," said one official. "Tests should be played with coloured clothing and white balls," said another. "Ambassador is still the best car for Indian roads," said another, out of force of habit.

However, many interesting suggestions did emerge. The representative from Australia suggested replacing the traditional Boxing Day Test match with a day test boxing match, where players from the teams involved would compete in boxing bouts for five full days. This idea was strongly supported by Graeme Smith and Chris Gayle, but left Mohammad Ashraful looking rather nervous.

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Sree, Lily, Jesse and Bondy

Our look back at the highlights of the month gone by is packed full of stars, innit

S Aga

02-Dec-2009

The Apposite First Name of the Month
Pillage and murder anyone? Loots Bosman waded into England's bowlers like Jughead Jones into a plate of burgers, emerging with 94 runs off 45 balls in the second Twenty20. (At the other end, Graeme Smith crawled shamefully along to 88 in 44.)

The Delinquent of the Month
Those mourning the Andrew Symonds-shaped hole at the heart of international cricket were cheered no end by the manner in which Jesse Ryder threw himself once more into the breach in November. First, he advised New Zealand team manager Dave Currie to "**** off, you old ****" (thus providing wordgame aficionados hours of entertainment as they strove to fill in the blanks) when Currie attempted to calm him down after he smashed a chair in the dressing room. A couple of days later Ryder was in the papers again, when his neighbours complained his parties were getting a little too raucous and his friends were vomiting and urinating on their premises. "… the wind blew the stomach contents of a friend of Mr Ryder's all down the side of our property," said the neigbour involved, in what is surely one of the more immortal quotes involving a cricketer in recent times.

The Emperor Sans Clothes of the Month
Ajantha Mendis: 2 for 162 off 38 overs in Kanpur. What a difference a year makes.

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Australian in doosra-bowling horror

Jason Krejza produces one that goes the other way. And gets away scot-free

Jarrod Kimber

29-Nov-2009

In the dungeon of the Cricket Australia tower there was a group of men. It wasn't just any men, it was the convict turned guru (Terry Jenner), former compulsive hooker turned compulsive picker (Andrew Hilditch), text sexer and champion legspinner (Shane Warne), the aristocrat with the occasional long-hop (Stuart MacGill), and an Ian Chappell-approved finger spinner (Ashley Mallett). Also there, but saying less, were Jim Higgs, Peter Philpott and Gavin Robertson.

These men teach Australian spinners how to spin.

If you are a young kid from Cobden with a wicked wrong'un, it is one of these men who will guide you. They will show you zooters and arm balls, explain flight and dip, show you how to set your field, and tell you how to ignore your captain's advice.

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The art of multiple slower balls

Why it's hardly enough to have one anymore