After a good couple of years today is the day that we reach the end of our road (for now). I have thoroughly enjoyed every minute of putting my own thoughts onto this blog and reading the many musings by the learned other writers and those of your good selves in the comments.
I hope that this is not the end - there are some noises of awakening the beast from cryosleep in the future - but for now you can still browse the archives and perhaps enjoy some of my personal favourites from our time here. Like:
Carrie Dunn's fabulously vitriolic rant about everybody's favourite fast-bowler Shoaib Akhtar, and the robust comments that followed
The Tooting Trumpet's analysis of just how instrumental leg-byes can be to a result, and his questioning of the orthodox thinking that boundaries win one-day matches.
And what of my musings? Well, it's hard to comment on your own work, but reading back I did like the pieces about Steve Harmison's retirement, the lament of the West Indies on their tour of England, and the 10 rules of cricket we all wish are real. Maybe you could leave a link to your favourites in the comments.
Hope to see you all soon; it's been emotional...
Sreesanth weeps like a prom queen with a ripped dress whose boyfriend has done one with the class slapper
Billy Godleman flicks into the leg side (wearing a very silly jumper)
Obviously the crew at the Shed aren't the only souls upset at the closing of The Googly on the eve of the northern international summer. Sreesanth's pink Punjabi pyjamas has caused his feminine side to shine and upon hearing of the council decision to condemn, demolish and redevelop the dungeon he couldn't hold back the tears when his boyfriend told him the sad but inevitable news.
I propose a last ditch caption contest for this photograph. Give us your best shot and celebrate what has been one of the funniest blogs in the English blogging pavilion.
At the Shed, we will be soldiering on at 99.94 with regular contributions from The Tooting Trumpet and if we win the lottery and hide his drumsticks, perhaps the esteemed editor of this publication too.
It's been a fun ride. I'm sure we'll all cross paths again. And anything that makes Sreesanth sook, in my book, can't be all bad!
This is my farewell piece here for the Googly and it's hard to know where to begin or what to write. With only one piece left, I wondered whether to continue with the off-stage antics of Shane Warne - thinking the tram-crash fest in Melbourne last week - or whether to write about something closer to home.
I've chosen home because I'm sure you all know about the other thing! So last weekend I went to our season opener. A triangualar tournament of Twenty/20s between Lossie, Elgin and Fochabers. What a day to open the cricket season. Minus about 10, no-one there but me and the prettiest ground in the north-east looking dreadful because all the trees are still in full winter mode.
A ground that delights in being situated beside the Spey and lined on all sides by lovely trees was left looking like a 12 year-old's football playground at the side of the A96!
April 25, 2008 | Permalink
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In Categories: Australian cricket, BellWatch, County Cricket - 2007, General musings, Indian Premier League, Meet the Writers, News Pavilion, One to Watch, The Thunder Downunder
As you may have picked up from some previous posts by mimi and The Tooting Trumpet things here at The Googly are winding down as the blog heads into a state of temporary retirement at the end of April.
As editor, I would like to thank everybody that has contributed to this site in any way; as writer, reader, visitor, in the comments and some of you who have emailed me directly. It has been a great ride and I have enjoyed every second of it.
We will be continuing to post until the end of the month, and will feature some of our favourites from times gone by. It will be a lovely last week: a bit like the last episode of Friends, only not as cloyingly sentimental and a lot less shit.
Allen Stanford is a very clever man, or at least I assume he is, as you don't become a multi-billionnaire if you have the brains of a Kookaburra bat. However, he has said some things today that make me question his intelligence, if not his sanity.
Take this one, for example, "I'm hugely impressed by their [ECB] organisational capacity." He said that without laughing, by the way. He then followed it with this purler: "Twenty20 has the potential to be the most popular team sport in the whole world in maybe less than 10 years." Eh?
Far be it from me to question a man as successful as he is, but is he serious? Twenty20 is still cricket, no matter how you commercialise it, and given that only a handful of ex-British Empire countries are really in any way interested in it I find his prediction doubtful. And by doubtful, I mean bordering on bonkers. But he's a visionary is Allen, and he may very well prove me wrong. Do you think he will?
Following Mimi yesterday, The Trumpet bids his readers a fond farewell on this St Georges Day. I owe great thanks to fellow scribblers, Mimi and Nestaquin, and, especially, our editor Lee Calvert, who gave me this opportunity in return for an exotic cocktail . Of course, I am particularly grateful to those readers who troubled to comment on my pieces, some of whom I am now proud to call friends.
Cricket stands in an extraordinary place in April 2008 - the future is unclear, but it's been that way before. I hope to write about that future in other places (sometimes as MouthoftheMersey) and I hope to meet some of you there.
Thanks to you all and to the wonderful players of this Greatest of Games.
Peace be with you.
[The Tooting Trumpet]
Really cheers you up, does it not?
McCullum's innings was fabulous - a perfect boon for the organisers and their vastly-pumped money - but what people forget is that the match itself dissolved into a uncompetitive victory parade. There has been nothing occuring here that does not happen in the county Twenty20 championship in England. Lest we forget, prior to McCullum's butchering the highest score in this form was by Cameron White playing for boring old Somerset in a boring old county match. Yes, the second match between Chennai and Punjab was tight and exciting, but so was Kent vs Gloucestershire on Finals day last year.
The IPL is a triumph for marketing, a few ego-maniacs off the field, and players who like lots of money. It may change cricket forever, but only by simply causing a shift in the international calendar, leaving the month of April and early May free for the competition. Hardly Packer and the WSC is it?
If you strip away all the gold trousers, silly team names, dancing girls and umpires in daft clobber, all you have is another game of cricket. Pretty soon the paying public are going to work that out.
Michael “Michael Vaughan” Vaughan is agitating for a shift in the batting order following his piss-poor 20.50 average in New Zealand. Apparently, it’s because he was opening that he batted like he was wearing an eye-patch on both eyes, and he prefers batting and three, and Strauss likes opening. Problem solved. Or not.
"I have felt the best when I have been batting at three and I score a lot more runs then so that is an easy change," he said. But, let’s apply a modicum of analysis to this statement shall we? “OH YES!” I hear you cry.
King Cricket’s chubby obsession, RWT Key, has started on the international comeback trail by getting himself named in the England Performance Squad. This means that the ECB can give him a contract at any time during the year, which is a possible double-edged sword for the big fella.
On the one hand, he will be back playing for his country, but on the other the management could stop him eating pies and drinking 47 pints of Bombardier a night. He could always switch to Michelob Ultra, I suppose.
In other EPS news, Adil Rashid is in. If the experience of another young leggie is anything to go by, this will be followed by a disastrous debut. After this he will be dropped; play less frequently for his county; be sacked by his county; sue his county; win; do some painting and decorating for a few years; then signing Surrey.
Here it is, in all its McCullum bowler-mangling glory...