A little cricket never hurt anybody

So the first ball will be bowled in anger tomorrow in the Cricket World Cup. A sub-continental world cup, what can we expect? One must admit that the subcontinent is not quite the daunting place it used to be for many of the worlds cricketers. This summer we witnessed an Indian side that was much more capable of handling South African conditions than in the past and I fear that the IPL and Champions League being staged here had a little something to do with unravelling the stigma usually attached to Indian touring teams. It could also have something to do with the amount of Afrikaans spoken in the Indian change room nowadays but that topic is best left for another day. The reason why I mention all of this is because the IPL has perhaps levelled playing fields when it comes to dealing with a low, slow, turning Indian wicket. No longer are these conditions completely foreign to cricketers from the other major test playing nations and Canada, considering the amount of Indian born cricketers in their squad. Perhaps the IPL is a poisoned chalice for the BCCI and their neighbours as the once unfathomable sub-continental pitches have become a little bit more playable for certain cricketers who have not only become richer in US Dollars but also in knowledge. And as we all know, knowledge is power.

Just for a moment I’d like to speak about Pakistan. They have had their well documented problems, of that there is no doubt, but just remember that after the first six weeks snooze fest coupled with their “shocking” loss to Canada the tournament moves into knockout phase. And once we reach that phase, anything can happen. One can compare Pakistan to the enigma that is Mike Tyson. Both were world champions in the respective sports in the early nineties. Both have had their run ins with the authorities, inside and outside of their sports. And both of them possess tigers. That’s not really relevant to my point but it doesn’t make it any less true. Getting to that aforementioned point, you would not want to run into Mike Tyson in a dark alleyway or the set of a Hollywood movie because he still has the ability to knock you the hell out. The same can be said for Pakistan, even with all their spot-fixing and Shoaib Akhtar problems. You would not want to run into them in a knockout game on a dusty sub-continental wicket, because come the end of 100 over’s of cricket you may just be hearing Freddie Mercury singing vocals, and the song is not going to be “We are the champions” but rather “Another one bites the dust”.

Having a look at the tournament as a whole, expect many mismatches in the group stages and the major test playing nations to qualify for the quarter-finals, this includes co-hosts Bangladesh. I do feel, however, that the tournament will be won by sub-continental side. And what of South Africa’s chances? We’ll need to win our group to stand a chance of putting our hands on that elusive ICC trophy. If not, expect a loss to Pakistan or India somewhere along the line. It also all depends on the flexibility of our coaches and our use of our ace in the sleeve, Imran Tahir. I’ve had too much heartbreak at the hands of the Proteas to put my confidence in them again, let alone my money. I hope they go all the way, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Long live the World Cup.

Vegas out

The Rainbow Warriors and the African wild

So what a crazy week it turned out to be in football. I know it’s been over a week since we last spoke and things certainly have changed... I’m a bit slack when it comes to getting things in on time. I’m South African, and more importantly I’m from a certain town on the east coast where things are done at a leisurely pace. It’s seems though that I could however serve on the mighty board of the one and only SAFA. I mean who forgot to send that letter through claiming the commercial rights to the “Bafana Bafana” brand. “I thought I left it with you”, was followed by almost 20 years of head scratching. It’s probably been used to level out the desk for all of the revolving door of chairman we’ve had over the preceding years. So get this. NOW, they decide, “HELL! We’ll just change the name” Ooooh, good idea. “AND, we’ll get the public to choose it!” Brilliant. I think they over estimate the public, and the public underestimates the stupidity of the people in charge of football in this country. But then again, am I shocked? They’ve been slowly eradicating the springbok from the game. 

In the end though it comes down to money, what else is there in a game like football? There’s no passion, no honour, no loyalty, at least not from the players, the trigger happy chairman and the corrupt leaders of the world game. There is from the fans, at least Liverpool fans. Unless you’re poor old Roy Hodgson. But what did he expect in these times, Hughton and Di Matteo lost their jobs and they were doing theirs much better than you? Meireles, not a bad signing. Couldn’t be happier that he scored and not Luis Suarez with his hand or a Fernando Torres own goal. A mind bending bet was placed late Saturday night and thankfully none of those two events occurred. Sorry, I tend to get carried away with things red. But we won’t make it all about my reds, let us look at the others. 

