Grandstand

I'm aware I've been somewhat remiss in keeping this blog updated, of late. This has mainly been due to pesky thesis-related stuff, but also my occasional presence here; at some point I'm going to work out how to consolidate the two, given that reconciling the sport-loving and academic sides of my character was rather the point of this blog.

Anyway, to make up for lost attentiveness, here's a post that attempts to cover all bases in the various worlds of sport at the moment (a la Des Lynam, circa 1990).


Golf

I know, I know: starting a sports round-up with something that -- physically speaking, for the most part -- is barely more than a pastime may be controversial. But the first prize on offer to the winner at Sandwich this afternoon -- which looks like being the lovably rotund figure of Darren Clarke [insert Sandwich-related joke here] -- is close to £1M, so it's a fairly big occasion, regardless.

The sport/game debate is one for another day, though. What I want to mention is an extraordinary attitude from one Rory McProdigy, speaking after his less-than-stellar weekend came to a close earlier today.

(NB: 'Links golf', for those of you as in the dark about this as I was until about 90 minutes ago, refers to golf played on a 'links' -- a course situated on or very near to a coast, so named because it was a region 'linking' land and sea, and thus famous for blustery conditions, a dearth of trees, and fairly hostile scrubland environments.)

In an interview shortly after stepping off the 18th -- and subsequently reported in online feeds -- the talented young golfer McIlroy's reaction to his relative failure was given as follows:

'He is not going to change his game to suit the links as he only plays one week a year. He also believes he can win The Open, he just needs to wait for a year that the weather is good.'

Can you imagine Roger Federer, say, deciding there was no point practising his clay-court game, because Roland Garros only comes round once a year? Surely, if your aim is to be the best in the world -- as is the case, presumably, for all top professionals in sport -- then you don't just shrug your shoulders and say 'well, I don't play in conditions like that'?

To switch ill-advised cross-sporting metaphors, McIlroy cannot be serious.

Cycling

No question: this is a proper sport. The 98th annual Tour de France comes to an end this week, after a gruelling contest that some have likened to having to run a marathon every day for 3 weeks.

More than stamina is required, though: at the end of last week, a careless bit of driving on the part of someone in charge of a TV car led to a multi-bike pile-up (clip a tree with my wing-mirror? no, I'd rather endanger the lives of half-a-dozen flimsily-protected, lycra-clad human beings, thanks). The most serious casualty was Johnny Hoogerland, who was flipped off his bike, over a hedge, and onto a barbed-wire fence.

Never mind: he was helped off said fence, climbed back into the saddle, finished the stage, and only then sought medical help. Whereupon he was promptly taken to hospital for 33 stiches.

A certain Northern Irishman might like to watch this video and take a few notes about commitment to one's sport...

Rugby Union

It was announced this week that the New Zealand RFU had taken significant umbrage with an English RFU decision to send the England rugby union team out in black shirts in a couple of games this summer, to prevent colour clashes with other teams.

Here are the thoughts of one irate Kiwi:

'The Poms are trying to steal our heritage by having their rugby team swap to an all black strip. Not acceptable to us real All Black fans. Poms will not be welcomed in NZ for the RWC2011.'

Hmmm. Why such a fuss over a shirt colour? 'Heritage'? Really?? It's not like the England team have decided to choreograph their own version of the haka. (Suggestions on a postcard for what that would look like...)

In any case, there have numerous stories over the years suggesting that the tradition of an 'all black' moniker may have rather prosaic origins, with a printer's error the most likely reason for the team's name. Furthermore, the all black colouring may have even been adopted after seeing an all-black strip worn by a home team on an early-twentieth-century overseas tour. The location? South-west England.

Cricket

Finally, it's back on home turf for this blog. This Thursday sees the start of the 2000th ever Test match, and England's 991st, at Lord's, against India.

If England can beat India by a margin of two in this series, they'll go top of the ICC Test rankings. (Incidentally, this ICC ranking predictor is a lot of fun...) It's one enormous if, though -- bigger than either Rory McIlroy's ego or Darren Clarke's stomach (which now, along with its owner, is busy hoisting the claret jug). So what's it going to take?

