Jiminy Crickets

Greetings, gentle readers.
In contrast to some of my more recent contributions, this particular missal should be particularly fluffy and insubstantial.  For those sick of political commentary and philosophical critiques of contemporary society, this may be a welcome change of pace.   Let's start off with my random song mix of the day.

Showertime Song Mix

• Behind Blue Eyes by The Who
• The Last Saskatchewan River Pirate, performed by Captain Tractor
• Water by Melanie Chisholm
• Missionary Man by the Eurythmics
• This Flight Tonight, performed by Nazareth
• I Grieve, by Peter Gabriel
• America, by Bree Sharp
• Fortunate Son, by Creedence Clearwater Revival

Again, any thematic unity that can be found in this list would be welcomed.

Cricket

Yes, it's that time of the year again.  The Indian T20 Premier League of Cricket is on, and the next six weeks will be filled with the sound of me tormenting my flatmates (and anyone else within earshot) with endless gabbling about googlies, boundaries, cow corners, and yorkers.
We are now five games into the competition, and some alarming things have been made evident.  First, I should probably have done more than ten minutes of research before selecting my online fantasy team.  Second, my coaching advice to teams in the IPL is almost identical to the advice that I gave to the Philadelphia Eagles early in the NFL playoffs - if you play using boring, defensive, safe, cynical, and pragmatic strategies, you will always be losers regardless of the score.  If you succeed on the scoreboard but alienate your supporters, players, and sponsors, you do not understand sports.
Here are the facts - boiled down so as to make the conclusions blindingly obvious.

• There have been five matches, each one starting with a coin toss.
• In all five games, the team that wins the toss has chosen to bowl first.
• In all five games, the team that bowled first and batted second has won the game.

Logically, the team that wins the toss wins the game.  Why?  I'm reminded of the joke of the two campers that spot a bear.  The punchline is simple:  "I don't need to be faster than the bear.  I just need to be faster than YOU."
The team that bats first sets the pace.  The second team doesn't need to play their best; they just need to be better than the first team.  In a couple of notable cases, if the first team plays it safe and tries to defend their wickets instead of scoring runs, the second team doesn't need to work very hard to surpass the score and go home early.  In fact, in the fourth match between the Rajasthan Royals and Sunrisers Hyderabad, the Royals played such a cautious and pedestrian game that Sunrisers were able to win by NINE WICKETS. 
Let me break it down.

• Rajasthan failed to hit a single ball for six.  Imagine a baseball team that never hit a home run.  Didn't even try.
• No Rajasthan player hit for fifty or more runs.  This is a multi-million dollar accumulation of international superstars, and none of them managed to average two runs per ball. 
• Sunrisers only needed three batters to win the game.  That means that after they finished fielding, more than two-thirds of the team had the rest of the night off.  
• The commentators were joking that they could go down early and start handing out man of the match awards after the 15th over.  It was not an exaggeration.  
• In a game with 120 deliveries (pitches), Sunrisers were done after 97.  No need to play the rest.

