Nightvision's Blog
- Thread starter Nightvision
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someblokecalleddave
Well-Known Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
Bruce Willis - does he deserve to be in the team? His ex missus as well - she was pretty tough in that film with all the soldiers?
Bruce Willis - does he deserve to be in the team? His ex missus as well - she was pretty tough in that film with all the soldiers?
someblokecalleddave
Well-Known Member
someblokecalleddave
Well-Known Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
When you're on there check out where I come from originally - Tilbury and where I live now - Basildon. :laugh:
When you're on there check out where I come from originally - Tilbury and where I live now - Basildon. :laugh:
someblokecalleddave
Well-Known Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
For you Aussies that live in the Sydney area - Chav's are like your "Westies".
For you Aussies that live in the Sydney area - Chav's are like your "Westies".
Nightvision
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
In This Blog:The worst sin in cricket, The most suicidal and stupid thing you could possibly ever do, And a new fantasy cricketer.
So tomorrow at 8am, I depart for the three hour journey to Nottingham for the first game of our tour. On the off chance I actually get a bowl, I figured I'd rope the girlfriend in for another practice session. As I was in her part of the world today, we went to the local field at her end. Now unlike the field I usually play at, this ground is actually a cricket pitch, and somewhat unusually, this isn't shared with a local football team. This leads to the considerable benefit of the batsman being able to advance down the pitch without having to worry about plummeting down one of the deeper divots or studmarks.
However, there was a problem. Despite it not really having rained since thursday, and the weather having been pretty good since then, the pitch was like a sponge. Not wet as such, just ridiculously soft. I could actually push my fingers into the outfield (I'm not one for committing the cardinal sin of practicing on another team's square... that's the cricketing equivalent to wandering into a Chapel on Christmas Eve and dropping your trousers) and see the marks where they'd been. My efforts to find a decent pitch to practice on were seemingly to remain fruitless.
Anyway, my girlfriend padded up, and I started to wheel away. With the words of Peter Philpott (thanks for the recommendation Dave!) "spin, spin, spin, spin, spin and spin some more... accuracy be damned!" in my ear, I was focusing mainly on getting the ball to move off the seam. However, it was difficult to say if the ball was turning much, as it was hardly bouncing. We had to move the 'wicket' three or four times to find a part of the pitch that would provide any kind of assistance. I dread to think of what the poor batsmen are going to have to do tomorrow to get a cover drive to go for four - anything short of firing the ball out of a bazooka and you'd struggle to get it out of the powerplay circle.
Anywho, once we found somewhere that I could actually get the ball to bounce higher than ankle height, normal service was resumed.
And normal service was frustrating to say the least. I was having no end of troubles with my run-up, which is normally by far and away the most solid part of my action. I'm forever forgetting to pivot my hips, or not following through, and even occasionally getting too roundarm in my action, but my run-up is more or less a constant. Today I was having a 'mare. After about 20 minutes of running up, losing my step, completely stuffing the delivery up, shouting an expletive and then trudging back to mark out my run-up again, my girlfriend piped up: 'Well maybe it's because you're running uphill?'
Of course, she was right. She's making an irritating habit of it, as most women do, particularly about things you'd never expect them to be. You never see men turning round and suggesting that perhaps the striped top would go better with the wide belt and the denim skirt, or that the dark blue eyeliner combined with the ruby red lipstick makes her look like a clown. [NB: Neither the writer, simplycricket nor the administrators of this site condone saying this to your girlfriend/wife, and cannot be held responsible for injuries or death resulting from such actions]
Anyhow, I adjusted my run-up a touch to compensate for the slight slope, and bowled. It wasn't my best session, and the softness of the pitch killed a lot of the turn for me. Couple this with my girlfriend's extremely irritating habit of cracking the good balls high and handsome through the leg side, no matter where I pitched them, and it was shaping up to be a frustrating afternoon. Then, hope. An absolute beauty of a ball that pitched outside leg on a perfect length, at first bringing her onto the front foot, before she realised - too late - that it had beaten her. As it jagged back across the stumps it just grazed off stump about three quarters of the way up, removing the off bail. It was actually the second time I'd done this in two days, as yesterday whilst practicing with my dad, a similar ball had hung in the air, trapping him on the back foot and neatly removing both bails by clipping the top of middle stump. Whilst it's certainly possible that these were fluke deliveries, I'm starting to think that things are beginning to come together for me, and whilst I'm not getting carried away with things, it's nice to know that I'm now able to beat the bat, albeit with non-cricket players holding it!
As earlier mentioned, I'm off on tour tomorrow, and we're playing two games in two days, so I'm hoping (whilst it's a little selfish of me to do so) that one of our quicker bowlers takes a knock or is a little stiff for the next day, so that maybe I'll get a bowl - we don't have many spinners, so if the pitch is a little dry, I may find myself bowling yet. I won't be holding my breath though.
And now, the second in the Fantasy Cricketers XI series - I'm hoping to introduce a different feature next time, but for now, we fill another gap on our teamsheet of cricketers that should have been.
Fantasy Cricketer #2 - James Bond
Has anyone ever epitomised cool, calm and collected quite like agent 007? I'm willing to bet that if they have, they were probably in danger of lapsing into a coma. The man is capable of freezing water if he stands in proximity to it for long enough, and there can't be many blokes out there that didn't spend most of their childhood wishing they were him (except maybe those who only ever saw the George Lazenby one...). There's something about the character of Bond that just exudes sheer elegance and refinement. There simply couldn't be a better model for a opening batsman if you tried - you can't imagine Bond wildly slashing at one outside off in the third over, or losing his off-stump trying to hammer the wily off-spinner into row ZZ. You'd struggle to imagine him getting bogged down by medium pacers in the middle overs of an ODI too - every scoring shot would be a smooth, slick drive through the covers or midwicket, reminiscent of Michael Vaughan at his best, or Sachin Tendulkar in full flow. It's hard to say he'd have anything less than an immaculate defensive technique as well - no playing all round the quick straight ones - they'd be met with the same perfectly straight bat that all the others got. Also, I have no idea (ie I'm not sad enough to check!) whether Bond is a Lefty or a Righty, but something gives me the impression he'd be a left hander - lefties always seem to be slightly classier than righties (I'm a righty, before anyone says anything!), and you don't get classier than the man himself.
So, it's very difficult to find anywhere else to put Bond other than at the top of the order - with the composed strokes and calm demeanour, he's a born opener. Or he would be if he was ever born. Or something. It's all just got a bit metaphysical. :-/
1) James Bond (Left Hand Bat)
2)
3)
4)
5)
6) Jack Bauer (Right Hand Bat, Medium-Fast Right Arm)
7)
8)
9)
10)
11)
Until Next Time,
Jason
In This Blog:The worst sin in cricket, The most suicidal and stupid thing you could possibly ever do, And a new fantasy cricketer.