Here's a player-by-player face-off, with ratings, for the likely XIs to take the field on Thursday; the Indian XI, as a result of my appalling knowledge of Indian cricket at present, is the same team who lined up against Somerset this week (plus Dhoni, of course).

1. Strauss (assured captain; not in great form with the bat, but will have taken heart from a fluent 78 this week: 7/10) v Mukund (talented young opener; as yet unproven on English wickets: 6)



2. Cook (back in the longer form after a more-or-less-successful stint as ODI captain; behind Ian Bell in the 'most technically gifted batsman in the England team' stakes, but not by much; apologies for forgetting his phenomenal Ashes series, which means that he's of course worthy of an: 8) v Gambhir (no spring chicken at just shy of 30, but a whippersnapper compared to Tendulkar, Dravid, and Khan; devastating opener: 8)



3. Trott (understated yet phenomenally successful, England's tower of strength; perfectly at home on English wickets: given the context, 9) v Dravid (over 12000 Test runs, averaging over 50; need I say more? 9)



4. Pietersen (always flattering to deceive; he should really be a 10/10 showman, but he's too often a bit of a flop; I really hope he proves me wrong, but on current form: 5) v Tendulkar (The Little Master; I'm not sure you'd get particularly good odds against him scoring his hundredth hundred at Lord's this week: 10)



5. Morgan (rising star; hard-hitting, takes no prisoners, and spares KP's blushes as much as the supposed superstar's predecessor in the order: 8) v Yuvraj (not as young as he once was, but who is on the Indian team? when on form, no one can touch him; if Jimmy can get under his skin, though, he's often a damp squib: 6)



6. Bell (supremely gifted technical batsman, settling in at #6 after some ill-advised moves up the order [the fault of selectors rather than Bell himself]; still not a crowd favourite -- can he change that this summer? 8) v Raina (off the back of a 150-ball hundred against Somerset, so in fine form; India will welcome his sharp fielding in the circle: 7)



7. Prior (his 'keeping is unremarkable: Hallelujah for that; some fine attacking batting, too: 7) v Dhoni (this one-on-one should really be against Strauss, but no matter; great batting, 'keeping, and captaincy: 9)



8. Broad (ok, so this may be Bresnan, but I reckon the Andies will go for Broad's greater menace; promised much, but yet to really live up to that with both bat and ball; some shoddy form of late, too: 6) v Zaheer (might well be KP's downfall, given his southpaw-ness; could be the undoing of quite a few England batsman, with his prodigious swing and control: 8)



9. Swann (Strauss's go-to man; now the most potent spinner in world cricket; if he's on song, so are England: 9) v Mishra/Harbajhan (unsure which spinner India will go with; the older man's influence in Test matches may be waning, but then Mishra had a fairly unsuccessful time against Somerset last time out: 6)



10. Anderson (leader of the pack; on his day, in English conditions, completely unplayable: 8) v Sreesanth (a bit of an enigma, both on and off the field: 7)



11. Tremlett (in and out of the England set-up in recent years, but more of a fixture now; a dependable back-up to the swing of Anderson and bounce of Broad; a few more spells like his stint at the Rose Bowl, and he'll undoubtedly move up: 6) v Patel (often injured, and something of an unknown quantity in English conditions: 6)

TOTALS: England (81) v India (82)

So pretty close, then...(Promise I didn't fiddle those!) I think it's a case of heart saying England and head saying India. I might overrule my head, though -- overrated -- and stick my neck out (there's a strange compound mental image): 2-1, England.

Hold Your Horses

I feel a bit fraudulent writing about the second astonishing denouement to a Cardiff Test inside two years: after paying scant attention, during a busy week for me, to a weather-affected match (nearly a day and a half lost to rain) that appeared to be petering out into a draw, I'd given up on the match by the end of Saturday; by yesterday evening, I'd basically forgotten it was still going on. (And it seemed like everyone other than Jonathan Trott had, too.)

It was only a couple of excited text messages, late this afternoon, that persuaded me to tune in again and witness the carnage. By that time, it was basically all over: Sri Lanka had lost 6 wickets in 39 balls for only 19 runs.

