It's Test Day

And it's warm with clear skies.

I hope it stays like this. The Welsh don't know what to do if it's not raining.

Things That Are Fabulous

Unlike the Brat, I've not quite been ignoring the Olympics. Its schedule being from ohmygod o'clock in the morning until dinnertime rather meant that I didn't see much of them during the week, but it wasn't for lack of interest.

The weekends were different, and the Weasel and I spent hours watching people in full-body condoms zoom around tracks on ice skates, slide down hills with sticks tied to their feet, do aerobatics while attached to large tongue-depressers etc.

Which leads me to Yet Another List: Things That Are Fabulous.

Thing One: The Norwegian Curling Team's Trousers

Behold the magnificence

The sartorial equivalent of the loud drunk guy at your cousin's wedding, these bad boys (the pants, not the Norwegians) are available for sale for a paltry $US 89.95 per pair. If you can't quite stretch to that, you could always buy a "Respect the Pants" t-shirt for a much more accessible $US 15 or join the Facebook fan group, where you can learn to tell people how awesome their pants are in Norwegian.

And remember -- a man walks down the street in pants like those, you know he's not afraid of anything.

Thing Two: Johnny Weir

He's sparkly, he's outspoken almost to a fault, and he's ridiculously talented. Seriously. To the point where we can forgive him for being Lady GaGa's bestie.

No, really. Check it out:

As if anything else need be said. But sadly, it does. A couple of commentating velocipedes in Canadia made some crass remarks about Johnny's apparent

sexuality, including a suggestion that he should have to take a gender test.

WTF, CANADIA?? We thought you were immune to that kind of nineteenth-century homophobic bullshit.

Butanyway. Johnny, being the outspoken guy he is, had something to say about it. This is what he said:

And that, ladies and germs, is what a class act looks like. And why you, Johnny Weir, are fabulous. Long may you sparkle.

In the realms of unconciousness...

So, we are playing the French in Wellington tomorrow night, and I will indeed be going. (and stalking the French but that's a whole 'nother story.)

But, following Madame Backslash's lead, I thought I would include some more useful French phrases.

Your mother was a hamster and your father smells of elderberries.
Votre mère était un hamster et vos odeurs de père des baies de sureau.

How much have you paid the referee?
Combien avez-vous payé à l'arbitre ?

I recognise you from dieux du stade... That picture was hot.
Je vous identifie de dieux du stade… Cette image était chaude.

You wear pink underwear.
Vous utilisez les sous-vêtements roses.

In other, rugby related news,

Dear Universe,

While my workout was greatly enhanced by the chance to watch a dozen All Blacks get sweaty from my vantage point on the elliptical - Why was it on the day when I am wearing my sloppiest trackies and sweating like a pig?

Love,
Brat.

P.S. At least we know they're doing something.
P.P.S. Corey Jane up close... Delicious.

PLUS - There's only seven days left to join my plane, do it, you know you want to.

https://www.scoreaplane.co.nz/default.htm?n=36V2211UO&m=joinPlane

As for the cricket - All I'm going to say is I feel a profound urge to find Marty Guptill and cuddle him. A lot.

Competition time...

Air New Zealand are doing the whole "fill up a plane and we'll take you to the rugby" thing again this year. Which I think is cool. So I've started a team, and instead of spamming yous all with emails from Air NZ, I thought I would make this post and encourage those reading it to click this link and include themselves in the plane.

https://www.scoreaplane.co.nz/default.htm?n=36V2211UO&m=joinPlane

The plane is naturally called "The Cheap Seats". And i get to be in CHARGE mwahahaha.

Helpful Terms

The All Blacks are playing France at Carisbrook tonight. I won't be going because it's no fun without the Brat, who is still suffering from a case of Wrong City Syndrome.

For those of you who are attending, here are some helpful terms that may assist in your enjoyment of the experience, with thanks to Babelfish for translation.

Your mum wears combat boots!

Votre maman porte des bottes de combat!

All of your base are belong to us!

Toute votre base sont appartiennent à nous!

For great justice!

Pour la grande justice!

Oh my god, there's an axe in my head!

Oh mon dieu, il y a une hache dans ma tête!

Jesus Christ, it's a lion! Get in the car!