So tomorrow at 8am, I depart for the three hour journey to Nottingham for the first game of our tour. On the off chance I actually get a bowl, I figured I'd rope the girlfriend in for another practice session. As I was in her part of the world today, we went to the local field at her end. Now unlike the field I usually play at, this ground is actually a cricket pitch, and somewhat unusually, this isn't shared with a local football team. This leads to the considerable benefit of the batsman being able to advance down the pitch without having to worry about plummeting down one of the deeper divots or studmarks.
However, there was a problem. Despite it not really having rained since thursday, and the weather having been pretty good since then, the pitch was like a sponge. Not wet as such, just ridiculously soft. I could actually push my fingers into the outfield (I'm not one for committing the cardinal sin of practicing on another team's square... that's the cricketing equivalent to wandering into a Chapel on Christmas Eve and dropping your trousers) and see the marks where they'd been. My efforts to find a decent pitch to practice on were seemingly to remain fruitless.
Anyway, my girlfriend padded up, and I started to wheel away. With the words of Peter Philpott (thanks for the recommendation Dave!) "spin, spin, spin, spin, spin and spin some more... accuracy be damned!" in my ear, I was focusing mainly on getting the ball to move off the seam. However, it was difficult to say if the ball was turning much, as it was hardly bouncing. We had to move the 'wicket' three or four times to find a part of the pitch that would provide any kind of assistance. I dread to think of what the poor batsmen are going to have to do tomorrow to get a cover drive to go for four - anything short of firing the ball out of a bazooka and you'd struggle to get it out of the powerplay circle.
Anywho, once we found somewhere that I could actually get the ball to bounce higher than ankle height, normal service was resumed.
And normal service was frustrating to say the least. I was having no end of troubles with my run-up, which is normally by far and away the most solid part of my action. I'm forever forgetting to pivot my hips, or not following through, and even occasionally getting too roundarm in my action, but my run-up is more or less a constant. Today I was having a 'mare. After about 20 minutes of running up, losing my step, completely stuffing the delivery up, shouting an expletive and then trudging back to mark out my run-up again, my girlfriend piped up: 'Well maybe it's because you're running uphill?'
Of course, she was right. She's making an irritating habit of it, as most women do, particularly about things you'd never expect them to be. You never see men turning round and suggesting that perhaps the striped top would go better with the wide belt and the denim skirt, or that the dark blue eyeliner combined with the ruby red lipstick makes her look like a clown. [NB: Neither the writer, simplycricket nor the administrators of this site condone saying this to your girlfriend/wife, and cannot be held responsible for injuries or death resulting from such actions]
Anyhow, I adjusted my run-up a touch to compensate for the slight slope, and bowled. It wasn't my best session, and the softness of the pitch killed a lot of the turn for me. Couple this with my girlfriend's extremely irritating habit of cracking the good balls high and handsome through the leg side, no matter where I pitched them, and it was shaping up to be a frustrating afternoon. Then, hope. An absolute beauty of a ball that pitched outside leg on a perfect length, at first bringing her onto the front foot, before she realised - too late - that it had beaten her. As it jagged back across the stumps it just grazed off stump about three quarters of the way up, removing the off bail. It was actually the second time I'd done this in two days, as yesterday whilst practicing with my dad, a similar ball had hung in the air, trapping him on the back foot and neatly removing both bails by clipping the top of middle stump. Whilst it's certainly possible that these were fluke deliveries, I'm starting to think that things are beginning to come together for me, and whilst I'm not getting carried away with things, it's nice to know that I'm now able to beat the bat, albeit with non-cricket players holding it!
As earlier mentioned, I'm off on tour tomorrow, and we're playing two games in two days, so I'm hoping (whilst it's a little selfish of me to do so) that one of our quicker bowlers takes a knock or is a little stiff for the next day, so that maybe I'll get a bowl - we don't have many spinners, so if the pitch is a little dry, I may find myself bowling yet. I won't be holding my breath though.
And now, the second in the Fantasy Cricketers XI series - I'm hoping to introduce a different feature next time, but for now, we fill another gap on our teamsheet of cricketers that should have been.
Fantasy Cricketer #2 - James Bond
Has anyone ever epitomised cool, calm and collected quite like agent 007? I'm willing to bet that if they have, they were probably in danger of lapsing into a coma. The man is capable of freezing water if he stands in proximity to it for long enough, and there can't be many blokes out there that didn't spend most of their childhood wishing they were him (except maybe those who only ever saw the George Lazenby one...). There's something about the character of Bond that just exudes sheer elegance and refinement. There simply couldn't be a better model for a opening batsman if you tried - you can't imagine Bond wildly slashing at one outside off in the third over, or losing his off-stump trying to hammer the wily off-spinner into row ZZ. You'd struggle to imagine him getting bogged down by medium pacers in the middle overs of an ODI too - every scoring shot would be a smooth, slick drive through the covers or midwicket, reminiscent of Michael Vaughan at his best, or Sachin Tendulkar in full flow. It's hard to say he'd have anything less than an immaculate defensive technique as well - no playing all round the quick straight ones - they'd be met with the same perfectly straight bat that all the others got. Also, I have no idea (ie I'm not sad enough to check!) whether Bond is a Lefty or a Righty, but something gives me the impression he'd be a left hander - lefties always seem to be slightly classier than righties (I'm a righty, before anyone says anything!), and you don't get classier than the man himself.
So, it's very difficult to find anywhere else to put Bond other than at the top of the order - with the composed strokes and calm demeanour, he's a born opener. Or he would be if he was ever born. Or something. It's all just got a bit metaphysical. :-/
1) James Bond (Left Hand Bat)
2)
3)
4)
5)
6) Jack Bauer (Right Hand Bat, Medium-Fast Right Arm)
7)
8)
9)
10)
11)
Until Next Time,
Jason
MasterBlaster
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
Lol I would expect James Bond to bat with a high tech bat that would automatically find the gaps.
Nice blog. Very funny and interesting to read.
Lol I would expect James Bond to bat with a high tech bat that would automatically find the gaps.
Nice blog. Very funny and interesting to read.
someblokecalleddave
Well-Known Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
Another top notch entry Jason - it's brilliant. With regards your cricket pitch you need a qualcast panther -
http://www.manualmowers.co.uk/product_info.php?products_id=57&gclid=CMrjv_TXjZMCFQPk1AodLhecgA
and a pair of shears and not give a damn that the rest of the world thinks you're mental. You might lose your girlfriend though - she might decide that you have lost your marbles.