In short, Rajasthan fans had little occasion to rise to their feet and/or cheer.  Their team quietly plugged away and basically scored one point per delivery, ending with 125 runs on 120 balls.  Their opposition laughingly disposed of them and went home early, leaving home fans, sponsors, and investors alike feeling ripped off and disappointed.
All five games have followed the same story arc, with different variations on the theme, but the bottom line is the same one that ought to have been driven into everyone's psyche after the final game of last season's competition - aggression, daring, and risk reward those who employ them. 
When bowling, an aggressive and attacking player will try and get the ball around or through a batsman in order to knock the wickets.  That risks a batsman knocking the ball and scoring multiple runs, but might yield an out.  Ten outs, and your opposition is done.  A defensive bowler tries to throw as many balls as possible that skirt the boundary of legality in an effort to run up the cricket equivalent of a pitch count.  120 balls, and your opponents are done.
When batting, a defensive player blocks the ball down to the ground with his bat.  No possibility of the ball knocking a wicket or a fielder catching a fly ball.  Basically, a baseball bunt where the batter is not forced to run to first.  It's safe, and it works in conventional cricket, where matches can go on for three to five days.  In T20 cricket, every time you don't treat a ball as an opportunity to score points, it's an opportunity lost.  And you're boring the pants off your fans for no good reason whatsoever.
So in conclusion, when I cursed the Philadelphia Eagles for cowards and lackwits after their first playoff game in the NFL, I did so with the best intentions, and the sea-change in their philosophy justified my rancor.  They won the Super Bowl after changing their strategy to accommodate 4th-down gambles, QB sneak plays, 2-point touchdown conversions, and balancing aerial and ground-based offensive plays - the stuff that is precluded by a defensive mindset.
Using the same logic, the first team that will bat first AND win an IPL T20 match this season will do so by throwing caution to the wind, by swinging for the fences, scoring centuries, and never taking their proverbial foot from the accelerator pedal.  The more I see teams hedging their bets, choosing the safe option, or taking the easy way out, the more I'm convinced that the boring and conservative mindset of test cricket is infecting the explosive and improvisational nature of twenty-over cricket.
Until next time, I'm changing my fantasy team so that all of my Rajasthan Royals players are replaced by Sunrisers Hyderabad and Delhi Daredevils.
Oh, and I did fairly well in choosing a bunch of Chennai Super Kings players, but they have now been riddled with injuries and will be unlikely to continue their good run of form (including a win involving a last-ditch hit by a man with a torn hamstring).
Right, I'll soon be back detailing the injustices and wrongs of the world around us, but until then, good night England and the Colonies.
Cheers,
—mARKUS

Ray Wilkins, R.I.P.

Greetings gentle readers.
In light of the recent announcement of the death of Ray Wilkins, former English football player and manager, I thought that I would repost an interview with the man from January, 1997.  It was originally published in the magazine "Total Football" and since the publication is now defunct, I have no contact for copyright information.  I doubt that anyone would want to persecute me for it in any event.
Here is the text of the article:

Ray Wilkins is... The King of Calm

Ivor Baddiel attempts to annoy Ray Wilkins but discovers a man of great patience and tranquillity. Damn.

Ray Wilkins is the kind of bloke you want to be with in the event of an earthquake. As you're hurtling headlong down a bottomless pit, you can just hear him saying: "Yes Ivor, you're right, this is a difficult situation, but if we keep our heads, there's no need to panic."
The guy is football's James Bond. He can be shaken, but never stirred. His repertoire consists of relaxed, slightly bored, mildly amused and, on the odd occasion, concerned. But outrage, psychotic temper tantrums and losing his rag, he just doesn't do.
Witness the recent Eric Hall video, Monster Hits - ish! where Ray is set up to believe that he's on a panel with Eric and Gary Stevens on a TV show being beamed live to 40 million viewers in the US. Halfway through the 'show', Gary admits to having been offered money to throw matches on a number of occasions and, at one point in his career, actually accepted one of these bribes.
Ray's reaction on hearing this is to rub his right eye a number of times, play with his wedding ring and explain how flabbergasted he is. At no point does he betray any signs of deep discomfort and, at the end, when Eric, in true Jeremy Beadle fashion, lets Ray in on the joke, he doesn't chase Eric around the studio brandishing a kitchen knife or laugh hysterically till he's sick. He simply smiles a lot and looks ever so slightly relieved.
"They set it up so well," says Ray, "and Gary, well, he must have his equity card now, the way he played it. But I kept thinking: 'Why are they just putting my face up on the screen?' 'cos I could see it on a monitor, and it was only afterwards when they done me, I thought: 'That's where I should've spotted it.' I felt a right mug after when he'd done me like a kipper, but it's typical Eric, isn't it? It's just a laugh. I got caught out. It was a bit of harmless fun.
Clearly no burning cesspit of resentment there but when I met up with Ray recently, I'd loaded my interviewer's gun with a few tricky bullets and was ready to fire a couple at him to see if he'd flinch. He took the first, concerning his none-too-successful venture into management squarely on the chin without a wobble.
"I enjoyed management. I think probably one of the biggest problems I faced as a manager was that all the players were my friends. I'd only finished playing with them six months before, so consequently picking the team was difficult. I could only pick 11, so naturally on the Monday morning the door's being knocked down by five or six. But that's management and it was tough. If I go back into it, I'll make sure I don't know the players for a start, but I don't think I'll do too many things differently. I just wanted to be as honest as I could and the players to be as professional as they could, and that was basically my philosophy on it.'

