Happy New Year Punter!!

Happy New Year Punter!!

What a relief it was to get the nay-sayers off your back. It seems as though in this country once you pass a certain age the knives come out for sharpening. The Australian media has a long history of hounding batsmen (most of them champions) once they lose form past the age of about 32. Stephen Waugh copped it, so to Brian Lara when he visited these shores.



Brian Lara's stunning pull shot



The problem is, the men who sharpen these knives whilst I'm sure have impressive credentials hanging from their study room walls, have little to no cricketing credentials whatsoever. They call upon statistics to support their claims but statistics can be manipulated to create any picture you want to paint. Take for example Michael Hussey, before this series began apparently his position in the side was clouded. After all he had had a lean return from the previous two 2-test series against the Protea's and the Kiwi's. While statistically that is accurate, what is also accurate is that he was convincingly the leading run scorer on the previous tour of Sri Lanka and fought single handedly against the best bowling attack in the world during the Ashes.

Then there are the technical sides of the game they begin to pick apart, with limited expertise to back their claims.

With Brian Lara they claimed in middle age he became jumpy at the crease, Lara had always had an exaggerated back and across movement. It was born out of being bought up playing against much taller men extracting extraordinary bounce, it was a mechanism to get on top of the bounce and allow him to play the lethal pull and cut shots he was famous for.

When Mike Hussey was out of form they claimed he was beginning to show weaknesses out the off stump while Steve Waugh began showing an increasing awkwardness behind the short ball. Even Dravid and the great Tendulkar came under fire when they lost that ever elusive yet critical element 'form' in '08' and '06' respectively.

Now we come to Ponting, while his figures over the past few years have been underwhelming to say the least, something he has agreed to, you don’t write off champions.

For the wolves that have been circling and have an affliction with statistics Punter gave them a smorgasbord to feast upon. No Test hundreds since 2009, an average of 26 in the past two years and so on.

Then came the technical analysis. There were claims the extra weight of his new rug had exaggerated his head movement falling across to the off side, his trigger movement had become exacerbated, his movements were jerky and his pull shot nullified as his reflexes dimmed and confidence was battered after a Kemar Roach throat ball.

The truth is, every batsmen has technical weaknesses, it’s just a matter of minimizing the weak and amplifying the strong. Watching advertisements during the Boxing Day test when Punter flogged a dodgy brand of vitamins which, if they have you believe give you super human strength, flashed images of Punter in his hay day scoring back to back double hundreds.

The images proved to me what I had long believed; Ponting has always been jerky at the crease. It stems from a sharp open faced back lift towards 3rd slip and a baseball style front foot pump which allows him to play his cuts, back and front foot drives, flicks through mid-wicket and that famous swivel pull shot!!

It also makes him prone to exaggerated movements across his stumps particularly early in his innings, opening up the chance for LBW and nicks into the cordon, modes of dismissal we've seen all too often in the past 18 months.     

For me the turning point came early last year in the World Cup semi final versus the Indian's themselves, he had long been out of form and was fighting against playing the way he had done all his career and playing a slightly more subdued game without the dominance he expected of himself.

When Tendulkar went through his battle's he stripped back his technique to the bare essentials, productive foot movement, presenting the full face and shedding the egotistical part of his mindset that wanted to dominate to become a run accumulator. Ponting likewise had to find his way, not easy for two players used to having their way with the world’s best for well over a decade. One adjustment is the selection of his pull shots, gone are the days when he could hook the world’s deadliest from back of a length, now the reality is, like the rest of the mortals he needs to play the shot with an element of discern.

Muddied but not beaten

In these past few innings the blueprint has been laid, this is the way forward for Ponting’s career. It was appropriate to see the street fighter from the back alleys of Mowbray, stand up and receive generous applause shirt muddied and spitting dirt after the scrap of his career!!

En-gah-lund (Part 5)

The following weeks things slowed down a little as the responsibility of employment took over. My initial weeks were spent acclimatising to taking calls on the 'frontline', frontline was put in place so clients could speak to a person instead of an automated machine message. Im sure Im not the only one who's been caught out on a late night trying to get home only to be answered by a robot saying 'We have your address at 7 Gambir Sq, Bondi, is this correct?'... 'No, its not fucken correct I dont live in Sydney you silly tart!!'

Anyway it was a good opportunity to get to meet some non cricket related colleagues. Within one short week I had already been invited out to join them for a Friday night drink at their regular haunt the (Egg and Spoon!?) and before you knew it was downing pints and enjoying the gaming machines on offer. The machines in England are much different to those down under, for starters the games were normally of the quiz variety and required some sort of brain function and took time to get through. Secondly you were playing for a pittance so there was never any chance of financial gain, so unlike Australia it wasnt a case of mindlessly slapping away the kids inheritance and college fund.