Another top notch entry Jason - it's brilliant. With regards your cricket pitch you need a qualcast panther -
http://www.manualmowers.co.uk/product_info.php?products_id=57&gclid=CMrjv_TXjZMCFQPk1AodLhecgA
and a pair of shears and not give a damn that the rest of the world thinks you're mental. You might lose your girlfriend though - she might decide that you have lost your marbles.
Nightvision
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
Well, I'm back from the tour, and nicely cooked to a medium crisp... A full update will be forthcoming, but there was humour, drama, and a barney between me and the Sunday captain. As for cricketing matters, we lost the first game by 140+ runs and I'm told we won the second, although I wasn't present at that, for reasons I'll go into at a later date.
Well, I'm back from the tour, and nicely cooked to a medium crisp... A full update will be forthcoming, but there was humour, drama, and a barney between me and the Sunday captain. As for cricketing matters, we lost the first game by 140+ runs and I'm told we won the second, although I wasn't present at that, for reasons I'll go into at a later date.
Nightvision
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
In this blog: Non-stripping strip clubs, the Dung Mountains of Norfolk, and Defining the ‘slower ball’.
So I'm back from our express two-day tour of the (slightly) sunny English midlands. Overall, it was most definitely a mixed bag. The journey down there was an entertaining one - myself, Phil (the Sunday vice-captain) and Sam (who is a specialist tailender, if such a thing exists!) all carpooled to reduce our carbon footprints and help save Mother Earth. It had nothing to do with the fact my car is French and would most likely explode at the mere thought of driving 150 miles without stopping for a croissant and a sneaky perv at the BMW next door getting a wash, and even less to do with the fact that Sam doesn't drive. It was all about our environmental responsibility. Ahem.
Anyway, we arrived in Nottingham to some decidedly grey skies. It didn't look like rain (I'm presuming the Weather Gods had decided to stay on the East Coast rather than follow us up the M1), but instead one of those days where it will just drizzle and spit all day, making the outfield soaking wet and decidedly unpleasant.
Once the rest of the team arrived, we set off to the ground. It was still spitting, so when the other team won the toss, they were more than quick to put us in to field. I'm guessing they were anticipating rain later, and wanted runs on the board before the strip turned into a bog. Cue 40 overs of me sprinting round the outfield chasing the ball like a Doberman chasing an old lady with a pocketful of Winalot. The other two fielders on the leg side weren't the best, so I was effectively doing the running for three people. Our other leg spinner served up three awful overs and dropped four catches, so by the end of the innings he just wanted to curl up and die. I was more than a little frustrated not to get a bowl myself bearing in mind this was a friendly and that I couldn't have done much worse than our other Leggie, and we had no other spin options. By the end of 40, we had conceded 239 runs. Not good on a wet, slow outfield knowing we were going to have to bat on a damp wicket.
Our top order didn't help, taking 20 overs to score 43 runs, effectively meaning we needed 200 off 20. By this time we were three down as well, so it wasn't good. I came in at number 8 and made 6 (outscoring 4 of the batsmen above me!) before playing an awful shot across the line to an absolute rank ball, and was given about as plumb lbw as it's possible to get. It always confuses me when pundits say “it’s the bad balls that often get wickets” ...not so sure myself. If that was true, I’d be competing with Muralitharan and Warne to be regarded as the best spinner in recent memory. I think they’ll find it’s the bad shots that get the wickets, as I demonstrated beautifully with that particular ‘shot’.
We went on to lose by 140 runs. Embarrassing to say the least, although we were beaten by a better team to be honest. I walked off the field caked in mud and bruised and battered from numerous slides, blocks and dives, but feeling like I'd at least made a contribution.
Sunday night rolled around, and whilst half of the team made plans for a tour of the city's nightclubs, I made arrangements for an impromptu game of Poker. We've got a few players on our team, and throwing in a tenner apiece, we had a £70 pot. Not big stakes, but enough to make it a game worth winning. In all honesty, I didn't particularly fancy the nightlife - I'm not a huge drinker, and I was already exhausted from the day's exertions, so with another game tomorrow decided that a good night's rest (and a few hard-earned beers in the bar!) might not be a bad thing.
Of course I won the poker.
The next morning arrived, and I didn't feel all that bad. My thighs were a little tight (hopefully that will be the last time I ever have to mention my thighs in this blog again!) and my right shoulder knew it had done some work the day before, but for the most part I felt fine. This was more than could be said for Phil and co, who were queasily chewing down a fried breakfast in the bar and looking thoroughly the worse for wear - it transpired they'd finally rolled out of the taxi at 5am and Sam hadn't even made it onto his bed before crashing out. Apparently, they'd been in the taxi on the way home when they decided to go visit a strip bar. They spent a couple more hours there and then came back to the hotel and a few hours' sleep. The following is a transcript of the conversation which took place while I poured myself an orange juice:
Rich: "Phil?"
Phil: "Yes mate?"
Rich: "That strip bar we went to..."
Phil: "What about it?"
Rich: "I'm just thinking - we were there three hours, and I don't actually remember seeing any t*ts."
Phil: "Come to think of it, neither do I... Sam, can you remember seeing any?"
Sam: "Nope."
Wayne: "Are you telling me we went to a strip club, paid £5 to get in, spent three hours and god knows how much money there and didn't see so much as a nipple?"
Phil: "...bloody cabbie."
I didn't enquire as to why the non-stripping strip club was the fault of the taxi driver. I was too concerned with waiting for Sam to realise that he was pouring salt sachets into his tea and the inevitable hilarity that would follow.
Our motley crew headed on to Leicester for our final game. I was looking forward to this, as our other Leg Spinner had gone back home last night due to uni commitments, and the pitch was dry but the outfield very wet, meaning that the slow bowlers were going to be busy.
So you can imagine my surprise when I was told I'd been dropped for the second game.
"We thought you guys would want to get back early" was the excuse the Sunday captain gave me. Now, bear in mind that Phil (who was driving) was in the team, so unless me and Sam were going to hitch a lift on one of the passing aircraft that appeared to fly over every 30 seconds or so, our methods of getting home were unclear. I thought this excuse was a load of bull and told him so:
(For clarity, the captain of the Sunday team is also called Rich, but isn't the one who went to the non-stripping strip club.)
"Rich, that's crap. Me and Sam are with Phil, you know that."
"Well just stay and support the team then - you both played yesterday and we want to give everyone a game - we can't play 15 people."
"Fair enough, but why me and Sam? I took today off from work so I could come here, and now you tell me I'm not even playing!"