His brow unfurrowed, I went for a little jab just below the belt and suggested that playing at Hibs with lads half his age must be a bit odd.
"Yes, it's a strange feeling to be honest. I'm probably old enough to be some of the players' dad, but I've never really looked on it like that. I feel very young in spirit, so I don't have hang ups about it. Some of them are a bit cheeky, but I like that, because they're not putting me somewhere I shouldn't be. They're just treating me as one of them, and as a player I'll take that all day. It's not a problem."
Obviously, it was time to turn the heat up a little and delve deeper into the murky waters of Ray's past. His time at Paris St. Germain, for instance, can't have been overly joyous.
"That was probably one of the hardest periods of my footballing career purely. simply because they had three foreigners there, myself, Susich and Calderon. We had a lot of trouble scoring goals and as they were two forward players, the manager preferred to play them instead of me, so I was actually playing in their reserve side in the French Third Division. Going from AC Milan's first team to that was a bit of a shock to the system, but I wouldn't change anything. Although it was a bad footballing experience, I think you have to have them to appreciate the good times."
How very philosophical.
By now I was the one feeling the strain, but I hadn't finished yet, not by a long chalk. Everyone has their breaking point and I reckoned a sneaky question about Ray only ever playing a square ball might just tip him over the edge. I was wrong.

"One of the biggest problems I faced as a manager was that all the players were my friends..."

"I've really no qualms about that at all. Those critics have been media people. If you look back over the years and the managers who have bought me, I think they've got far more knowledge of the game than any of those critics ever had. My philosophy on football is if you've got the ball you can do something with it. If you give it away easily, then it takes you 10 minutes to get it back, and also you can't get a goal.
"Some people think that's quite negative, but then I'm not too concerned about that. I would sooner see the ball passed to one of my team-mates than to someone else. I've never ever worried about what anybody thinks about the way I play."

Fine, Ray mate, I didn't want to do this. but the editor insisted I come back with pictures of you weeping or I was out of a job. So, what happened at the 1986 World Cup, then? Eh?
"It was one of those crazy things that footballers do. I'd been booked before for a fall on the half-way
line and I was in an advanced position on the left-hand side of the field, I'll never forget it, and the guy gave me offside.
Well, I was looking across the line and I couldn't see it personally, so I threw the ball on the floor, but
unfortunately on the first bounce, it skidded up and walloped the ref. He got slightly irate with me and I was off.
"The rest of the World Cup was just an absolute disaster. The worst feeling I had was when Bobby Robson had used his second substitute against Argentina in the Aztec. I knew then that if we didn't win that game I would take no further part, because I'd been suspended up until that game. When the final whistle went I just thought: 'Well Jesus Christ, what a nightmare to have missed that one.' it was the worst moment of my career, but even though it might sound silly, I wouldn't change it.
"I don't think any footballer can go through his career without a blemish. Football's a game of extreme emotions and you're going to get tied up in it, you've got to. If you love and care for it as much as that, every player must get involved at some stage."
Football might be a game of extreme emotions, but if he didn't start showing some of those off the pitch, it was the Job Centre for me. It was time to get personal and find out where the Butch nickname came from.
"My father called me Butch when I was a baby. Apparently I was big, fat and hairy. Where all that's gone I've no idea, but the name has stuck. I didn't like it at all. It's not very nice being called Butch. All my brothers and sisters called me it, and they still do. I accept it from them, but thankfully, from everybody else, it's disappeared."
If only he had grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and threatened to put me in hospital if I ever mentioned it again, but, as he calmly signed more autographs - a group of kids had interrupted us on average about every five minutes and he couldn't have been more courteous to them - desperation turned to rudeness: "You're bald!" I blurted out.
"l suppose I do have a receding hairline. Ivor, but my philosophy on it is easy come, easy go. I get some stick for it, but at the end of the day I'm in pretty good shape for a 40-year-old, wouldn't you say?"
Yes, I would have agreed if I hadn't been crawling out of the restaurant, a broken wreck left to ponder the advantages of a stress free life. Ray, meanwhile, was happily signing more autographs for the youngsters.

