As you can tell, Cow Tse Tung isn't the happiest chappy around, after Australia's dismal losses to the Pommies and the Kiwi. No more Pom jokes. I'll even spare the sheepfuckers. And definitely no Aussie players on this blog for a while. Yes. Aussie cricket boycott.
Right, first, we see the supposedly athletically challenged Monty Panesar, on cloud nine. Paul Nixon tries to emulate the new Flying Sikh (with all due respect to the real Flying Sikh, Milkha Singh) but fails miserably. 'White men can't jump', they say. Also, this might be because of the "heavy water" within Nixon. As you can see, he is clearly a Chernobyl survivor. His teeth say it all in the above picture. He's like a beacon behind the stumps, guiding the bowlers using his neon glow.
But this guy Nixon, he might be a shit batsman and a radioactive freak, yet is a great motivator. He's utilizing the Indian connection to the maximum, as next on, another player of Indian origin, Ravi Bopara is caught defying gravity, and Nixon seems to be the driving force behind him. The roles have reversed. The Indians are seeking spiritual guidance from the West, and gurus like Nixon are helping us curries levitate. ARGH. I don't find any humor in cricket since Australia lost. Sobs. Goodbye pretty world.
Pictured above is British cricket star, and spinner par excellence, Monty Panesar, dropping a 100 at the orders of his coach after his umpteenth misfield to background music by The Midfield General, after which a decision was taken by the CTT Bored of Directors to rename him as "The Misfield General". Very apt.
Hey kids, turn off your toons.Hey adults, turn off your sitcoms, skits, and whathaveyous. Cricket is 360 degree entertainment now.
On Thursday, Missus Cow Tse Tung, who's not really a cow, but can be one when she's in a not-so-good mood took me to Youtube and showed me the real reason (and it definitely was bronchitis) why Brett Lee missed the first ODI game of the Commonwealth Bank (DIE CBA DIE) series against that pitiful excuse for a cricket team, England. Yessir, the bitter truth was exposed to me, right before our season-opening one-dayer. Twat Lee was away, in quest of Liz Kemp, Mark Deux, in tandem with matchmaker, and screechy BollyWoof bitch, Ass-uh Boo-Sleigh (post-Christmas carol time). It was possibly the worst romantic number I have ever heard in my life, and I think even Medusa would turn down Adonis were he to serenade her with a song like this.
Yo Brett, if you sing shitty songs like this, I'm not too shocked you end up with bronchitis. Even pests and bacteria and bugs find tracks like that highly annoying. First, you have INXS, who come up with a classy Indo-Aussie vid...and then Twat Lee And Asha Bhosle wreck it all.
Then, on Friday, I came back from work, hoping to see England put up a decent fight against the Aussies, but what do I get to see? Reports of Mcgrath breaking Pietersen's ribs. The stupid fuck was giving McGrath the charge AGAIN, and this time, he got what he's deserved for over a month now. If you thought that was enough, no sir. You had to watch England's innings. Flintoff, first over, gives wides I can't even keep a count of. The keeper, Paul Nixon - no relation to my idol and fellow slimeball, Richard Nixon - freaking dives AFTER the ball has passed him. No worries matey. You can still redeem yourself yet.
What do I see next? A magic fumble. The keeper is looking at say 5 ft height, when the ball strikes him a bit above his pads. Ouch.
OKAY! Still no worries...what could go worse?
Next on, as I await that great redemption, what does Nixon go and do? He dives in front of first slip, trying to take the ball, but instead ensures Australia get a 4 off yet another Flintoff wide.
Seems like Panesar didn't want to be left out of the fun. He's my favorite cricketer these days, and that's mainly coz he's such a simpleton. I love his no-frills, no ego, competitive attitude. What I can't get is his fielding. First up, he nearly trips Sajid Mahmood as they head back to their positions after saving a boundary, and then, instead of going for a catch, like a true Indian, he waits for the ball to bounce, lest he injure his dainty hands. You're an international cricketer - try and convert those half-chances. Catching the ball won't hurt that much. ARGH! I take back my ARGH, actually - it reminded me of people I played cricket with as a kid, and how me, being Jonty Rhodes incarnate, or thereabouts, going, "the ball's not gonna eat ya, pussy. Get your paws to EAT ze BALL". No double entendre, please.
Nuff' said. I turned the TV off after a hearty, healthy laugh, and went back to listen to my favorite new song...Asha Bhosle featuring Brett Lee in "You Are The One For Me". Disgusting.
I dare you to watch it right here, right now, and disagree with my assessment...and don't stone me for putting this up - curries are actually buying enough copies of the single to make it a chartbuster back in my former motherland.
Man, after the 2005 Ashes, everybody would go on and on about human beer-cask, Man-brew Glintoff's cricketing genius, and coach Dunkin' Donuts Stretcher's coaching wizardry. I was getting sick of it, until this Ashes series, when the glint off Glintoff's supposed cricketing brilliance wore off. And what made me even happier was Coach Dunkin's team requiring stretchers, after their comprehensive defeats. Very satisfying. Revenge, sweet, revenge.
Anyway, so there have been recent news reports about Coach Dunkin' Donuts and Captain Glint-off not seeing eye to eye on matters as diverse as selection...and ummm...selection. Cases in example are wicketkeeper, Chris Steed, Monty Dancer (not stripper), and whoever else they brought over from England (and they did bring a fair number of players over). This picture clearly proves that the Coach and the Captain have the same thing on their minds - so why all this crap about not thinking alike etc.?