"Well we wanted to play our strongest team"
"Why not tell me two months ago then? I could have saved £25 on the hotel room, and picked up the double time at work for doing a bank holiday... that's about £150 I've lost from being here, which I don't mind, as I came to play cricket, but I'm not even doing that now."
"Well I'm sorry about that, I didn't know, but what do you want me to do about it now?"
"Nothing. I gave my absolute all in the field yesterday - I got back to the hotel and I was bleeding, bruised and exhausted from covering you and Shoe [another one of our players] for 40 overs. I don't want a medal, but I don't expect a slap in the face like this for it either."
"Well we need to give everyone a go..."
"Stop saying that - you've got no intention of giving everyone a go. I've been playing for this club for three years, and I've never batted higher than number eight under you and I've bowled three overs - none of which came under your captaincy. You see me and Sam as guys who make up the numbers when no-one else can be bothered, and I'm not doing that any more. I won't be playing for the Sunday team again."
With that, I walked off before I really said something stupid. I was possibly being a little petulant, and we really did have 15 players to fit into 11 positions, but it was still a slap in the face as far as I was concerned bearing in mind how hard I worked in the field the day before, despite not even getting a bowl. Everything I said to Rich was true, particularly the 'not giving everyone a go' thing. It probably wasn't a smart thing to do, but I was angry and hurt, and had been thinking it for a while.
Whilst being in the process of stomping off, I bumped into the Saturday captain, Tom, who wondered what all the fuss was about. I explained.
"Well play for us then."
"Yeah, but let's face it, if I can't get a game with the Sunday team, what chance have I got with the Saturday team?"
"Plenty. We need players, and you're an improving bowler and a diamond in the field. I can't promise you a bowl every game, but you'll definitely get a chance."
“To be honest, I was thinking of just making a fresh start somewhere else.”
“And what if they’re like Rich? Look, I’ll be honest with you – my reasons for wanting you on the Saturday team are entirely selfish – you’ve only been playing three years, and you’re now starting to be at the stage where you can genuinely contribute to a game, so we’d be stupid to just let you buggar off somewhere else and give them the benefit. Play for the Saturday team this season, and if you still want to go at the end of the season, go for it.”
“Okay, but you know I have weeks where I’m not able to play because of work, right?”
“Doesn’t matter. Let me know when they are, and we’ll work around it. You free this Saturday?”
And that was that. I was a Saturday player.
Phil did a damn good thing and declined to play despite being picked so we could all get home early. We stayed for our batting innings to show some support, but left just before our team took the field to bowl. It was a sombre journey home, despite bumping into the victorious Arsenal Ladies football team in the service station on the way back. I didn’t particularly want to leave the Sunday team, as I like the guys on the team, but I pay my match fees to play cricket, not bat at number 8 and stand at deep midwicket for 40 overs, and if I’m not going to get that on the team I’m on, then it’s time to find somewhere I will.
The journey was enlivened somewhat by my stomach’s inability to process the white-hot curry the Notts boys had served up after the first day’s game. I enjoy a good curry, but those around me twelve hours afterwards tend not to. Every fifteen minutes or so, I’d move slightly in my seat and wait for Sam’s cry of “Oh god, no! Not again!” from the back seat. Opening the windows provided only exacerbated the problem. (As anyone who has ever driven around rural Norfolk will tell you, the distinct aroma of decaying horse manure is never far from the nostrils, and in certain areas, vast steaming mountains of dung can be seen hiding behind trees to catch the unwary and punish their nasal passages.)
At about 10 o’clock, we finally pulled up outside mine. The tour was over. It had been eventful, funny, infuriating and enjoyable in turns, but in a way I was sad it was over. In another I wasn’t. Either way, it was the marking point for my cricketing future – the point at which I decided that I actually wanted to be more than just a ‘cricketer’. I want to be a bowler. I want to play a part in games and I want to win games for my team, whichever team that may be.
Now, before I let you escape (yes, I’m still going on!!), allow me to introduce another feature I’m planning on working into the blog over time – The Alternative Cricket Dictionary – Every sport has terms and words unique to it, and Cricket has more than most. Village Cricket has a slightly different meaning to these words, and I’ll be exploring a few of these from time to time. Here’s the first batch.
The Alternative Cricket Dictionary #1
Slower Ball – In First Class Cricket, a cunningly-disguised ball in between two lightning-fast deliveries designed to catch the batsman out and force him to mis-time his shot. In Village Cricket, a term used by the other fielders to mock the Fast Bowler when he bowls a crap, slow long-hop that the batsman hammers with glee over the fence. Example: “Ha, looks like he picked the ‘slower ball’ Stevo!”
Number Six – Cricketing parlance for the Neanderthal figure that shuffles to the crease dragging the club/bat behind him in one huge paw. This character deals in sixes and wickets only. He once tried to run a quick single and got lost halfway down the pitch. If left unchecked, a rampaging Number Six can ruin your bowler’s day, hammering ball after ball miles over the head of the poor soul standing at Deep Square Leg, who’ll find himself spending more time rooting around in the bushes than George Michael on Hampstead Heath.
Googly – Designed to be a ball bowled by a Leg-Spinner that turns into the right-hander as opposed to away from him. In Village Cricket, this is a Leg Break that hits one of the bumps and divots in the pitch and bounces away from the direction the bowler was trying to make it go. Inevitably never takes a wicket, as the batsman takes an almighty swing at it and edges it onto his foot. The absolute bane of Wicketkeepers everywhere.
Farming The Strike – Often a tactic used by Test and First Class teams when a ‘proper’ batsman is stuck with a bunny to ensure that the lower-order batsman is protected from having to face too many balls and risk losing a valuable wicket. In Village Cricket, often used by crafty batsmen to ensure that they face the clown who’s chucking up six slow full tosses an over, and the other poor sod has to face the demon fast bowler at the other end.
Right, that really is all from me now. The next one won’t be quite as long, I promise!
Jason
In this blog: Non-stripping strip clubs, the Dung Mountains of Norfolk, and Defining the ‘slower ball’.
So I'm back from our express two-day tour of the (slightly) sunny English midlands. Overall, it was most definitely a mixed bag. The journey down there was an entertaining one - myself, Phil (the Sunday vice-captain) and Sam (who is a specialist tailender, if such a thing exists!) all carpooled to reduce our carbon footprints and help save Mother Earth. It had nothing to do with the fact my car is French and would most likely explode at the mere thought of driving 150 miles without stopping for a croissant and a sneaky perv at the BMW next door getting a wash, and even less to do with the fact that Sam doesn't drive. It was all about our environmental responsibility. Ahem.