Between shifts I was still able to fit in the odd game of cricket, on one such weekend I turned up late on a Saturday afternoon to watch the conclusion of the first's team game. After a bit of a Friday session the previous night I was slightly dusty and engaged in a hair of the dog. In England its not unusual to have a beer with a 'top', otherwise known as a 'Shandy' this made it sweeter and makes for easier drinking and unlike Australia requesting it is not followed by queiries regarding your sexuality.

After the firsts had finished I was joined in the bar by the club's premiere batsmen keeper and according to himself also the clubs finest drinker Mark Hatting. 'Hatty' wasnt the world’s biggest man (roughly my size) but pound for pound could match it with anyone, so of course backing my ability, it wasnt long before the challenge was laid.

We settled into (Sleazy corner) with Mrs Sterlo talking filth and ordered some greasy pizza's before last drinks were called at 10:30. When confronted with this for the first time I was somewhat shocked, it was a far cry from the nights at Western Districts which finished well into the :am.

However on this occasion, Mennis had in hand a spare key he had acquired and we all made our way out to one of the sightboards where we waited for the cleaners to finish hoovering the clubhouse before we snuck back in. Truth be known, they were fully aware what was going on and there was an unwritten rule that said if we didnt take care of the clubhouse and tab then the key would be confiscated.

So Hatty and I continued with our beer swilling before pulling up stumps before our game the following day, declaring it a draw and leaving with a new found respect for each other. They made their way home while I made my way to the changing sheds to make myself a Bear Gryll's style bed out of left over thigh guards, miscellaneous pads then topping it off with a series of wool knit sweaters for blankets and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I woke up ROUGH, I mean REALLY rough. Now I have had my fair share of hangovers but this was something else, the seriousness of the situation was confirmed when minutes later I rushed to the change room toilets confronted with a question no man should have to answer...'Do I spew in to crap or crap in to spew?' After a moments hesitation I decided that I could handle snapping one of into some chunder but there was no fucking way I was spewing into a freshly spray painted toilet bowl. DIS-GUST-ING!!

Somehow I manoeuvred myself from the toilets and underneath a shower in an attempt to ready myself for the days play, I lay in the feotal position on the floor for the next 45 minutes with my body temperature fluctuating between FREEZING FUCKING COLD to BOILING BLOODY HOT with only the slightest adjustments of the tap.

Luckily for me the game was called off because of heavy rain, not that I could have have taken part anyway. Anyone who has spent time around cricketers knows they are not the most sympathetic of creatures and my state was the cause of great mirth around the change room. When Hatty caught wind of my state he walked in with arms raised claiming the championship with a TKO.... I was in no state to argue and when I heard once the game was called off he backed up that day I agreed he was a worthy champion.

Meanwhile I was bundled into the back of Mennis' car making my way back to his place to be laid on my death bed, his mother simply said 'what have you done to him?!' when she saw the shell of a man I had become overnight. At this stage the water I was ingesting wasnt staying put and the only relief I could gain was in the form of a cold wash cloth on my overheating forehead!!

On the Monday I felt only slightly better and was able to manage some water but food was still a 'no-no' so I called in sick and felt sorry for myself watching movies for the rest of the day.

When back at work on the Tuesday still not 100% I was asked to complete a 're-admission' into work interview (a rather invasive protocol) to answer questions on my illness. When quizzed:

 'What do you think was the cause of your illness?!"

I could only reply:

'I couldn’t be sure but I think it must have been some of that greasy pizza from Saturday night!!' 

En-gal-lund part 4

Mick being the most organized and conscientious man alive, set the alarm for 6am local time..he figured that if he set his alarms and kept his body clock closely aligned to Australian time he would suffer less jet lag, it was either genius or OCD.

After a quick shower we strolled the sights of London, making our way past Buckingham Palace, Harrods, Big Ben and many other famous landmarks capturing photo's as we went. We walked past a statue and I noticed a security type figure patrolling the area with an eagle on a leash taped to his arm, when I asked what was its purpose Mick told me that because of the pigeon plague in London the eagle scared them away thus leaving the statue pigeon shit free. It was an enjoyable morning and after a continental breakfast in Michael's plush hotel, I made my way back to Croydon for yet another game of cricket.