I did start listening in time to hear Ian Bell assume the Paul Collingwood Blinding Infield Catching mantle, to feel slightly sorry for both Tremlett and Swann that Broad came in at the end to clear up the tail and deny either a 5-for, and to hear a fairly unbelievable suggestion from the otherwise-quite-level-headed CMJ: was this performance a sign that England were about to take their rightful place as No. 1 Test side in world cricket?

Really, Christopher.

Firstly, there's the small matter of 2 further Tests to play against a Sri Lankan side who put together a not inconsiderable first-innings total of 400, not to mention a series against the current No. 1 side, India -- a team with 3 batsmen and 2 bowlers (fairly evenly matched against England's 2 and 3) in the ICC Player Rankings Top 10.

And secondly, it ignores the fact that, apart from extraordinary performances from Tremlett and Swann on the final day, the team effort so far has been no more than par for the course. (Switching sports, there -- as I did in the title of this post -- but it's a Bank Holiday, and I can't be bothered to come up with a better/less clichéd metaphor -- sorry...)

Ok, there were three centuries, but they were made under very little pressure. Of more concern to the England coaching set-up might be the mis-fires from the two mainstays of the batting line-up, Strauss and KP. (I admit that, having not followed the match particularly closely, this judgement may be unduly harsh on my part. Do statistics really lie, though?)

More worryingly, amid talk of 4-or-5-man bowling attacks, England went into the last innings with an attack of 3. (No, Trott and KP don't count.) If they'd faced opposition from a less rabbit-in-the-headlights batting line-up, there might have been rather more treatment along the lines of Tremlett's final over, which was deposited for 12 fairly easy runs by the 22-year-old debutant Thisara Perera.

So yes, this was a brilliant result; no, it's not time for the champagne yet. Here's my 3-point to do list for Team England before the Lord's Test gets underway later this week:


1. Balance the bowling attack: make sure that whoever comes in for the injured Jimmy Anderson provides an alternative to the options already available. (Sorry, Steve Finn.)

2. Consider adding a bowling option: it seems unfair to consign Eoin Morgan to the Test dustbin after scoring 14 not out; but then I wouldn't have picked him in the first place. Ravi Bopara provides a better 5th bowling option than the buffet fare of either Trott or KP, and his selection would also pay him back for his laudable decision to choose county cricket over the riches on offer in the IPL.

3. Have a chat with KP: shouldn't he be on a final warning by now? (Watch out for a match-winning 158* at Lord's, now...)

Lucky Number Nineteen

And so it's all over, bar the shouting.

Unless Blackburn pull out a surprising win over Manchester United on Saturday lunchtime (and it's over 5 years since United last failed to secure at least a point at Ewood Park), Sir Alex Ferguson will have guided United past Liverpool to a record 19th English league title.*

The expected 19-18 scoreline, however, is somewhat misleading. The first of Liverpool's 18 came in the 1900-01 season, and their most recent was in 1989-90, in the year after the Hillsborough disaster; United's started 7 years later than Pool's, in 1907-08, and their 18th was in 2008-09. While the chronological spread isn't so very different -- 89 years vs. (to date) 101 -- there is one fact that marks the two achievements as qualitatively different: United won 7 of their titles before the 1992 start of the English Premier League, and 11 have come since.

Traditions, as a collection of essays published in 2000 asserts, are invented. In other words, as much as the word 'tradition' conjures up ideas of age-old practices and dusty tomes, a 'tradition' is often a remarkably recent construction.

Nowhere is this more evident than in sport. The most recent example of this, in cricket, is the Indian Premier League, a competition that has brought together cricketing superstars -- often, as I commented last week, in the twilight of their careers -- to compete in a supercharged, low-attention-span, fizzy-drink form of the game.** Although the 20-over form of the game was in fact introduced into the English county game in 2003, it was the 2008 inauguration of the IPL -- with all the commercial perks of advertising, sponsorship, and astronomical signing fees -- that marked the beginning of the youngest of sporting traditions.