Anyway, we arrived in Nottingham to some decidedly grey skies. It didn't look like rain (I'm presuming the Weather Gods had decided to stay on the East Coast rather than follow us up the M1), but instead one of those days where it will just drizzle and spit all day, making the outfield soaking wet and decidedly unpleasant.
Once the rest of the team arrived, we set off to the ground. It was still spitting, so when the other team won the toss, they were more than quick to put us in to field. I'm guessing they were anticipating rain later, and wanted runs on the board before the strip turned into a bog. Cue 40 overs of me sprinting round the outfield chasing the ball like a Doberman chasing an old lady with a pocketful of Winalot. The other two fielders on the leg side weren't the best, so I was effectively doing the running for three people. Our other leg spinner served up three awful overs and dropped four catches, so by the end of the innings he just wanted to curl up and die. I was more than a little frustrated not to get a bowl myself bearing in mind this was a friendly and that I couldn't have done much worse than our other Leggie, and we had no other spin options. By the end of 40, we had conceded 239 runs. Not good on a wet, slow outfield knowing we were going to have to bat on a damp wicket.
Our top order didn't help, taking 20 overs to score 43 runs, effectively meaning we needed 200 off 20. By this time we were three down as well, so it wasn't good. I came in at number 8 and made 6 (outscoring 4 of the batsmen above me!) before playing an awful shot across the line to an absolute rank ball, and was given about as plumb lbw as it's possible to get. It always confuses me when pundits say “it’s the bad balls that often get wickets” ...not so sure myself. If that was true, I’d be competing with Muralitharan and Warne to be regarded as the best spinner in recent memory. I think they’ll find it’s the bad shots that get the wickets, as I demonstrated beautifully with that particular ‘shot’.
We went on to lose by 140 runs. Embarrassing to say the least, although we were beaten by a better team to be honest. I walked off the field caked in mud and bruised and battered from numerous slides, blocks and dives, but feeling like I'd at least made a contribution.
Sunday night rolled around, and whilst half of the team made plans for a tour of the city's nightclubs, I made arrangements for an impromptu game of Poker. We've got a few players on our team, and throwing in a tenner apiece, we had a £70 pot. Not big stakes, but enough to make it a game worth winning. In all honesty, I didn't particularly fancy the nightlife - I'm not a huge drinker, and I was already exhausted from the day's exertions, so with another game tomorrow decided that a good night's rest (and a few hard-earned beers in the bar!) might not be a bad thing.
Of course I won the poker.
The next morning arrived, and I didn't feel all that bad. My thighs were a little tight (hopefully that will be the last time I ever have to mention my thighs in this blog again!) and my right shoulder knew it had done some work the day before, but for the most part I felt fine. This was more than could be said for Phil and co, who were queasily chewing down a fried breakfast in the bar and looking thoroughly the worse for wear - it transpired they'd finally rolled out of the taxi at 5am and Sam hadn't even made it onto his bed before crashing out. Apparently, they'd been in the taxi on the way home when they decided to go visit a strip bar. They spent a couple more hours there and then came back to the hotel and a few hours' sleep. The following is a transcript of the conversation which took place while I poured myself an orange juice:
Rich: "Phil?"
Phil: "Yes mate?"
Rich: "That strip bar we went to..."
Phil: "What about it?"
Rich: "I'm just thinking - we were there three hours, and I don't actually remember seeing any t*ts."
Phil: "Come to think of it, neither do I... Sam, can you remember seeing any?"
Sam: "Nope."
Wayne: "Are you telling me we went to a strip club, paid £5 to get in, spent three hours and god knows how much money there and didn't see so much as a nipple?"
Phil: "...bloody cabbie."
I didn't enquire as to why the non-stripping strip club was the fault of the taxi driver. I was too concerned with waiting for Sam to realise that he was pouring salt sachets into his tea and the inevitable hilarity that would follow.
Our motley crew headed on to Leicester for our final game. I was looking forward to this, as our other Leg Spinner had gone back home last night due to uni commitments, and the pitch was dry but the outfield very wet, meaning that the slow bowlers were going to be busy.
So you can imagine my surprise when I was told I'd been dropped for the second game.
"We thought you guys would want to get back early" was the excuse the Sunday captain gave me. Now, bear in mind that Phil (who was driving) was in the team, so unless me and Sam were going to hitch a lift on one of the passing aircraft that appeared to fly over every 30 seconds or so, our methods of getting home were unclear. I thought this excuse was a load of bull and told him so:
(For clarity, the captain of the Sunday team is also called Rich, but isn't the one who went to the non-stripping strip club.)
"Rich, that's crap. Me and Sam are with Phil, you know that."
"Well just stay and support the team then - you both played yesterday and we want to give everyone a game - we can't play 15 people."
"Fair enough, but why me and Sam? I took today off from work so I could come here, and now you tell me I'm not even playing!"
"Well we wanted to play our strongest team"
"Why not tell me two months ago then? I could have saved £25 on the hotel room, and picked up the double time at work for doing a bank holiday... that's about £150 I've lost from being here, which I don't mind, as I came to play cricket, but I'm not even doing that now."
"Well I'm sorry about that, I didn't know, but what do you want me to do about it now?"
"Nothing. I gave my absolute all in the field yesterday - I got back to the hotel and I was bleeding, bruised and exhausted from covering you and Shoe [another one of our players] for 40 overs. I don't want a medal, but I don't expect a slap in the face like this for it either."
"Well we need to give everyone a go..."
"Stop saying that - you've got no intention of giving everyone a go. I've been playing for this club for three years, and I've never batted higher than number eight under you and I've bowled three overs - none of which came under your captaincy. You see me and Sam as guys who make up the numbers when no-one else can be bothered, and I'm not doing that any more. I won't be playing for the Sunday team again."
With that, I walked off before I really said something stupid. I was possibly being a little petulant, and we really did have 15 players to fit into 11 positions, but it was still a slap in the face as far as I was concerned bearing in mind how hard I worked in the field the day before, despite not even getting a bowl. Everything I said to Rich was true, particularly the 'not giving everyone a go' thing. It probably wasn't a smart thing to do, but I was angry and hurt, and had been thinking it for a while.
Whilst being in the process of stomping off, I bumped into the Saturday captain, Tom, who wondered what all the fuss was about. I explained.
"Well play for us then."
"Yeah, but let's face it, if I can't get a game with the Sunday team, what chance have I got with the Saturday team?"
"Plenty. We need players, and you're an improving bowler and a diamond in the field. I can't promise you a bowl every game, but you'll definitely get a chance."
“To be honest, I was thinking of just making a fresh start somewhere else.”