I caught up with Menace and he chauffeured me to the game, it was a beautiful day for cricket and the first time I'd celebrated my birthday in summer. The wicket was a cracker and our skipper won the toss and we made first use of the conditions. I was batting fourth wicket down and after an impressive spell by their opening bowler I was out in the middle at 4/40 odd, as I made my way out I heard a cheeky snigger about my performances to date. I made my way to the crease and took 11 balls to get off the mark before getting one over pitched which I gratefully hammered over mid off for four (a by product of the Nuffield sixes the week before). I then proceeded to scratch around to about 50 odd with a few decent shots in between, once I got to fifty I attempted a cheeky reverse sweep but put it in the kit bag after copping it on the forearm. From then on I hit my last fifty off just 19 balls, I have never before or since hit the ball as cleanly, the standard of the opposition wasn't brilliant but I was still ecstatic to finish on 111* of 107 rocks. It was also enjoyable to share a partnership with menace valued at 79...of which he hit nine!!

In the field I took a catch, was involved in a run out and snared three sneaky wickets, happy birthday Mr Wheatley!! After the game we headed to sanctity of the chip shop clubhouse where I was informed that I would be shouting everyone a beer to celebrate my hundred, surely it must be the other way around!? I thought they must have been joking....they weren't!! It was well worth it however and I went to bed that night very pleased with my birthday weekend, it would be one that I wouldn’t be forgetting in a while.

Showing up to work the next day is always a sobering prospect after a weekend like I'd just had and it was back to listening to poms whinge about their over priced auto mobiles failing them. I worked in the Premiere Auto Group section which handled vehicles from such prestigious brands as Aston Martin (the car that James bond chaperoned his sexy lady companions around in), Jaguar and Landrover.

Dealing with the Aston Martin customers was a breeze, when their car broke down it was just a matter of organizing a technician to visit the site. When offered the option of a hire car which was standard in their cover they would simply reply 'nah that's ok, I'll just drive the Merc or the Beamer today.' Wouldn’t it be nice to have the luxury of that kind of money!?

The Jaguar customers were not so pleasant, often a screen would pop up when the phone rang indicating it was a Jaguar customer I would sigh, take up a deep breath and answer the call and more often than not it would be some rude posh twat on the other end of the call!!

These three brands had recently been taken over by the auto group Ford, what we knew and what we were allowed the tell the customers was as interesting as it was frustrating. The standard Jag was essentially a glorified Ford Mondeo with plush leather seats and fancy interior trimmings and as such when their cars broke down our first option for a hire car was of course a Ford Mondeo. Well you can imagine that went down about as well as a cheap King’s Cross prossie.. 'a Ford Mondeo!? Do you know who I am!? I'm Sir Lloyd such and such' or 'I am the Lord of stoke on Trent I'm not driving around in the mediocrity of a Ford Mondeo' what I wanted to say and what I was allowed to say were two starkly contrasting things. 'I think you'll find sir that as a replacement car the Mondeo will provide you with what you require to keep you mobile until we get your vehicle back on the road' is what I had to say.... what I would have preferred to say was 'listen Sir Lloyd twat Lord of the c*+#'s, your ridiculously over priced shit heap is actually a Ford Mondeo that's been pimped up by Xzibit and his homie’s, maybe if you earned a bit more dosh you could afford a real car... Like say.... an Aston Martin!?'

Anyway it provided me an income to enjoy my holiday. I was quickly running out of money after enjoying myself and spending a night in 'For Your Eyes Only' an English exotic dancing establishment which I would normally never be interested in visiting except for the fact that it was co-located with a walk about pub and one Friday night after a few Vb's and extra dry's (it was nice to have an Aussie beer sometimes) I spent 170 pounds (at the time it would have equated to over $400 Australian) on the charming and hospitable dancers therein. There was one rather plump Swedish girl who was trying her best to alleviate me of the money in my wallet and when I politely denied her request she retorted with:

Fatty: That would be right, its true what they say about Australians, your all arrogant wankers!!

Taken aback I gathered myself before replying...

Wheats: Sorry chubby.. Obviously it's not true what they say about Swedish women then"

Fatty: and what's that!?

Wheats: that you're all blonde and hot!!

Needless to say she was not pleased...

The other good thing about work was that it was providing me with some fair dinkum pommy colleagues with which to socialize....

En-gal-lund part 3

After a whirlwind entry to the country, it was time to settle into the English culture and find some employment to prolong my stay but not before squeezing in a few more games of cricket. I was looking for work in pubs and clubs or retail which I had been doing for the previous couple of years on Australian soil but found them more elusive to come by than Osama bin laden.