This commercial aspect is significant. To return to my initial topic: the tradition of football's English Premier League, 16 years its similarly named cricketing cousin's junior, saw an explosion in advertising, sponsorship, attendance, and merchandising revenue for the 22 (reduced to 20 in 1995) clubs in the English top flight. The link with BSkyB, who were granted exclusive broadcasting rights at the inception of the league, is a particularly contentious one. This particular tradition, then, as well as being heavily constructed, has been -- from the beginning -- a heavily commercial one.

My point, then, is this: while I do not mean to suggest that United's 18 (well, ok, 19) titles are in some way inferior to Liverpool's, having been achieved in the main (11/12 out of 18/19) with the help of the significant commercial backing that has arisen through the tradition of the BSkyB-backed Premiership, they should be seen as undoubtedly different.

But congratulations, United, on another success. And extra congratulations to the alcoholic-nosed, gum-chomping septuagenarian cyborg; will SAF ever retire?

*If United don't leave Ewood Park as champions, it'll be the first time in 9 years -- when Arsenal's 2-0 victory over Chelsea on May the 4th 2002 preceded the Gunners' clinching of the title four days later -- that the destination of FA Cup trophy has been decided earlier than the Premiership title.

**I'm aware this sounds like I have a fairly grumpy view of the IPL; this isn't in fact true, and this sentence was mainly included for the purposes of a cheap laugh along it's-just-not-cricket lines. Sorry about that.

Cricketing Digest

I feel I've neglected the initial focus of this blog in the not-so-glamorous cricketing months, so in a short post tonight I thought I'd do a quick run-down of recent news in the world of leather on willow. (I haven't been following it for a couple of weeks, so it may be that the new Lalit Modi has decided that playing the game with a metal post and a ball of rubber bands is a better crowd-puller than a leather ball and a wooden bat, and therefore that that particular figure of speech is even more outmoded than usual. [They don't still use willow, do they? I'm way out of my depth.])

Broadly Speaking

(That was just an excuse to use that pun; I'd have done so even if I didn't have anything to say about the England captaincy.) So Alastair Cook, who's played 3 ODIs in the past two and a half years, is the new England captain. Right. And Stuart Broad, 9 months after being fined 50% of his match fee for an act of borderline ABH, has got the T20 job. Hmmm.

Here's a thought: why not pick someone to do both jobs who's in both teams? And who doesn't have a yearly tantrum?

Warne Again? No

(That one was even worse. Sorry about that.) So Shane Warne is to retire from cricket at the end of the season. Who even knew he was still playing?? I'm surprised he can bear to prise himself away from his nice little earner in the commentary box. Or maybe he's started combining the two? Now that I'd pay to watch -- get on it, Sky.

KP's Back

(Yes, I gave up.) Coming in second on our list of 'talented yet incredibly arrogant cricketers whom you thought had long ago decided to concentrate on the more commercial sides of their careers rather than spend any time actually on the pitch' is the delightful Sir Kev, who's preparing for his come-back from injury.

Given that a middle order of Trott, Bopara, and Morgan made 73% of England's runs in their last game, thought, you have to ask: do we really need him?

Well that was a lazy post. Apologies. More of the same, or better (you never know), next week -- I'm off to bed. Live the Friday night dream, people! :)

A Tale of Two Rockets

Firstly, a declaration: I like snooker. I’ve never really been sure why I’m such a fan of a prissy and antiquated pseudo-sport on which heavy traces of the Edwardian drawing room lie heavy. Is it a mathematical attraction to patterns and angles? Perhaps. One reason may be that certain players throw up all sorts of mixed emotions that I don’t experience in watching other sportspeople.

Take Ronnie O’Sullivan, for instance. I have such mixed feelings that I feel the need to write paired pieces, both of which express an aspect of my thinking on the matter, and neither of which is the whole truth, in and of itself.

Why I Don't Like Ronnie O'Sullivan

When sports stars like the incredibly talented Marcus Trescothick and the surprisingly effective Michael Yardy have to truncate their international careers or limit their international opportunities as a result of widely publicised mental health problems, it does absolutely no good to have someone like O'Sullivan 'threatening' to retire from the game at every hint of things not quite going his way: the viewing public, quite rightly, see such ‘threats’ as so much hot air, which in turn diminishes the amount of sympathy for sportsmen and women with genuine health problems.

