Kevin Im Going to Feed You to My Tarantula
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Dravid's recall: a knee-jerk reaction
Once again, youth has been jettisoned, the system has been done away with, journalist's Saturdays have been ruined and, quite amazingly, Rahul Dravid is back in the one-day team. The same Dravid who was dumped twice over the last four years and overlooked for the World Cup, a chance he silently pined for. WTF? The decision, we are told, is a pragmatic, immediate one: the team is marred by injury and needs Dravid's vault of international experience - he is the seventh-highest run-scorer of all time, with 10,765 runs in 339 matches - and his innate ability to scrap and hold together an innings. But the man in question is 38 years and 207 days and hasn't played an ODI since September 2009, after being recalled two years from being dropped. The scenario then? India's young hopefuls had failed to cope in testing conditions in the lead-up to the Champions Trophy in 2009. The scenario now? Injury to Yuvraj Singh, Cheteshwar Pujara's absence through injury, the apparen
Oakville - our field of dreams
We each have our field of dreams. The space where we first really took to cricket, where we played the game because we just loved the sound of ball (rubber, tennis, cork, whatever) on ball, where we could square-drive like our heroes (Dravid, for me) and mimic bowling actions and try our hands at legspin or left-arm pace and try to intimidate and flourish, and where we could - for an hour, a day - escape the drudgery of school and chores. Maybe it was a parking lot or a sandlot, a maidaan , an open field, a side street, a gulli , a stadium, an terrace. You know what I'm talking about. For me, that field was a beaten up, run down former tennis court tucked away between the magnificent deodar and handsome Indian Chestnut tree and sturdy Himalayan Oak and serene maple trees. A little piece of heaven where in days of yore British, American and Canadian missionaries spent sunny summer afternoons playing tennis and rounders but which by the time my buddies and I took over had withered
Cometh the hour, cometh the Onion
What. A. Session. West Indies didn't survive in Perth but England somehow did in Centurion. Cracking last session. Friedel de Wet, take a bow. At about 5pm South African time, with England four down for about 200, the mood was bordering on dull as the on-air commentators discussed the selection conundrums for both sides ahead of the second Test, with a lot of chatter about whether South Africa should drop de Wet or Ntini for a fit Steyn. There was talk of Ntini's ability to swing the ball away from the left-handers if he found assistance in Durban, but also of how impressive de Wet had been on debut, especially the longer he bowled. Then, in eight overs of the new ball, de Wet turned the game on its head and the commentators were salivating. Tremendous effort by the debutant. Unlike Ntini, he made the batsmen play. That's all you need to do in such situations, and a false shot or two is bound to occur. Sure enough, a solid Trott was done for bounce, the ball skimming the
Source: http://www.sleepingthroughthestatic.com/2009/11/kevin-im-going-to-feed-you-to-my.html
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