My next game of mid week cricket, proved slightly better than the the first, I hit one decent on drive through midwicket before trying to launch the following delivery into the next postcode... sadly I only managed as far as mid on!! The oval we played at had a foul odour (the only thing that had stunk more up until that point was my cricket) that lingered across the ground, it wasnt until tea that I was informed a sewage plant was stationed near-by... not the ideal location for physical exertion. After tea I watched the oppositions over sea's player go about his work.... he only scored 40 odd but he was prepared to bat for extended periods and I realised I'd just been throwing my wicket away, a habit I'd had for a while. It was enough to inspire me to 'dig in' and be more patient next time.

The following game, I was up against the might of Chipstead in the President's day game...I had been given a spot in the visitor's side which normally comprises of ex-chippies, former international's and opposition who had built a rapport with this incredibly friendly cricketing village. I was keen to show them that I could play a bit and was better than my previous efforts and hoping to do it against rather than for them on this occasion.

The Chippies had a few handy players up there sleeve including a young buck playing for a spot in the Essex under 19's squad by the name of Chris Sterling or 'Sterlo' as he was affectionately known. He was a great kid who listened intently and we often talked cricket and I tried to impart some of my experience to date on to him (one theory I was throwing around at the time was 'owning the zone' but Ill go into that more later.) Anyway the 'chippers' won the toss and threw us into bat and I opened the innings, one of the more pleasant idiosyncrasies English grounds provide are tree's (normally only one large oak tree) which are allowed to grow in the outfield. Every club has thier own rules relating to thiers, some are dead ball, others are six on the full etc... so it's best to ask around before you get on to the pitch. So it was very pleasing to bring up my first runs on chipstead soil by cutting one into the outfield and watching it roll up the trunk of the great oak flourishing at backward point, picking up four bikkies along the way.

Unfortunately young 'Sterlo' got me soon after with a late outswinger which was his trademark nicking into the slips cordon, whilst being slightly annoyed I was happy to go to the young fella. One thing I was not doing was owning the zone.

Late in the Australian summer I had developed a strategy in conjunction with legendary westies left arm ortho Mark Hatton of protecting my stumps, as it is roughly 70% of batting. I drew an imaginery line about 6 inches outside the off stump and anything outside of that line I left alone, but anything within that line including on my pads marked 'my zone' and being in complete control of that area. It seemed to work in the last game of the season where I managed 79* against a very strong ANU first grade line up after I had struggled badly throughout the season against much weaker teams with a highest previous score of 36.

Lunch time was an incredible feast with many tales of Presidents day gone by.... one of the better ones was of a fast bowling chap who was invited to take part for the opposition for the day. One of the more experienced Chipstonians challenged the most dangerous of the 'oppo' to a drinking competition during the lunch interval. I could understand the young fella's thinking 'how much damage can you do over a 40 minute period!?'  Over the course of lunch they managed to get through 2 pints of lager and a couple of quick ports, those who have experienced the hard hitting fortified wine know it can pack a punch rivaling a youthful Mike Tyson. The big fast bowler made it out to the field, got through a couple over before feeling a bit dry and requested a jug of water at his quarters down at fine leg. The 'chippies' pounced quickly filling a huge jug (comparatively it must be able to handle three pints) with not only water but also six shots of vodka. Down at fine leg the thirsty trundler knocked back half the jug without blinking an eye, three balls later he polished off the rest, after his next over he was lay sprawled across the boundary line KO'd and unable to take part in the rest of the game.... Well played Chippies, well played!!

Back in my game, we had an Ex Kiwi international floating around in our side but at the age of 46 was well past his best. Still I was keen to impress and as I have a tendency to do, over thought things in the field and put in another embarrassing display... still it was hard not to enjoy a day like this one, the social side of cricket in England is incredible and something I wish could be replicated down under.

Off the field things were looking up, Menace had lined up an interview at his work for Mondial Assistance a company similar to the NRMA in Australia. How bad could it be listening to whining poms whinge incessantly about their poshed up cars breaking down!?

On the Monday we had a tournament called the Nutfield 6's, a great competition built around two of my favourite things slogging sixes and emptying pints.... sounded like my perfect day and the following week was the 25th anniversary of my date of birth!!

I was pumped for the 'Sixer's' comp and it would be the last day, before I started work (could be dangerous.... and was...) we made our way cracking a beer before we had a chance to crack the first ball of the day. Fielding after a couple of cans was difficult maintaining balance and co-ordination but batting was great. There obviously wasnt much time to build an innings so it was the norm to go after it straight away, whether it was the relaxation of the tinnies onboard or the fact there was very little pressure I managed to hit a few big sixes down the ground and over mid off, not my usual hitting zones but I enjoyed them immensely. Finishing runners up for the day, we proceeded to the bar and ordered a few Pimm's and lemonades, a charming concoction that went down refreshingly well... after one too many it was hometime and off to bed.