Mark Williams, O'Sullivan's fellow professional, perhaps had it right when he offered a rather biting comment on the other's vacillating attitude towards the game:

If he wants to pull out or retire, then just do it, because he's talked about it so many times... Just do it if you want to.

Sadly, this is how hearing some of O'Sullivan's comments on his commitment to snooker makes me feel -- a real pity, given that he is such an undeniably great sporting talent.

Why I Would Rather Watch O'Sullivan Than Any Other Snooker Player

The reason I would rather watch O'Sullivan play than any other is quite simple. It's not that he is great, although he is; it's not that he keeps the game flowing in a pleasing way, although he does; it's that at his best, he plays the game with the sort of carefree abandon with which Chris Gayle hits a 70-ball Test Match century, Chris Ashton carves open opposition back lines, or Lionel Messi leaves defences looking very stupid.

It doesn’t matter that Stephen Hendry, in terms of sheer numbers of titles won, will probably always be ‘a better player’ than O’Sullivan: it’s a case of Iniesta vs Scholes, or Lara vs Dravid; as undoubtedly great as the alternatives may be, you’d always rather see the one who plays the sport (or game, or hobby, or life) with style.

It is possibly this very Janus-like ability to encompass such conflicting opinions that makes me love sport. (Yes, all sport -- including snooker...) It is why Ronnie O’Sullivan has me purring in awe and shouting abuse at the television, almost in equal measure -- with behaviour like that, it’s probably a good thing I’m not at Sheffield this week.

Turning Points

From what I remember of sporting events in the mid-'90s, they were all pretty poor. Perhaps my judgement was clouded by the usual teenage angst, but I just don't feel there was anything to compare with the drama of, say, the great Lewis vs Powell World Championships in 1991 or, eleven years on, Brazil's 'pentacampeão' romp to the football world title.

Baggio's penalty miss in '94 was fairly dramatic, but it did come at the end of a mind-bogglingly dull 120-minute slog through the Pasadena heat. Gazza's goal at Euro '96 was sublime, and England beating the Netherlands 4-1 was special, but the rest of that tournament -- at least from the point of view of a 12-year-old England fan -- was forgettable enough.

One sporting occasion that does stand out from this rather fallow period, however, is the '95 Rugby World Cup. The political significance of this -- the recent emergence from apartheid, South Africa returning to the international sporting fold, Nelsen Mandela and Francois Pienaar -- has been covered in the recent film Invictus; suffice to say, then, this was an event the ramifications of which went far beyond the white lines.

Positioned halfway through the decade, and at the beginning of a new chapter in both international political and sporting relations with South Africa, this was a whole tournament of turning points.

This is not what I want to write about, however -- Matt Damon & co. have already covered all that. My turning point -- for English rugby, which spiralled into an 8-period of underachievement known as the 'we were waiting for JW's left foot' years; for international rugby itself; for a 6'5", 20 stone 20 year-old, who could have quite easily based a career on this one match, had he achieved nothing else -- came in the semi-final between England and New Zealand.

As I remember it, it was the first kick-off of the match; internet records inform me my memory is playing tricks.

Before I go any further, though, I should provide a little background for those of you unfamiliar with the niceties of the rugby union restart, or those of you who started watching the sport later, when what happened would have been nothing out of the ordinary.

When a game is (re-)started in full-XV rugby union (not Sevens, but that's another thing entirely), the fly half (or first five-eighth) kicks the ball diagonally forwards, the idea being to return it to the opposition team, but also to hang the ball up in the air long enough to give members of your team the time to run and put pressure on the catcher.

Rugby union was, for years, a rather genteel sport. When, in the late nineteenth century, a group of players at northern clubs thought to make polite enquiries as to the possibility of supplementing their meagre everyday incomes with money from the games they played in at the weekends, the southern clubs -- staffed in the main by rather-more-well-off types, who could afford to not receive remuneration for their rugby -- insisted that the Rugby Football Union was to remain amateur.

While Rugby League has been professional ever since -- and has indeed evolved almost into a separate sport -- Rugby Union spent much of the twentieth century an amateur endeavour. Which rather suited it.