Arsenal. Seriously? A four goal lead? They never seem to amaze me by their naivety at the back, and all over the field for that matter. Bad decisions, but you gave them a chance, you don’t do it to those bloodthirsty Geordies. You give them a sniff and next second they’re ripping you apart like a pack of Hyena’s who can smell the weakness, sweating out the pores of a nervous animal. Man Utd also slipped on a carnivorous animal, those damned Wolves. Upset after upset with those fellas. That league never ceases to amaze, 1^st vs last, it’s almost as if its scripted M.Night Shamalan (The one that wrote Sixth Sense and not The Happening. Well nothing much to say on the Sunday game, that hasn’t been said before. It’s over it’s done, we won, we celebrated, all without Torres/Carroll/Suarez. Were they really worth all that money? Was it worth an operating loss for the year of 88 million quid (sorry I can’t find the pound sign on this damn American keyboard) Dear Americans, we don’t like you. You know nothing about the rest of the world. Although I do have a leopard in my back garden. It’s actually quite concerning, he lives in our Avo tree. We’ve already lost two of our cattle to him. Oh to live in the suburbs. And football is called FOOT... BALL, not soccer. You kick a ball with your foot, why you gotta be difficult? Off to kick a ball. Enjoy the “Rainbow Warriors” vs Kenya tonight, thanks again SAFA for that one. Til tomorrow, (probably next week)

Vegas out

The cuckoos come home to nest

So the silly season drew to a close last night with a flurry of quite spectacular transfers. January has always been an interesting time in football when the weather seems to grab hold over the limbs of players and the minds of managers and owners alike. These are so called knowledgeable business people making decisions on nothing but a whim, I saw more restraint on Kenilworth racetrack on Saturday come race 10. I fear the dark clouds that are currently looming over football. Clouds filled with greed, desperation and despair. We currently find ourselves in the eye of the storm but soon that will come to pass and the footballing landscape will be scattered with debris of once great empires and the shattered dreams of overnight sensations. No longer will there be cult heroes of the likes of Alan Shearer, Gianfranco Zola and Dennis Bergkamp. Oh no those days are gone. Nothing but a distant memory, like Liverpool’s last league title. Loyalty is not a word that you will find in the modern day footballers vocabulary. One such phrase that has become increasingly used in this Armageddon like landscape is that of the transfer request. It is a sure fire way to suck a little more life out of the club they “love”, but who cares, as long as they get they can get that new villa in the South of Spain and their gardener can afford that Range Rover Sport he’s always wanted. First Rooney, then Tevez, Torres, Adam and then Carrol, it seems players have finally started to outgrow their clubs. Like the Incredible Hulk and his clothes, they can only stretch so far before they begin to tear and show the green underbelly that lurks underneath. And like Hulk, they have become way to powerful for us mere mortals to control. I do have a few proposals that may act as an inoculation against this disease. Clubs must be prepared to fight dirty and hit these players where it hurts them most, their gold lined wallets. I propose that in order for you to hand in a transfer request and be sold the player should have to shell out the cash to pay for the rest of his contract. No longer will there be players requesting transfers two months after signing a new six year contract. Whip out that cheque book sunny boy if you wanna leave my club! Perhaps we can get back to a stage when contracts mean something, it’s a long shot but one worth taking.

So who is to blame for this predicament we find ourselves in? A certain amount of blame must be attached to the agents. In sport, those who can do, and those who can’t become an agent. These agents are often a relative to the player, an uncle, brother or a half-cousin twice removed just there to latch on and enjoy the ride. They are blood sucking leeches that look out for the biggest juiciest name to place their disease ridden gob onto and start sucking. For me, a large portion of the blame should be placed on the shoulders of a certain drug-smuggling, human trafficking, oligarch by the name of Roman Abramovich and that football. He may not have been the first person to attempt to buy a full trophy cabinet, changing badges but not history along the way. He did however do it in such a way that made the purists shiver in their boots, uniting them in a hatred of that blue swine that you will find in South West London. As of 23h00 GMT last night the second age of the Abramovich Empire has well and truly begun, I just hope for Chelsea’s sake that he gets his Champions League trophy before he grows bored and tosses them away like the plaything that they are. Expect more overnight supporters, sporting the name and number of their latest hero. I do warn you however this is a player that would soon enough throw his own mother under the hooves of some rampaging bovine on the streets of Pamplona than stand the thought of his child growing up in the squalor of a 10 million pound house.

Well with January now well and truly over, we can look forward to Super 15 rugby played in sweltering heat where players will become catatonic before the first half is up. Expect a droll start to the competition, one that no amount of local derbies could sort out. And of course a Sub-Continental World Cup. Expect a borathon in the first month, apart from the “shock” loss of Pakistan to Canada coupled with perhaps a couple death threats on their players for not bowling a no-ball on the right delivery. Who would’ve thought that you’d find a Pakistan cricketer with more morals than a Premier League footballer?

Before I go, I must say I’m looking forward to seeing how these overpriced prima donnas perform when they slip on their new kits and proceed to kiss the badge until it’s either changed by the clubs new multi-billionaire owner or replaced by another team who’s willing to mortgage their stadium to pay a few weeks wages. I give it a month before the press starts labelling them as flops. To you Fernando, I hope it all goes swimmingly. What’s the saying again? I hope you break a leg.

Yours truly
Commodore Vegas