—  from Ivor Baddiel in "Total Football" issue 17, January 1997.

Ray Wilkins, MBE.
14 September 1956 - 4 April 2018
R.I.P.

Back to Goodreads

Greetings, gentle readers.
I'll be back at length before long, never fear.  Until I am, here is one of the many book reviews that I intend to start publishing.
The Away Game: The Epic Search for Soccer's Next Superstars by Sebastian Abbot
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

The premise of this book shows great promise. Everyone loves underdog, rags-to-riches anecdotes, and the narrative of third-world African children being whisked away from poverty and into the sparkling dream castle of a Qatari football academy sounds like Cinderella recast into a sports paradigm.
There are two stumbling blocks that inhibit any real joyful or life-affirming interpretations of the work - the style and the content.
I recall watching early North American broadcasts of English Football. The commentators seems at pains to use the entire and clearly-enunciated phrase "Barclays English Premier League" at least once during each passage of play, as in "That's the sort of passing play one has come to expect from the Barclays English Premier League," and "Many players find it difficult to make the transition from another league to the physical demands of the Barclays English Premier League." After a while, it ceased to sound sincere and instead just sounded like routine and contractually obligated product placement.
Somehow, the author of this book seems to think that dropping the name "Messi" every three paragraphs will keep reader attention or add some sort of credibility to the exposition of events. As a reader, I found it tedious and artificial.
As for the content [SPOILER ALERT], the largest problem with the entire framing of the historical situation is a sham. The real point of this story is not that there are some bright and talented blood-diamonds-in-the-rough waiting to be discovered in Africa, but that poverty and institutionalized corruption has made talented children into yet another resource to be exploited and trafficked. Everyone lies, cheats, bribes, and steals in order to get money - including the children themselves - making the whole story just a depressing voyage into cynicism.
A typical example would involve a young player showing tremendous promise, evaluated favourably by scouts and coaches, and then he suddenly runs off with the first agent that offers cash because the academy will shortly discover that he has been lying about his age. Then you realize that most of the kids have faked their birth date because that is how the system works. As soon as they are told that there is an MRI test that can scientifically verify their age, they suddenly grasp for the first handful of cash they can grab.
Even if they haven't lied about their age, many young athletes are governed by family members or other figures of authority that make decisions based on how much they stand to gain personally from the player's success.
In short, sympathy for 13-year-olds striving to transcend abject poverty starts to run dry when you discover that they are, in fact 16 years old, and the money that they have been wiring home to their destitute families has been appropriated by the local church or some belligerent coach or uncle.
Finally, you are left with a collection of sob stories of fraudulent and cheating failures blubbering about how much they love God and wish that God would give them another chance. That they betrayed the trust and faith of others in them seems to be an afterthought.
The one case of success presented in the book is a Senegalese boy who was born into a more middle-class family than his peers, and one who kept his head down, did as he was told, and played within the lines. Not exactly fairy-tale stuff.
The book is worth a read, but it only starts feeling authentic when the reader appreciates that the narrator is thematically untrustworthy. The language used is appropriated from a thousand inspirational posters and motivational speeches, but the bottom line is that poverty creates flaws in the human character that football cannot repair.


View all my reviews

Cheers,

—mARKUS