“And what if they’re like Rich? Look, I’ll be honest with you – my reasons for wanting you on the Saturday team are entirely selfish – you’ve only been playing three years, and you’re now starting to be at the stage where you can genuinely contribute to a game, so we’d be stupid to just let you buggar off somewhere else and give them the benefit. Play for the Saturday team this season, and if you still want to go at the end of the season, go for it.”
“Okay, but you know I have weeks where I’m not able to play because of work, right?”
“Doesn’t matter. Let me know when they are, and we’ll work around it. You free this Saturday?”
And that was that. I was a Saturday player.
Phil did a damn good thing and declined to play despite being picked so we could all get home early. We stayed for our batting innings to show some support, but left just before our team took the field to bowl. It was a sombre journey home, despite bumping into the victorious Arsenal Ladies football team in the service station on the way back. I didn’t particularly want to leave the Sunday team, as I like the guys on the team, but I pay my match fees to play cricket, not bat at number 8 and stand at deep midwicket for 40 overs, and if I’m not going to get that on the team I’m on, then it’s time to find somewhere I will.
The journey was enlivened somewhat by my stomach’s inability to process the white-hot curry the Notts boys had served up after the first day’s game. I enjoy a good curry, but those around me twelve hours afterwards tend not to. Every fifteen minutes or so, I’d move slightly in my seat and wait for Sam’s cry of “Oh god, no! Not again!” from the back seat. Opening the windows provided only exacerbated the problem. (As anyone who has ever driven around rural Norfolk will tell you, the distinct aroma of decaying horse manure is never far from the nostrils, and in certain areas, vast steaming mountains of dung can be seen hiding behind trees to catch the unwary and punish their nasal passages.)
At about 10 o’clock, we finally pulled up outside mine. The tour was over. It had been eventful, funny, infuriating and enjoyable in turns, but in a way I was sad it was over. In another I wasn’t. Either way, it was the marking point for my cricketing future – the point at which I decided that I actually wanted to be more than just a ‘cricketer’. I want to be a bowler. I want to play a part in games and I want to win games for my team, whichever team that may be.
Now, before I let you escape (yes, I’m still going on!!), allow me to introduce another feature I’m planning on working into the blog over time – The Alternative Cricket Dictionary – Every sport has terms and words unique to it, and Cricket has more than most. Village Cricket has a slightly different meaning to these words, and I’ll be exploring a few of these from time to time. Here’s the first batch.
The Alternative Cricket Dictionary #1
Slower Ball – In First Class Cricket, a cunningly-disguised ball in between two lightning-fast deliveries designed to catch the batsman out and force him to mis-time his shot. In Village Cricket, a term used by the other fielders to mock the Fast Bowler when he bowls a crap, slow long-hop that the batsman hammers with glee over the fence. Example: “Ha, looks like he picked the ‘slower ball’ Stevo!”
Number Six – Cricketing parlance for the Neanderthal figure that shuffles to the crease dragging the club/bat behind him in one huge paw. This character deals in sixes and wickets only. He once tried to run a quick single and got lost halfway down the pitch. If left unchecked, a rampaging Number Six can ruin your bowler’s day, hammering ball after ball miles over the head of the poor soul standing at Deep Square Leg, who’ll find himself spending more time rooting around in the bushes than George Michael on Hampstead Heath.
Googly – Designed to be a ball bowled by a Leg-Spinner that turns into the right-hander as opposed to away from him. In Village Cricket, this is a Leg Break that hits one of the bumps and divots in the pitch and bounces away from the direction the bowler was trying to make it go. Inevitably never takes a wicket, as the batsman takes an almighty swing at it and edges it onto his foot. The absolute bane of Wicketkeepers everywhere.
Farming The Strike – Often a tactic used by Test and First Class teams when a ‘proper’ batsman is stuck with a bunny to ensure that the lower-order batsman is protected from having to face too many balls and risk losing a valuable wicket. In Village Cricket, often used by crafty batsmen to ensure that they face the clown who’s chucking up six slow full tosses an over, and the other poor sod has to face the demon fast bowler at the other end.
Right, that really is all from me now. The next one won’t be quite as long, I promise!
Jason
hmy:
edladd
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
The length isn't a problem when it's this entertaining Jason - great read!
Fair play for standing up for yourself - it sounds like you've been taken for granted in that team, I don't think Rich has ever re-evaluated you as a player since you started with him and he still sees you as making up the numbers like you said. From the looks of things the Saturday captain is much more open minded which can only be good. Best of luck with them.
The length isn't a problem when it's this entertaining Jason - great read!
Fair play for standing up for yourself - it sounds like you've been taken for granted in that team, I don't think Rich has ever re-evaluated you as a player since you started with him and he still sees you as making up the numbers like you said. From the looks of things the Saturday captain is much more open minded which can only be good. Best of luck with them.
mas cambios
Active Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
Good on you for sticking up for yourself, far too many 'captains' take the piss in that way.
Good on you for sticking up for yourself, far too many 'captains' take the piss in that way.
Wolf
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
Glad my captain is not like that, he tries to give everyone a role in our team. For example, without fail, he will always let this kid who's a couple of years younger than me open the bowling, he has done it for the whole of last season and this season so far, and the confidence it gives him is great, and it shows in his performances.
Glad my captain is not like that, he tries to give everyone a role in our team. For example, without fail, he will always let this kid who's a couple of years younger than me open the bowling, he has done it for the whole of last season and this season so far, and the confidence it gives him is great, and it shows in his performances.
Nightvision
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
In This Blog: Why Riyadh's AA branch is like our Wicket, The Sporting Injury Dignity Scale (SIDS), and a new Fantasy XI Cricketer
First game for the Saturday team last weekend, and to say it was a bad one isn't even close to it.
The team we were facing (St Andrews) weren't a bad team, but the week before, our team had smashed 239 off 45 overs against a far superior bowling attack, so at the very least, it was looking to be a run-fest. The weather gods were clearly preoccupied with the havoc they were causing in Eastern Asia, and as such, forgot to make it rain for a week before the match - as such, the pitch was baked rock hard and drier than a Saudi Arabian Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. If I got a bowl, this was going to be a baptism of fire and then some.
Fortunately, our batsmen negated the need for me to worry. Having won the toss and doing what any captain with even a few synapses still functioning would do in batting first, we lost both openers for a total of five runs.
We then had a cataclysmic middle order collapse, and when I wandered out to bat, the opening bowlers were still going and we were on the verge of equalling our lowest ever score of 40, perched precariously on 32-9 - and I'm not much of a batsman. It wasn't from good bowling or a bad pitch (although the bounce was a little uneven in places), just our batsmen's stubborn refusal to actually block a few balls away and play a couple of shots along the ground before trying to kill passing avians.