Now I dont reccomend starting your first day in a flash new job hungover but I reasoned 'how much can you learn on the first day!?' normally its a bit of orientation and ensuring you know where the lunch room and gent's are. I battled through the first day and week without too much trepidation. I was too busy looking forward to my first trip to London to catch up with my mate Dennis and brother in law for my birthday.



At the curry house for my Bday with Sterlo and a junior.



On the Thursday we headed for a curry with menace"s junior cricket side accompanied by their folks at a local establishment, this was the first time I'd fallen captive to the Indian cuisine. Photos were taken, birthday cake eaten and taste buds burnt to an inch of there existence.

The following day it was off to London town where I caught up with 'The Den', he was one of those friends I mightn't see for years at a time but when we did, we we're straight back where we left off. I remembered he also had a way with the ladies, as we made our way outside kings cross station he noticed an attractive girl in front he deliberately tripped her up, she turned up around sharply and he unleashed a disarming smile, apologized and promptly asked her what she was upto that night... (gee this bloke worked quickly).

Later I caught up with Michael Aspinall who was stopping over after captaining a flight with Qantas and we shared tea at a local pub had a brisk walk around the city before an early night as the next day was shaping to be a busy one...

En-gah-lund (Part 2)

Having spent the previous two days on the piss in the confines of the hotel bar educating my new American friend on Australian slang, I thought it was time I ventured out of my comfort zone to seek a visa to ensure my safe and swift exit from China... after two days and one too many horror stories I was anxious to get out and get out quick. The thing about China is that if you’re on top of your game you embrace the natural buzz of the place and ride with it but when you're not it can suck you in and trample all over you.... at this stage I was feeling the latter.

Apprehensively I made my way to the Visa office with the yank in tow, he had a better command of the language and general local knowledge than I, so he came in handy. For a 'septic tank' he had a very good sense of surroundings, he realised that the world didn’t evolve around him and United States, which is a lot more than I can say for a lot of them... while waiting to be allocated a room by the hotel receptionist, an American woman in front of me was chastising the friendly staff about their lack of communication skills before turning around to me and whining 'I can’t believe these people don’t speak English?'..I thought to myself... 'Are you kidding me? You are in THEIR country you should be making the effort to speak THEIR language'..The epitome of hubris.

Useful as pockets on a pair of underpants!?

On the journey to the Visa office we felt very much the outsiders, I have a feeling our hotel was not placed in the tourism hub of Shanghai.. and as we made our way down the street I felt many eyes watching these pasty skinned, round eyed westerners walking the pavement... more of curiosity than aggression, I saw them murmuring to each other what I can only assume was something along the lines of ‘Hau du dey get dere eye’s opwen so wide!?’. I also happened to notice parents dangling their children ala Michael Jackson style out of windows and over bridges, when I quizzed the 'tank' about their actions; he explained that because many struggle financially under the communist regime they could ill afford nappies. Instead they had pseudo nappies with the crotch and arse cut out of them (pointless really), so whenever nature called it was a matter of whipping 'We-ing Cok' out the window and letting it run down the side of the Toyota.

After brief negotiations with the Visa's office they told me all I needed to do was pay a fine to the Custom's officials and they would let me through the gate (Money talks in any language). I went back to the comfort of the hotel and sadly farewelled the 'tank', we promised to keep in touch but as it was the day’s pre-facebook it was a promised left un-kept. I kept myself occupied the evening before my flight by reading the Holy Gospel, the word according to Stephen Waugh in 'Out of my comfort zone'. An incredible read, as if his unflinching, ruthless style of cricket was not enough, his ability to analyse and compartmentalise not only cricket but life made him an even bigger hero in my eyes.

Eventually my head hit the pillow but not before setting every alarm clock available, leaving the curtains open inviting the morning sun to wake me and having the television on turned up whilst the Chinese version of Australian Idol (it should be Idle Australians) played in the background. If this show was not agonising enough, you should hear this shit in Chinese... Finally I was off in the land of Z's and before I knew it, safely onboard my vessel to the Motherland...

The flight was largely uneventful, it felt surreal to look at the navigation tracking system that maps the planes journey and think that I was flying over places like India, the Middle East and Europe. Finally we hit the tarmac and I said my goodbye's to a lovely American/Chinese tee tolling lass who was studying French in England (work that one out) who accompanied me during the flight. During which she preached to me the evil's of alcohol 'All my friends go out and get wasted and embarrass themselves and yadda yadda yadda... why would you do that to yourself!?' at which point I was too tired to argue the many pluses of the amber fluid 'the lack of inhibition, increase of personality and the improved if somewhat unwarranted self confidence levels' and agreed with a polite but empty 'Yeah.... why would you do that!?'.