Jésus-Christ c'est un lion! Obtiennent dans la voiture!

You are a velocipede!

Vous êtes un vélo sur rail!

The pen of my aunt!

La plume de ma tante!

Oh my

Go and read this weeks's Field Theory blog entry over at Public Address.

No more need be said, really, does it?

A rose by any other name...

So, now is the time we can start wheeling out all the old names for the black caps. And what time is this, you ask? 51 for 5, thats what the time is.

So, whats it to be? The Slack Caps? The Black Cats? The Door Mats?

On the other hand, Yay, Chris Martin is back! We missed him, at least we know he cant bat.

And, because no one else seems to care... Well Done White Ferns! Theyre a shoe-in for the World Cup final, beating the Indian women in the semi's.

Like fruit salad, here's some of everything.

First of all, my thoughts and prayers go out to everyone who was affected by the terror attacks in Lahore a few hours ago. It is reassuring to hear that the players are all out safely.

Okay, I'm back.

I have a room with no furniture, and it appears I also can has autumn. I miss summer already. The Cheap Seats have a hub, but no bar, thanks to the demise of the grand and glorious Bowler (Which Madame and I sent off in style...)

The twenty20's have been rife, with the Black caps making up for the utter fail of their run chase in Sydney by stuttering their way to two victories.
Brendon McCullum was amazing, despite not going for the gigantic fucking slog everyone seemed to think he had to carry out. Instead he, gasp, steered both our inning's in a fashion that was both entertaining and intelligent. If he keeps that up I might have to stop considering twenty20 the red-haired stepchild of real cricket.

Now, it should be noted that these games were played in February, which is still (though not in Dunedin) late summer. On the first day of Autumn there was another twenty20 game. Madame Backslash has already discussed the rain which ruined that one. The efforts of the ground staff were herculean, the Canterbury boys stealing Aaron Redmond's rugby ball was highlarious but watching Otago win by default... Uninspiring.

And just to top it off for the first ODI it is raining. In Napier. Napier is the place I gave myself first degree sunburns. It never rains in Napier. At least not in summer.

Although as I wrote this post I got to watch a replay of the game that I gave myself such horrible sunburn at, last time India played in Napier. I even wrote about it in my diary. The entry was emo, but that game was a good one.

And now for another episode of, The More You Know... *cue theme music*

They actually played CricketMAX internationals! (for those of you who don't know, if twenty20 is the red-haired stepchild of real cricket, then cricketMAX was the partial-birth abortion. It was like a forty over test match, one side batted ten overs, then the other, then the first side again, and the second. There was also the opportunity to get extra runs by hitting the ball into certain areas of the ground. It was terrible, and also entirely Martin Crowe's fault.) But apparently they played six international cricketMAX games, the last of which was NZ vs India in 2002. I got to watch the replay, and it was just as awful as I remember.
Note - 20 year old Brendon McCullum did in that game exactly what he did in the recent twenty20's. The boy has always been a class act.

As a nice slide from cricket to rugby, the Otago Highlanders came to play cricket against some students at Otago Uni today. They were good at batting, good at bowling but shit at catching. Which may go some way to explaining their current position on the Super 14 ladder. Jimmy Cowan especially seemed afraid of the ball. Which was yellow. And plastic.

Actually, given how bad the kiwi teams have been performing I don't think I'll talk about rugby, except to say that the Highlanders playing against the Crusaders as the warm up act for Shihad is O for Oarsome.
Oh, and big ups to the Hurricanes for beating the Crusaders. I'm going to be rubbing it in to Madame backslash for, oh, at least the next six months.

Wow... Long update is long.

More Balls

So... Having been fired downsized, I suppose I should update more often. And I have been doing some sport watching. The Australian Open is on, and while I'm not really one for tennis [Edit by someone "nameless" - Yeah right, the Brat is into anything with balls] I've been quite enjoying it. I like Nadal, The Mothership likes Federer, so we have some good arguments about who is better. When neither of these people are playing we use a system to decide who to support. If it is a women's game, we support the woman with the dress we think is the nicest. If it's men's, we support the one we think is the best looking.

It, quite naturally, scares me when we agree.