Rugby Union is full of rules and regulations regarding 'set pieces' that essentially involve creating an elaborate ballet on the field of play. Where association football has one man throwing the ball in after it goes out of play, in union they involve up to 16 players in a cross between a morris dance, a synchronised swimming display, and a wrestling match. League have a perfunctory scrum that sees three players from each team linking arms, and waiting for the scrum-half to recycle the ball; in union the scrum has the sense of a ritual that must be performed in a certain way. When Gareth Edwards, say (like a Welsh Ben Youngs from the '70s, for younger readers), clipped the ball over the top and raced down the blindside, rather than passing it out across the field, you could hear The Guardians of the Game struggling to prevent their appreciation of his genius being tainted by a strong 'that's just not cricket' disapproval.

The hanging kick at the re-start is one of these performances -- 'things which must be done in a certain way before we can start playing the game'. The fly-half's kick is directed towards the opposition's heavier, slower forwards, who are in turn faced by the kicking team's forwards. The opposing catcher would either collect the ball and take it into contact or pass it straight to his own backs, or he would spill it (either under pressure or not). The game didn't really get going, in other words, until this 'kick to the forwards' had been got out of the way.

What, though, if this wasn't something that had to be done? Why not start playing the game much earlier?

20 minutes into the first half, Andrew Mehrtens -- the Kiwi #10 -- stepped up to take the re-start after a Rob Andrew penalty. The England forwards were lined up to the right of the right-footed Mehrtens, facing their All Black counterparts, and braced to receive the ball.

Mehrtens kicked left.

This had two repercussions: the England backs were completely unprepared for this, and so the advancing All Black backs reached the ball before they did; and the player who caught the ball -- the 20-year-old left winger making only his 5th appearance for the team -- had the bulk to brush aside the confused England defenders while they were still trying to work out which sport they were meant to be playing.

This wasn't what was meant to happen! They'd cheated!! By being fast, and quick-thinking, and powerful, and....generally better than England.

1995 is the year that Rugby Union turned professional, and I like to connect this with that moment, in which Jonah Lomu walked over poor little (as he looked) Tony Underwood. Gone was a time in which re-starts went in an expected direction, and wingers were the weedy members of the XV: in came the professional era, and daily training, and nutrition programmes, and back lines with an average weight north of 15 stone.

Perhaps my memory of the event is significant in its faultiness: it felt like the beginning of the match; New Zealand's dominance throughout deserved a first-minute try. It was a defining moment. English rugby was not going to be the same again; Tony Underwood certainly wasn't.

What's your sporting turning point? Leave a comment below, and we can continue the nostalgia-fest.

The Numbers Game

I've been a bit lax updating the blog of late (an excuse that seems to get trotted out by about one in every three online writers, so apologies for the tedium), but I've been meaning for a while to write something on a subject close to my....well, not heart -- more head. It combines two of my favourite things -- sport and numbers -- although not in a particularly traditional way.

It's a question that gets asked on such a regular basis that it's become almost a non-question -- a topic that serves only to service a nation's journalists and commentators (oh the irony of spending yet more [virtual] column inches on this): why are the England football team perennial underachievers?

I have a possible answer, and it has nothing to do with Fabio Capello, the Lampard/Gerrard combination, striking partnerships, or the captaincy merry-go-round. (Though don't get me started on the many hideousnesses of John Terry...) It's the numbering of the England players' shirts.

(Stick with me.)

In club football in this country (this sample is taken for two reasons: it's what I know most about; and it's where the vast majority of the players in recent England squads ply their trade), players are assigned -- or choose -- a squad number. Wayne Rooney and Frank Lampard are #10 and #8, numbers corresponding to their positions, but the aforementioned racist thug (sorry, I'll keep quiet) is #26.

Often there are personal reasons for this. Although my gag reflex prevents me from spending any more time googling Terry, I believe the choice of #26 relates to his admiration of an ex-player with a similar number. This is also the reason for Cesc Fàbregas's #4 shirt, in honour of the great Spanish midfield maestro -- and, incidentally, management wunderkind -- Pep Guardiola. And the story of David Beckham's various shirt numbers -- #7 at Manchester United, after Best/Cantona; #23 in more recent years, in honour of Michael Jordan -- is practically a feature-film narrative in its own right.

