cricket with balls

It has not been a good time for entertainers in international cricket.

Graeme Swann has been doing his best, Shoaib has been working hard off the field, and Dave Mohammed did some work in the Champions League.

It isn’t enough.

Since Nel left us there has been a vacuum.

There have been no emotionally unstable vaudeville bowlers around.

Sure Siddle does his bit with chest thumping and guttural screams, but it isn’t the same.

Now the yelling crying almost feline figure of Sreesanth is back, and cricket needs crazy fuckers like him.

Apparently, so do India.

Five wickets on return from a wilderness that only seems to exist for the most promising Pakistan and Indian bowlers.

Sreesanth has come back to save us from bland cricketers.

You might hate him, but that doesn’t matter, crazy is necessary.

And if he cries again, that will be funny too.

Today, alas, he wasn’t so crazy, but unless he has had a lobotomy when he feels safe in this side his natural nutbag self will coming flowing back and instead of praying when he gets a wicket he will take off his top, slap him self with chickens and ride a horse straight out of the ground.

I hope.

Telephone call recorded in Ahmedabad, 9 May 2008
Participants are known only as H and S.

H: Hi babes, how’s it going? Is your face better? I’m so sorry again for the slap.
S: It’s going fine. And I forgive you for the slap. I’m over the slap and want to move on. Making up after we fought was the sweetest pleasure I’ve ever known.
H: Same for me too.

S: People still don’t really believe we’ve made up though. Even when we said that we wanted to share a room, they just laughed. Is it time to leak our special video?
H: No, no, no, that’s the nuclear option and must be kept only for the most exceptional circumstances.
S: But what else do we have left?
H: What about a special ceremony publicly declaring our feelings each other?
S: Good idea H. We’d better start planning it.

H: We’d walk in together to “My Heart Will Go On”.
S: Oh. I was hoping for Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits.
H: It’s “My Heart Will Go On” or I’m not doing it.

S: OK, ok, calm down.
H: I’m perfectly calm.
S: Oh let’s not fight again baby.

H: Then I thought we’d have a reading. Andrew Symonds could read an exerpt from “The Prophet”.
S: Oh, yes, I like that.
H: Then I want to sing “Hurt” by Christina Aguilera, to you.
S: And I’ll sing “You’re Still The One” by Shania Twain, to you.
H: Then another reading: Ricky Ponting, sonnet 120 – “That you were once unkind befriends me now”.

S: Then a song for all present to sing together.
H: “Hit me baby one more time”?
S: That’s not funny.
H: Sorry. What about “Hit me with your rhythm stick?”
S: Again, not funny.
H: What about Tom Lehrer’s “Masochism Tango”?
S: *cries*
H: FINE. What do you want then? Roy Orbison “Crying”?
S: “Drama” by Erasure.

H: (sigh). Fine. Then, we could convey how we feel for each other through the medium of interpretive dance.

S: We also need to decide on what we wear.
H: I was thinking powder blue Hedi Slimane suits.
S: Excellent call.

H: Well, I think we’ve pretty much got this wrapped so hang up now S.
S: No you hang up.
H: No you hang up.
S: Let’s both hang up at the same time.
H: ok.

(5 seconds pass)

H: You’re still there aren’t you?
S: Yes. but so are you
H: Right now we really are going (hangs up).
S: Are you still there? Hello? *cries*.

Thanks to commenter “Indian” for the tip off.

One of my vigilant readers sent me an email saying:

Not sure if you’d caught up on the fact that Mark Vemuelen is considering a comeback.

Apparently he just wants a couple of matches…

Thanks LG

This caught my eye for two reasons, one he made a great arson related pun.

And two, because it is true.

The man who was deemed too mentally ill to commit arson wants to come back to international cricket.

Ofcourse he hasn’t mentioned that the reason he left international cricket was that Irfan Pathan hit him with a cream pie.

But should we let mentally ill people play cricket.

It’s an interesting question, so I posed it to Andre Nel.

He head butted me.

So I asked Sreesanth, but he ran away stripped down naked and was flicking away imaginary rats.

I got hold of Michael Clarke, who said

“Narcisscism is not a mental illness you know, it’s a personality disorder”.

