cricket with balls

There was Lionel Ritchie singing with his microphone turned down. And other western acts.

Some drag queen dancing acts, except with the drag queens.

Bollywood stuff seemed to be happening as well.

Costumes that some people were comparing to klu klux klan on twitter.

Then Ravi yelled.

Andy Bichel did some commentary, he sounded like Danny Morrison on ketamine.

Lalit was missing most of the time, but in his place was a lady in a red dress, an obvious homage to the Matrix.

Brad Hodge looked pissed off.

Many snatch shots of the cheerleaders, none on super slow mo, maybe next year.

Angelo Mathews continues to not exist.

The Chargers song was remixed, still shit though.

Owais Shah had cut down his sleeves to show off the guns.

There were time outs, but they weren’t strategically named, but they were strategically used.

The IPL has ads between the balls, they are louder and less awkward than the Channel 9 versions.

ITV brought out Hoggard, Hick and some dude and some Indian chick for their coverage. Hoggy was ok, the rest were ordinary and only the Indian chick had done any research.

Gilly seemed to keep hitting the ball in the air and not getting caught.

I never thought I’d say this, but I wanted fake smiles from SRK.

Rohit Sharma continues to vie for Indian batsmen most likely to be assassinated.

The game fizzled out.

The Windies beat Zimbabwe.

Nap.

The IPL has started, not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with a carefully stage managed event that had shit western acts, lots of dancing, two teams making decent totals and Andy Bichel.

He made two hundreds in his second test.

In his fifth test he was worked out with the short ball that didn’t get him out.

He was dropped because he was being bullied.

Then he was ignored when Australia came home.

He made very little runs early in the season.

At the moment two former test openers have made more than him, and so did 11 other shield cricketers (including smooth eddie).

His only first class century for the year came against an attack being lead by Andrew McDonald and according to cricinfo he gave three chances.

Now he is back.

Why?

If he had gone back to shield cricket and lit it up, I’d understand, but he has just been ok.

I’m not sure making runs against a Victorian attack with its top 5 quick bowlers injured really counts.

And no one has pimped Phil Hughes like I have.

I’m pretty much his biggest fan, other than, no, it is me.

Remember the days when Ponting was injured or rested and Brad Hodge came in.

That was a simpler time.

There is more than a passing reference to P Hughes in this book.

I am sad that Brad Hodge has decided to retire from first class cricket, thus ending any potential engagements as Ricky’s understudy.

Sure I like to take the piss when it comes to Bradley, but he doesn’t make it hard, does he?

Brad never met a microphone/reporter/human/robot he didn’t like to tell that he should be playing for Australia.

He even tried for stand up comedy duties of recent times, with his lawn bowls bit.

The man leaves test cricket with a double hundred against South Africa and an average of 55.  He also added 17000 odd runs in first class cricket.

Brad was one of those that was seen to have a weakness, but not allowed to prove that he didn’t, instead he and his test average of 55 were stamped “shit outside off”.  Perhaps he could get work counselling young Phil.

I was there at the start with Brad, I remember his breakthrough year that had crusty old Victorians giddy with excitement at this teenage batting prodigy, but I was also there when he got dropped, was all but forgotten, and those many seasons when he only average in the 20s.

Victoria’s fortunes were often in his hands. In the late 90s, when he was shit, so was Victoria, but the bigger his ego and output became, the better Victoria was.

In the year 2000 he was re-born and his ego was finally fulfilled as he became the Brad Hodge we know now.

He had that shocking Victorian trait of starting an innings so nervously you can’t believe he will ever come good, but when he does, and those effortless cover drives and flicks off the pads come in you can’t see how anyone could get him out.

The Herald Sun ran a picture of him yesterday that makes him look like some fresh faced politician looking for pre-selection in a State Labour seat.  Even down to the touch of grey coming through.  When a cricketer stops dying his hair, you know the end is coming soon.

I may like taking the piss when it comes to Brad, but to give a bloke six tests who bats like him makes me think the selectors do even more.

Well played Brad, I can’t wait for the quotes now that you are free of corporate restraint.

We will miss the Ego.

I received an email today.

In no way can I verify its authenticity.

However, my journalistic integrity means I must repeat this email in full:

Dear arse muncher,

I’m fucken quitting.  I’ve had enough. Fuck Hilditch, Hohns and all of them. They can all burn in hell. I was told explicitly that I was to fill any vacancy by any Tasmanian cocksucker that was injured, but now Hilfy breaks down and they pick Clint McKay.  Now I like Clint, I taught him everything he knows, but why have the imitator when you can have the original.  The selectors know I can open the bowling, I am Brad fucken Hodge, I can do everything.  Cocksuckers. I’ll still make my money in the IPL and show the world my true talents.  As for you, you abusive cunt, fuck you.  You talk up every fucken Victorian out there and just take the piss out of me every fucken chance you get.  You bastard. Always picking and talking shit, I fucken hate you.

Brad

Poetic.

Brad Hodge’s life is in turmoil.

He had already packed his sunscreen and floppy hat, and now he finds out that Shane Watson only has a minor thigh complaint.

It is a low grade strain.

But what is low grade with Shane Watson.

When he cuts himself shaving, his head almost falls off.

Once Watson gets injured, it is not an easy fix.

It takes forever.

They will need specialists to rebuild.

Plastic surgeons will be called.

Astro-physicists need to be consulted.

And a tarot reader will need to find the perfect date for him to come back.

While all this re-building is going on, poor Andrew Hilditch will be getting about 247 calls a day from the bloke that comes up on his phone as ‘that annoying victorian prick’.