Against the odds, we (myself and the Wicketkeeper) did a good job of keeping the opening bowlers at bay to see out their ten overs, and we managed to drag the total to 50 before he went trying to guide a long-hop down to third man and edging it to the man at backward square leg. We had put on 18 for the 11th wicket, which by far and away the biggest partnership of the innings - almost double the next biggest partnership.
Anyway, with a total of 50 to attempt to defend on a dead flat wicket, it didn't need a rocket scientist to work out that we needed to get some wickets quickly to accumulate at least a couple of points. It also didn't take aforementioned boffin to work out that this wasn't the ideal arena to hand your debutant Leggie his maiden overs in competitive (well, as competitive as it's possible to get in a amateur game in one of cricket's "minor" counties, but you know what I mean...) cricket - I'd have been tonked all over the place, achieved nothing and we'd have lost a chance to get points. I was quite happy not to be bowling, to be honest. We got a couple of Wickets to at least claim some points, but it took the opposition less than 15 overs to knock off the runs required. I struggled in the field, as I'd managed to strain my thigh muscle setting off for a quick single while batting, and although I really should have fielded in the slips and rested it to prevent further damage, I took my usual position at Square Leg on the proviso that I would be well backed up. Unfortunately the bloke that was backing me up was slower than me despite the injury, so I ended up having to grit my teeth and get on with it.
A pulled muscle is never a 'bad' injury to have, as it indicates you actually have muscles to pull. It's athletic sounding and gives the impression that it was probably suffered whilst making some vital save, tackle or catch and not that you got it by tripping over the ball or falling down a divot. There's actually a little-known (ie I just made it up) scale for measuring the dignity of a sporting injury. It's the SIDS, or Sporting Injury Dignity Scale. It ranks from 1 to 5 from lowest to highest. Severity of injury does not necessarily equal a high SIDS score - the examples are as follows:
5: This is the grand daddy of sporting injuries. Damaged knee ligaments, Achilles Tendon strains and Metatarsal injuries are all level 5 injuries. If you can name the specific ligament you've wrenched or pulled, bonus points are yours. These injuries will get the maximum amount of sympathy (although that doesn't necessarily mean there will be that much) from the significant other, and the minimum amount of ribbing from your pub buddies. If the injuries were suffered in the act of taking a catch or making a goal-saving tackle, you could be living off the story for weeks.
4: Injuries that, whilst impressive sounding, are comparitively common fit into this category. Torn and pulled muscles (which are the height of agony, I can assure you), broken bones and dislocated shoulders are all good examples of a level 4 injury.
3: There are two types of level 3 injury. There are impressive injuries that were acheived in an unimpressive manner (eg breaking your metatarsal in the act of accidentally kicking the goalkeeper in the head) or relatively mundane injuries like broken fingers, sprained ankles, strained muscles etc.
2: These are injuries that you'd rather no-one knew about. Often these are injuries caused by incompetence - ie a concussion acheived by missing a simple catch and getting hit in the head, or running into the goalpost because you weren't looking where you were going. All but the most spectacularly daft 'groinal' injuries are level twos as well.
1: This is the kind of injury that would make the "...and finally" section on your local news if anyone knew about it, or at the very least youtube. Injuries in this vein are 'birdstrike' (being hit by a low-flying bird), twisting your ankle by slipping over in dog poo, or hitting yourself in the nads with the bat trying to get out of the way of the ball. Level one injuries are often the topic of conversation in pubs for weeks on end, and it's not unknown for a player's injury to follow him around for many months after the physical symptoms have healed.
The SIDS scale answers many of the questions as to why a man can come home with a tiny little scratch on his forearm and complain about it for weeks, yet on another occasion return sans a leg and a couple of fingers and not make a peep about it. Chances are the former was caused in the act of making a stunning catch, and the latter was inflicted by a nest of angry badgers he stumbled upon whilst looking for the ball.
Anyway, sporting injuries and batting collapses aside, it's time for a new Fantasy XI cricketer. Every decent side needs a wily spinner, and this side is no different, so without further ado, allow me to introduce...
Fantasy Cricketer #3 - Gil Grissom
Some of the best spinners around aren't always the ones who get the most turn. Often, a spinner who out-thinks his victims will get more wickets than one who out-bowls them. With this in mind, Gil Grissom could make a particularly crafty off-spinner.
It takes a lot of patience, hard work and a little bit of luck to successfully track down a murderer from a crime scene - three attributes that any spinner will be more than familiar with. Also, any spinner worth his salt will be constantly looking for chinks in his adversary's armour, varying flight, pace and turn in an effort to force the fatal error. Whilst I'm not entirely sure that Grissom has mastery of the finer points of flighting a cricket ball, he certainly has experience in looking for potential weak points in someone's defence. One possible weakness would be one that seems to affect a lot of off-spinners - you'd expect him to be slightly weak in the field. Let's face it, he's not getting younger, and he doesn't really have a frame that suggests 'born athlete' to the casual onlooker. However, we have to take the rough with the smooth when selecting our teams, and the benefits of having a wily spinner in the team vastly outweigh the minor inconvenience of the comical waddle after a rapidly disappearing ball. Batting-wise, I think anywhere other than #11 and you'd be flattering to deceive. If Gil was any more of a bunny, he'd have floppy ears. Once again, I'm guessing with the choice of hand, but Grissom strikes me as a lefty - he just has that 'different' aura about him.
1) James Bond (Left Hand Bat)
2)
3)
4)
5)
6) Jack Bauer (Right Hand Bat, Medium-Fast Right Arm)
7)
8)
9)
10)
11) Gil Grissom (Left Hand Bat, Left Arm Spin)
In This Blog: Why Riyadh's AA branch is like our Wicket, The Sporting Injury Dignity Scale (SIDS), and a new Fantasy XI Cricketer
First game for the Saturday team last weekend, and to say it was a bad one isn't even close to it.
The team we were facing (St Andrews) weren't a bad team, but the week before, our team had smashed 239 off 45 overs against a far superior bowling attack, so at the very least, it was looking to be a run-fest. The weather gods were clearly preoccupied with the havoc they were causing in Eastern Asia, and as such, forgot to make it rain for a week before the match - as such, the pitch was baked rock hard and drier than a Saudi Arabian Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. If I got a bowl, this was going to be a baptism of fire and then some.
Fortunately, our batsmen negated the need for me to worry. Having won the toss and doing what any captain with even a few synapses still functioning would do in batting first, we lost both openers for a total of five runs.