We exited the plane and I entered a tin shed to collect my luggage.... not exactly what I had in mind for Heathrow one of the world’s busiest airports. 'Puleease loin up here sir' were the first words I heard spoken in a broad Londoners accent straight out of East Enders as a staffer ushered me into the cue.

Getting through customs, I was picked up by Western Districts and Chipstead legend Mark Ennis, who was sporting a rather ordinary looking 'tach, long before Movember’s popularity. It of course was part of his costume for the long awaited 'Extravaganza' (a night of boozing, dancing and frivolity) which I had made in just a nick of time. All I remember is Matty Boothroyd buying my first English beer (which was made in Japan) and seeing some massive unit (I later found out he was the 'Big Big Jimmy') dressed as Richie Benuad..... THAT IS IT!! Those poms know how to throw a party.

The following day I was woken up by Mennis' mum offering me a cup of tea...'yes please, white and two' was my response. Somebody ludicrously scheduled a cricket game the day following the extravaganza that I was selected to play in. So it was a collection of dusty heads and parched mouths that met outside of the Pavilion. I don’t remember too much about the days play apart from when I walked out to bat a Bangladeshi spin bowler wished me luck on the way to the crease... I was taken aback 'is this bloke having a f*%#en crack or what' by the time I thought of something smart to say back I realised he was genuine... clearly I was not accustomed to these sorts of well wishes in Australia. Approximately four minutes and one run later I made my back past the 'deshi who consoled me with a 'better luck next time... it was almost as bad as being sledged!!

In the field my only memory of worth was a ball being skied my way at mid off, instantly I set off charging into catch the miscued off drive before realising the ball was sailing over my head, quickly I tried my best to rush back but my spikes failed me and I ended up splayed out on the turf only to see the ball land precisely where I was standing whence it was delivered. In the distance I heard some Pom quip 'This is why we now have the ashes'. Filled with embarrassment, the only thing I was looking forward to was the tea interval.

At tea I was surprised somewhat that they actually drank tea, I assumed like in Australia it’s just a 20 minute stop to freshen up and smash some icy cold fluids to rehydrate after spending a few hours in the hot Australian sun but of course the mercury over here has more trouble getting up than a seventy year old war vet.

After whinging and taking the piss out of their tradition I succumbed to their peer pressure and made myself a cup of tea 'but only with milk and sugar, I’m not drinking that black shit' after pouring the tea and applying my sugar I then proceeded to spill what was left of the milk all over the tea room the table leaving me with a boiling hot overly sweetened tea....Brilliant!!

Welcome to England..

1st test V's the Kiwi's

The opening test of the series got the first day of summer underway with the Aussies taking on the sheep shaggers. A new look Australian line up spent the first day in the field with three debutants donning the baggy green for the first time. Openers McCullum and Guptill replaced the velcro gloves for batting gloves and made their way to the crease confronted with the new ball partnership of Pattinson and Siddle. Pattinson impressed with brisk pace and movement in the air and off the deck, while Siddle played role of workhorse with plenty of hustle and bustle, he is a modern day Mervyn Hughes.... without the penchant for Big Macs and salted fries!! He managed to nip out Guptill to Haddin for just 13 runs.

A left handed, darked haired quick named Mitchell came on at first change and praise the lord his last name wasn’t Johnson, that bloke has dished up more loose balls than a swingers party. This Mitchell was a 'Starc' contrast to his namesake bowling with consistent swing and control; his fastest ball clocked 146 on the gun and was delivered from a height. He picked up two fortuitous wickets much in the vane of Johnson caught at point but that shouldn’t diminish his performance, he bowled with swing, pace, lift and most importantly control. He could be a star of the future....

The last prong to the attack was added to the bowling attack just before lunch... The 'Gabba' known as a fast bowlers dream on the first morning of a test was no distraction for Nathan Lyon who came on and impressed with drift, drop, bounce and spin. Like Swann of England he has a knack of dropping the ball out of the sky and exploiting lazy footwork, if he can continue his rapid improvement hopefully we will have a full time fixture in the spin department.

The Kiwi's were reeling before lunch at 5 for around the tonne.... former black cap international Chris Cairns must have gone to lunch eating humble pie after spraying the Aussies and embattled number four batsmen Ricky Ponting earlier in the week at the XXXX beer promotion in Queensland, one can only assume a few too many amber ales had impaired his judgement.