From there I contacted Freddy Flintoff, but he couldn’t hear me in his hyperbaric chamber.

I talked to Shoaib, he seemed to really warm to me, I spoke to him for about ten minutes, before he turned to his minder and said

“I don’t think this guy has any coke”.

After all that I got hold of Jesse Ryder.

“Fu©ked if I know mate, can you hold that Tequila for me, my hand is fu©ken killing me”.

Everyone is laughing at Sreesanth.

Justifiably.

But Fast bowlers are an emotional dichotomy.

Shaun Tait wants to rip heads off, but the stress of not doing so makes him sad.

Brett Lee wants to be a nice guy, but every now and then he forgets and bowls beamers.

Dale Steyn is South African.

Steve Harmison is part animal, part machine. Problem is, it’s a guinea pig and an electric tie organiser.

Shane Bond is made of Ice Cream, chocolate chip.

And Andre Nel cried when he hit Allan Donald in a domestic game.

That’s right Andre Nel, Sreesanth’s sick adopted brother, has also cried on the cricket field.

Sure his was because he smashed his idol in the face with an angry bouncer, not because a little girly man slapped him, but a cry is a cry.

Perhaps mentalist fast bowlers aren’t as tough as we always thought they were.

Maybe Thommo cries every time he mispronounces Glenn McGrath’s name.

Chances are Demon Fred Spofforth got upset every time he didn’t get a hat trick.

Fiery Fred Trueman may have reached for the tissues when the selectors overlooked him for a more “gentlemanly” chap.

Craig McDermott probably bawls every time he miss places his video camera.

Perhaps even the mighty Wes Hall cried when he broke Colin Cowdrey’s arm.

I guess fast bowlers do have feelings.

Who knew.

Men can cry.

Michael Jordan has cried.

George W Bush has cried.

Even Hilary Clinton has cried.

In this day and age men crying isn’t held as wimpy as it once was.

People now even see men crying as way more acceptable than women crying.

The world has changed.

But two indian men, one feminine enough to slap another man, another feminine enough to cry about it, are testing the worlds new found acceptance of male bawling.

Sreesanth cried because a man slapped him.

Is there any coming back from that.

Was only days ago I talked about how cool he was via blog and podcast.

The whole angry man fast bowler thing was back, he was abusing people and being a giant @ss clown, just how I like it.

Now he is crying after Bhaji, of all people, slapped him.

This is how I would have expected this story to go.

Harbhajan Singh is in critical condition in Mumbain Indian hospital today, after an incident with his Indian team mate and IPL sparring partner Sreesanth. Bhaji allegedly slapped Sreesanth, before Sreesanth slammed his head into a wall an unknown amount of times leaving Bhaji severely injured. No charges have been laid, but Sreesanth is helping police with their enquries.

I would not have expected this.

Harbhajan slaps Sreesanth, who then cries in the corner naked and wet, waiting for his mother to bring over his favourite blanky.

Sreesanth is apparently a big fan of NZ folk music.

So this is in his honour.

I’m not crying
It’s just been raining
on my face
And if you think you see some tear tracks down my cheeks
Please. Pleasee, don’t tell my mates
I’m not crying
No, I’m not crying
And if I am crying
It’s not because of you
It’s because I’m thinking about a friend of mine who you don’t know who is dying
That’s right, dying
These aren’t tears of sadness because you’re leaving me
I’ve just been cutting onions
I’m making a lasagna
For one
Oh, I’m not crying
No
There’s just a little bit of dust in my eye
That’s from the path that you made when you said your goodbye
I’m not weeping because you won’t be here to hold my hand
For your information there’s an inflammation in my tear gland
I’m not upset because you left me this way
My eyes are just a little sweaty today
They’ve been looking around
They’re like searching for you
They’ve been looking for you
Even though I told them not to
These aren’t tears of sadness
They’re tears of joy
I’m just laughing
Ha ha ha-ha ha
I’m sitting at this table called love
Staring down at the irony of life
How come we’ve reached this fork in the road
And yet it cuts like a knife’
I’m not crying
I’m not crying
I’m not cry-y-y-y-
-y-y-y-y-ing