I was very disappointed the other day when Federer came back from two sets down against Tomas Berdych, a tall, blonde Czech with cheekbones you could cut yourself on. The game from both players was a fantastic example of the psychology of tennis, and who had the mind game to win. I fully expect one Ken Hodge to be using the game as an example in his lectures next year. Great game to watch for more normal people too.

The Australian Open website www.australianopen.com is well designed with all the info you will ever need, so go check it out.

And in completely different balls, South Africa have beaten Australia. And of course here in New Zealand it's being talked about how this will be the perfect time to take them down, to win the Chappell-Hadlee and make them Aussies humiliation complete. I suggest the people who say things like that should have a good hard look at the way we have been playing recently. Because really. They're being a bit silly.

Oh, Ron? We Knew Him When

So the Brat was watching the Firebirds play and thought she knew the name of one of the up-and-coming talent.

She was right.

Here's Ronald Karaitiana, 21 years old.  What a fine young example of the species he is.

And...

Here's Ron at the age of nine, in full gear for his appearance on McDonald's Young Entertainers.

The lad may be dressed as a Vulcan, but by god he's a happy one. (note - Silver Uniform)

Is That An Injury Or A Try?

Mr Backslash just pointed me at an interview with Helen Brabazon, who, nearly ten years ago, had the unenviable job of commentating a Hurricanes vs Sharks game on the radio when she didn't know a thing about rugby.

As it happens she did a bang-up job, and once she'd figured out which team was which, really got into her stride.

The interview, including excerpts from the commentary is here.  The link should be good for two weeks.

Its all wet here

On the day I invite my mates to join me in the Cheap Seats for some very unhealthy drinking, it rains. Bloody Dunedin. I bought Mackintoshes specialy (I'm going to make as many jokes about that as I can.)

So, with little else to post about (We all know poor Flynnyflynnflynn was unlucky, and Ross Taylor needs a spanking every time he even thinks of playing on the on-side) I'll post the rules of the great cricket drinking game - otherwise known as The Reason I Failed Biology.

Rules:
Drink 3 when…
A bowler gets a hat trick (on top of the drinking for each wicket)

Drink 2 when…
100 is scored, either by a player or a team.
Someone gets out
A bowler gets five wickets. (4 for a ten wicket haul)

Drink 1 when…
A boundary is scored
50 is scored
A Nelson comes up (when the score is 111 or 222 etc…)
The fielding team makes an unsuccessful appeal
A run out is referred to the television umpire

When watching on TV…

When the commentators refer to a shot or player in a sexual way – drink 2

When watching at the ground…
When the player fielding closest to you gets the ball – drink 1
When a player starts gesturing in the direction of your increasingly drunken group – drink 3
When the player fielding nearest you swaps (not just between overs) – offer him a drink.

But I cant play with no cricket! Come on weather, sort yourself out!

How Sex Should Be More Like Cricket

So this afternoon the Brat and I were discussing sex and cricket, as you do, and we came to the conclusion that sex should be more like cricket.

Yes, you heard me. Sex should be more like cricket.

And here's a few reasons why:

Five days, with breaks for drinks and dinner
Lots of ball polishing
Changing ends to avoid undue wear on the run-up to the creases
New balls every four innings
Teams of eleven with substitution allowed in the event of injury
An umpire to make sure everybody plays fair, with video adjudication for borderline cases
Proper use of protective equipment
Highlights on the big screen during drinks
Penalties for using the incorrect action
Bowling maidens over (you get to decide what constitutes "a maiden" in this case)
Practice time in the nets
Whites (the clothes)
Switching bowlers
Only playing in the sun
Shorter forms played under floodlights (prevents problems with bad light stopping play)
Hotspots, Hawkeye and ultra slow-motion replays
Commentators

Any additions/suggestions? Leave us a comment!

Further Insight...

I was going to say something really funny and clever about England losing a warm up game.

Then I saw this. And all words went out of my head.

Okay, so he's not quite Mitchell Johnson, but there's less photoshop and spray tan involved in this pic.

I need something to blog about before this becomes just a spankier version of my case files...

Insight...

I was going to say something coherant and insightful about India beating Australia...

Then I saw this. And now I think I need some time alone.



Ahem. So, yes... Carry on...