After lunch the Kiwi's staged a gutsy comeback with former skipper Daniel Vettori leading the way, apart from his impressive left arm spin he offers great value down the order with the willow in hand. It took him a while to get his batting career started but with 22 half centuries and six tonnes under his belt he has turned into a genuine all rounder. An all rounders value can be judged on whether their batting average is higher than their bowling average, with figures of 30.27 with the stick and 33.61 with the leather shows his class.

Unfortunately the day was brought to a halt by inclement weather and bad light, hopefully today’s proceedings with brighten up the day!!

En-ga-lund (Part 1)

During the English heatwave of '06' when the British Isle was battered by temperatures occasionally soaring into the early 30's, I traveled the Indian Ocean to engage in some social cricket in the Surrey Sunday League. Disgracing myself as I left Sydney International Airport (and my girlfriend at the time) in a flood of tears. Sadness quickly turned to joy when I realised that my in-flight entertainment would consist of Fosters beer and re-runs of Jake and the Fatman.

My excitment was short lasting however when Jake and the Fatman was screened on what I can only assume was an antique VCR player and my beer was the taste and temperature of a cats excretory fluid. (mental note: Do not fly China Eastern Airways again, no matter how reasonable the fare.)

Coming to terms with my situation, I resisted the temptation to give the flight stewards a peice of my mind (not that they would understand my now inhibited speach) & instead opted for a couple hours of pushing out Z's.

A rush of adrenaline gripped me as our plane rushed the tarmack as I was soon to experience the cultural melting pot that is China. Casually I strolled the hallways of the Shanghai Airport after devising a fool proof plan hatched brilliantly late one night after being charmed by 'John' the travel agent at flight centre Belconnen, who convinced me of the financial and cultural benifits of travelling through the worlds most populous continent onboard China Eastern Airways. The plan essentially was to nestle into a quiet corner ala Tom Hanks in 'the terminal' and wait for my connecting flight the following day.

My plan was quickly 'rissoled' when I was informed by security staff that Shanghai International airport closes for maintenaince at 1:00am and I would have to make my way to one of the region's glittering hotel/motels. (mental note: Remember to inform 'John' that this is the case in Shanghai and definately not fly China Eastern Airways again)

After assistance from a freindly guide by way of recommendation for safe and affordable accomodation, I ventured to the cab rank to be escorted to my hotel. It was hard to judge whether my sense of anxiety stepping into the cab which came in the form of a Mitsubishi Starwagon stemmed from the lack of seat belts, the three triad looking figures wheeling & dealing on the back seat or the fact my escort saw road rules as mere guidelines, demonstrated by accelerating rather than braking through red lights. I comforted myself with the knowledge I would soon be greeted by a warm shower and a comfortable bed.

So it was with relief that I exited the Starwagon and entered the hotel foyer. Unpacking my bags I thought I should experience some of what China had to offer and made a beeline to the resturaunt and bar. 

Not wanting to destabilise the digestive system too much I scanned the menu for a conservative nutritional option, Pork with vegetables seemed a reasonable selection and I assumed would be fairly standardised across cultures. It appeared that 'Pork' came from what must be a relative of the pig in China, the dog. After washing poor old 'Rover' down with a couple of the regions famous brews I engaged myself in conversation with a few of my fellow westerners.

I sympathised with the weary travellers after hearing they had not enjoyed the finest this country had to offer, one a middle aged English business man being scammed by some dodgy Chinese criminal croonies and the other a sweet twenty something American teacher whose billeters failed to gather her from the specified location.

Travelling to a foreign country it is easy to assimilate with just the westerners so I decided to engage in conversation with a local called 'Kim'. Kim was a 40 year old half Japanese/Chinese traveller who had stopped in at the bar for a nightcap, as Bill's 'Engrish' was scratchy and my Chinese was non existent we participated in a game not dissimilar to Pictionary where I would ask Kim questions and he would answer by drawing pictures on our bill. For example: The question how many kids do you have? Would be answered by three stick figures and one with a skirt, which I assumed meant two sons and daughter and not the cross dressing black sheep of the family!!

Kim also introduced me to the Japanese tradition of finishing the night with a plate full of steaming green vegetables which was a pleasant change from the greasy 3am burgers from checkers that had become the norm after a night on the D-floor at the 'fighthouse'. 

Sadly I bid farewell to my new BFF and headed for the comfort of room 161. keeping 'bill' in hand as a memento and noted in my journal the story of 'Kim, Bill and I'. 