But whatever the reasons, each individual player has his own number. He has a shirt he can call his own -- the shirt, quite literally, has his name on it.

Not so when he plays for England, however: the 11 starting players, on the day, are allocated the numbers 1 to 11. This gives rise to the following extremes:

• if a player has a less-than-regular role in the team he can never be sure of his shirt number
• a bit-part player feels immediately like a first-choice player

Not such a bad thing, you might think: why should a regular starting number matter to a player? And surely an instant feeling of belonging is good for morale?

Well, not entirely.

To suggest that the number of his shirt doesn't matter to a footballer, at least at some level of the unconscious mind, is to deny his humanity. (No jokes about Wayne Rooney and potatoes.) Human beings, at the most basic level, need to feel wanted; they need to feel they have a role; having an assigned shirt number taps into this essential need.

And while a one-off international -- I have a feeling that, after his comments about Gareth Barry, Joey Barton is likely to remain in this category -- may benefit in the short term from the instant feeling of being a part of the team, what does this mean for the recent occupant of the same shirt? How, for instance, does Frank Lampard feel about seeing 'WILSHERE' on the back of the white #8?

There are other problems. Club football is the 'day job' of the players; when they step up to international level, surely the system should do everything possible to ensure they're able to play in the same way? Instead, each match is a one-off -- a busman's holiday, granted, but still a holiday.

To take simply the most obvious example, Lampard and Gerrard, who have driven their respective clubs' midfield engine rooms for the best part of a decade, wear the same number: the attacking-midfielder-with-a-licence-to-roam-from-box-to-box's #8. What happens when they're made to play in the same team? Who -- both metaphorically, and literally -- is the team's #8? The age-old 'why can't L&G play together?' debate may have more to do with Gerrard's mental struggle to accommodate seeing another #8 on the pitch than one might think.

This is all speculative, but there may just be something in it: numbers matter. (If you remain in any doubt, count the number of #7s on display for Manchester United in this testimonial.) I reckon Fabio Capello could do worse than break out the squad numbers from now on -- maybe Darren Bent could start to replicate his consistently awesome club form of recent years if he were allowed to wear 'BENT 39' for his country...

Putting Mr Creosote on a Diet

This weekend sees the start of that period in the cricketing year when the ICC seem to think that taking a tired and disillusioned format that has been superseded in the entertainment stakes by the upstart younger brother (Twenty20) and that has never had the prestige of the grandaddy of the game (Test) and producing a staggeringly bloated tournament out of it is the way to have the fans flocking in their droves to cricket grounds and tv screens. Even the England captain has stuck his oar in -- when you're responsible for a feat of anti-organisation so extreme it gets Straussy criticising you, you know you're in trouble.

Once the thing has got underway fully, I'll no doubt weigh in with an opinion or two on the games themselves. (And no, I don't mean I'm just waiting for England to play, because 'only then does the tournament start properly'; I just think that a weekend of minnow-crushing doesn't give many pointers as to the form of the teams involved. Did we really doubt that Kenya and Canada would be humbled? [Although, actually, didn't England only just scrape past Canada? Maybe England should be classed as minnows, too. To be honest, that's probably not a bad idea: then at least we wouldn't go into the match against the Netherlands as firm favourites; we all know how that's turned out in the past...])

For the moment, here are some suggestions for the ICC of ways to ensure future World Cups aren't overshadowed in the excitement stakes by their own adverts.

• drastically limit the number of teams involved: I know, I know, allowing Canada/Netherlands/etc. to take part encourages interest in those countries, increasing revenue, and thereby aiding development -- honestly, though, when Kenya get destroyed by 10 wickets, how much good is that doing...well, anyone?
• shorten the tournament: a by-product of the first point, but the length of time covered by the WC needs to be analysed. Cutting out the second group stage (Super Sixes) is a good start.
• play Twenty20 instead: ok, not an entirely serious point, but do we really need a WC as well as a World T20?

