The Carnivore Kiwi…

The World Cup that I, Cassandra, thought would be a tired affair has blessed us with another splendid ton, this time from the bat of New Zealand’s Ross Taylor. In the last overs of what had been a quiet Kiwi innings he launched a terrific blitz against the Pakistani side; thumping boundary after boundary and displaying how variable power relations are in cricket. Generally the bowlers are the real aggressors. Sure, the batsmen try to pick up runs but only they face death with every moment that’s played; only their opponent can release the killer blow. Yet sometimes a batsman comes along – Viv, Ian, Kevin – who’s so damned aggressive that like a rhinoceros who charges towards a shaking barrel the hunted becomes the proverbial. Taylor was one of the few batsmen I’ve seen who’ve made their foes seem terrified of bowling. They ran in as if the fresh-cut grass was a Burmese swamp and tried to navigate the ball past him with all the fear of a parent trying to maneuver their child past a lion. I almost felt sorry for them. But, then again, I didn’t.

Published in: on March 9, 2011 at 3:33 am  Leave a Comment  
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Irish To End Catholic/Protestant Confusion And Start Worshipping Kevin O’Brien…

Richards. Botham. Khan. Stand aside, me lads, and let Kevin O’Brien take the spotlight. Few expected this young, flame-haired Irishman to thwack his side to victory – like North Korea fighting back from 3-nil down to whup Brazil in the World Cup – but as six after six began to hurtle into the crowd one heard the English nerves jangle like wind chimes in a hurricane. He leant into each delivery, ball meeting bat as if their union was preordained. That’s the mark of great big hitting: one can hardly comprehend that it was all spontaneous. Could Botham’s ’81 hundred match up to it? Well, perhaps in skill but not in spectacle. The Aussie’s had an innings left; it could have been for nought. More analogous might be the 5th Ashes test, 1902, where Gilbert Jessop wandered out with England five down and two hundred still to get and whacked them there so quickly that half-finished cigarettes would still be lit. At a stroke – or, well, about fifty strokes – he’s justified the presence of the “minnows” – big teeth for small fish, eh? – and won Ireland more international acclaim that its new statesmen ever could. What an innings.

Published in: on March 2, 2011 at 5:04 pm  Leave a Comment