The following day I awoke somewhat shadey after possibly one too many cold one's with Kim but felt the all the richer for experiencing his company. I gathered my gear and took my chances re-boarding the Starwagon back to the airport with PUH-LEN-TY of time in hand before take off.

Loading my luggage onto the conveyer belt, I queired the attendant on what time I should make my way to the plane, in broken English she replied, ' you go 1:50, 1:50, ok?', 'Sure, thanks lady', once was enough I thought before she pulled out a flyer and biro, penning on the back '1:50pm'. 'OK, I GET IT...Sheesh' before returning to my seat primed outside the gates ensuring I didnt miss a beat with an hour and 20 mins up my sleeve, only vacating my post for an urgent call of nature, thinking to myself 'Well done buddy, youve given yourself plenty of time... probably given yourself too much time if anything' 

I peered through my spectacles as the big hand slowly made its way in traditional clockwise fashion towards 1:50pm target, 'best be a bit early' as I collected my carry on's and shuffled through customs. After the obligatory inspection of passport and accompaning identification I strolled the hallways to my flight happy with the way I'd negotiated my China experience, giving myself the figurative pat on the back, before glancing lackadaisically at the departure board ahead.

{Flight CE732 Shainghai-Heathrow Gates: Closed} 

Closed, that cant be right, surely that's an error.. so confident was I that there was no need to break stride as I made my way to the counter to speak to Chung Li the attendant.

Wheats: Hi Chung, terribly sorry to interupt you, there seems to be some sort of mistake.. it says on the board my gate has closed but as you can see its only 2pm, so just point me in the right direction and Ill be out of your hair!!

Chung: YOU LATE, YOU LATE... THAT PLANE BEHIND YOU, THAT YOUR PLANE .

Wheats: Huh?? (my heart raised a murmur, as I looked at the monstrous China Eastern Plane, reflecting from the mirror behind Chung) 

Chung: YOU LATE, YOU WAIT HERE I GO TELL SOMEONE.

Judging by Chung's leisurley pace, I assumed it was only a matter of a quick word via walkie talkie to the captain notifying him of my whereabouts before being ushered down the platform with a few apologies a long the way for my tardiness and into my seat.



COME BACK!!!!

 As Chung's gait approached snails pace, I noticed in the reflection flight CE732 doubling back before TEARING down the tarmac and LAUNCHING itself into the stratosphere. 'FUCK....that's not coming back.' I dropped my head into my hands, wishing Mum was here for a cuddle and an encouraging word.

After what seemed like a FUCKING eternity Chung moseyed her way back to the counter informing me

Chung:  'YOU MISS FLIGHT!!

Wheats: "NO SHIT, CHUNG!!' 

Informing me that Id have to wait for the next flight, 'Fine' I thought anticipating another departure just around the corner.

Wheats: 'Cool' I said, 'whens that?' 

'Two days', was not the reply I was expecting nor wanting.

The words 'FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!!' crossed my mind..

Resisting the temptation to dig a hole to bury myself in, I quickly snapped out of my self pity and into emergency mode, a state of mind sharpened to an sense of urgency rarely encounter by one M Wheatley. I reached into my bag and fished out the bill from Kim and my previous night on the cans, showing the cab driver 'please take me here', to which he seemed perplexed, I tried the fail proof trick when encountered with someone who does not share the same language of talking slower and louder 'PUH-LEASE' pointing with more vigor 'TAKE ME HEEREE!!' 

I felt a slight sense of relief as I made my way back into the hotel foyer, the familiarity of the hotel eased my frazzled state of mind. I placed my bags back on the counter and sheepishly murmured 'can I please book a room for another two nights'. 'Oh your back' quipped the concierge in improved English as if half expecting my return. 

I wheeled my baggage to the elevator in which an American joined me.. 

Yank: 'How you doing?' 

Wheats:"Not so good" I replied "Ive just missed my flight'.

Yank: 'Really...so did I', 

Wheats:'Really?'. 

Yank:'Yep' he replied in a slightly more optomistic tone that expected, before a slight pause and a knowing nod to see if we were sharing the same page.... 'meet you at the bar in 10 minutes?'. 

Wheats: 'Better make it five'.

In five minutes flat there were two of the finest looking Tsing Tao's sitting prouder than a honey mooner's stiff one on the counter..

'Don't worry about it dude, this happens all the time.. its part of the Chinese experience' - comforted the yank.

The following hours my education on 'The Chinese experience' was expanded as the yank told me stories of corruption and fornication and that was just in the McDonalds restrooms. He also provided me with the three most important words in the Chinese language.. the only words I needed to get me through the following days.

Mi Hau = Hello

Pejo = Beer

Shai Shai = Thank you.