I could go on, but it's time to go and watch the highlights: having cricket on terrestrial tv is a wonderful thing. Also, it's Sri Lanka, for whom I do have a bit of a soft spot -- I'd love another 'home' win for them, 15 years after their first...

Cricket's Coming 'Home'...Briefly

This morning -- well, afternoon; it's all relative, hemispherically speaking -- Team England crawled over the finish line, two days into the fourth month of a tour of Australia that has seen, for all the hype surrounding the Test series, mixed results.

Tour matches

Opponents: Western Australia, South Australia, Australia A, Victoria, Prime Minister's XI

England's Record: 3-0; W (6 wickets), D, W (10 wickets), D, W (7 wickets, D/L)

Verdict: An undeniable English success. Three comfortable wins, and two draws in which England lost only 20 wickets in four innings, and outscored their opponents 1305-857.

Tests

Record: 3-1; D, W (inn + 71r), L (267r), W (inn + 157r), W (inn + 83r)

Verdict: Another England victory. Unlike last time, this was fully deserved: the century count, a bone of contention among Aussie pundits in 2009, was England 9, Australia 3. Wickets taken was another battle won by the English: they took 91, bowling the Aussies out on every occasion except the 2nd innings in Brisbane; Australia managed only 56, bowling England out 5 times.

T20s

Record: 1-1; W (1 wicket, last ball), L (4 runs)

Verdict: Not so much a contest in which the teams won a game each, as one in which the scores were level after each failed to win one. Australia probably edge it, with two 50-plus scores (Watson and Finch) to England's one plus-40 (Morgan).

ODIs

Record: 1-6; LLLWLLL

Verdict: Hmmm.

So there you have it: a tour in which England dominated the longer format with an ease that was at times embarrassing, but that saw a resurgence from Australia in the shorter forms of the game. And with a World Cup imminent, England's shortcomings on the one-day field are likely to obliterate any residual feelings of euphoria over a third Ashes win this century.

New Year, New Design

(As it's the rugby season, and having a light and summery background in January just feels wrong.)

Snatching Victory from the Jaws of........Well, Victory

In a few hours' time, barring a Botham-esque stand from Smith and Siddle, England will have added a series victory to their regaining of the Ashes, and made a mockery of many pre-Brisbane predictions. (Mine included, although a 2-1 win was only slightly too conservative.)

The interventions of Christmas and New Year have meant I haven't documented this series as closely as I wanted to; some might say this was a good thing, as the up-turn in England's fortunes coincided with the start of my blogging silence. . . But I couldn't resist returning at the end of 23 days of often brilliant and sometimes woeful cricket to offer some final thoughts. (Slash gloats.)


Man of the Series

Fairly predictably, Alastair Cook. 700+ runs , batting for 36+ hours -- that's a day and a half. That pie's still tasting pretty good.


Best Innings of the Series

Finally, Kevin Pietersen had silenced the doubters. Not got the temperament to push on into the 200s? Pah. Weak against left-arm spinners? It doesn't really matter if you get to 227 before falling to one. The first innings at Adelaide was a masterwork. Gone was the scratchy, jittery Kaypee of yesteryear, foxed by such cricketing goliaths as Mehrab Hossain; this was a new, mature model of the complete batter. KP 2.0, then. Until...


...Worst Shot of the Series

Oh dear. After an ugly swipe at Mitchell Johnson yesterday, the composure of the Adelaide double-century appears to have been a false dawn.


Most Undermined Stat of the Series

Jimmy Anderson's 5 previous wickets in Australia went for 80 apiece; England were basing their attack on someone who just didn't have a clue when handed the Kookaburra ball. So this analysis makes for pretty good reading:

208.1 ~ 49 ~ 614 ~ 23

That's 23 wickets at 26.7, with an economy rate of less than 3 an over. Oh, and 23.5% of his overs were maidens.


The Heart and Soul of England Cricket Award

Duncan Fletcher, Nasser Hussain, and the Three Wise Andrews (Flintoff, Strauss, Flower) have all been credited with a hand in the renaissance of English cricket over the past decade or so; the man I believe to have done more for the game in this country than any other, since his ODI debut in 2001, is Paul Collingwood, who retired from Test cricket this week. So long, Paul, and thanks for all...of...these.