We then had a cataclysmic middle order collapse, and when I wandered out to bat, the opening bowlers were still going and we were on the verge of equalling our lowest ever score of 40, perched precariously on 32-9 - and I'm not much of a batsman. It wasn't from good bowling or a bad pitch (although the bounce was a little uneven in places), just our batsmen's stubborn refusal to actually block a few balls away and play a couple of shots along the ground before trying to kill passing avians.
Against the odds, we (myself and the Wicketkeeper) did a good job of keeping the opening bowlers at bay to see out their ten overs, and we managed to drag the total to 50 before he went trying to guide a long-hop down to third man and edging it to the man at backward square leg. We had put on 18 for the 11th wicket, which by far and away the biggest partnership of the innings - almost double the next biggest partnership.
Anyway, with a total of 50 to attempt to defend on a dead flat wicket, it didn't need a rocket scientist to work out that we needed to get some wickets quickly to accumulate at least a couple of points. It also didn't take aforementioned boffin to work out that this wasn't the ideal arena to hand your debutant Leggie his maiden overs in competitive (well, as competitive as it's possible to get in a amateur game in one of cricket's "minor" counties, but you know what I mean...) cricket - I'd have been tonked all over the place, achieved nothing and we'd have lost a chance to get points. I was quite happy not to be bowling, to be honest. We got a couple of Wickets to at least claim some points, but it took the opposition less than 15 overs to knock off the runs required. I struggled in the field, as I'd managed to strain my thigh muscle setting off for a quick single while batting, and although I really should have fielded in the slips and rested it to prevent further damage, I took my usual position at Square Leg on the proviso that I would be well backed up. Unfortunately the bloke that was backing me up was slower than me despite the injury, so I ended up having to grit my teeth and get on with it.
A pulled muscle is never a 'bad' injury to have, as it indicates you actually have muscles to pull. It's athletic sounding and gives the impression that it was probably suffered whilst making some vital save, tackle or catch and not that you got it by tripping over the ball or falling down a divot. There's actually a little-known (ie I just made it up) scale for measuring the dignity of a sporting injury. It's the SIDS, or Sporting Injury Dignity Scale. It ranks from 1 to 5 from lowest to highest. Severity of injury does not necessarily equal a high SIDS score - the examples are as follows:
5: This is the grand daddy of sporting injuries. Damaged knee ligaments, Achilles Tendon strains and Metatarsal injuries are all level 5 injuries. If you can name the specific ligament you've wrenched or pulled, bonus points are yours. These injuries will get the maximum amount of sympathy (although that doesn't necessarily mean there will be that much) from the significant other, and the minimum amount of ribbing from your pub buddies. If the injuries were suffered in the act of taking a catch or making a goal-saving tackle, you could be living off the story for weeks.
4: Injuries that, whilst impressive sounding, are comparitively common fit into this category. Torn and pulled muscles (which are the height of agony, I can assure you), broken bones and dislocated shoulders are all good examples of a level 4 injury.
3: There are two types of level 3 injury. There are impressive injuries that were acheived in an unimpressive manner (eg breaking your metatarsal in the act of accidentally kicking the goalkeeper in the head) or relatively mundane injuries like broken fingers, sprained ankles, strained muscles etc.
2: These are injuries that you'd rather no-one knew about. Often these are injuries caused by incompetence - ie a concussion acheived by missing a simple catch and getting hit in the head, or running into the goalpost because you weren't looking where you were going. All but the most spectacularly daft 'groinal' injuries are level twos as well.
1: This is the kind of injury that would make the "...and finally" section on your local news if anyone knew about it, or at the very least youtube. Injuries in this vein are 'birdstrike' (being hit by a low-flying bird), twisting your ankle by slipping over in dog poo, or hitting yourself in the nads with the bat trying to get out of the way of the ball. Level one injuries are often the topic of conversation in pubs for weeks on end, and it's not unknown for a player's injury to follow him around for many months after the physical symptoms have healed.
The SIDS scale answers many of the questions as to why a man can come home with a tiny little scratch on his forearm and complain about it for weeks, yet on another occasion return sans a leg and a couple of fingers and not make a peep about it. Chances are the former was caused in the act of making a stunning catch, and the latter was inflicted by a nest of angry badgers he stumbled upon whilst looking for the ball.
Anyway, sporting injuries and batting collapses aside, it's time for a new Fantasy XI cricketer. Every decent side needs a wily spinner, and this side is no different, so without further ado, allow me to introduce...
Fantasy Cricketer #3 - Gil Grissom
Some of the best spinners around aren't always the ones who get the most turn. Often, a spinner who out-thinks his victims will get more wickets than one who out-bowls them. With this in mind, Gil Grissom could make a particularly crafty off-spinner.
It takes a lot of patience, hard work and a little bit of luck to successfully track down a murderer from a crime scene - three attributes that any spinner will be more than familiar with. Also, any spinner worth his salt will be constantly looking for chinks in his adversary's armour, varying flight, pace and turn in an effort to force the fatal error. Whilst I'm not entirely sure that Grissom has mastery of the finer points of flighting a cricket ball, he certainly has experience in looking for potential weak points in someone's defence. One possible weakness would be one that seems to affect a lot of off-spinners - you'd expect him to be slightly weak in the field. Let's face it, he's not getting younger, and he doesn't really have a frame that suggests 'born athlete' to the casual onlooker. However, we have to take the rough with the smooth when selecting our teams, and the benefits of having a wily spinner in the team vastly outweigh the minor inconvenience of the comical waddle after a rapidly disappearing ball. Batting-wise, I think anywhere other than #11 and you'd be flattering to deceive. If Gil was any more of a bunny, he'd have floppy ears. Once again, I'm guessing with the choice of hand, but Grissom strikes me as a lefty - he just has that 'different' aura about him.
1) James Bond (Left Hand Bat)
2)
3)
4)
5)
6) Jack Bauer (Right Hand Bat, Medium-Fast Right Arm)
7)
8)
9)
10)
11) Gil Grissom (Left Hand Bat, Left Arm Spin)
edladd
New Member
Re: Nightvision's Blog
SIDS - it's brilliant!!!
I witnessed a fantastic level 1 a few weeks back. One of the opposition attempted a reverse sweep - but completely missed the ball and took it straight in the stomach. What makes this a level 1 is that his follow through went a bit too far and he clattered himself in the back of the head :laugh:
Great work again Jason - keep it up.
SIDS - it's brilliant!!!
I witnessed a fantastic level 1 a few weeks back. One of the opposition attempted a reverse sweep - but completely missed the ball and took it straight in the stomach. What makes this a level 1 is that his follow through went a bit too far and he clattered himself in the back of the head :laugh:
Great work again Jason - keep it up.