So, if you want to, I’m sure you know that England struggled mightily with Bangladesh’s tail-end last night, and then seem a bit rubbish at batting themselves. I think we can take it as read that I have mocked Alastair Cook’s inability to set a field or, you know, catch. At this point I feel kind of bad about it.
I just wanted to share this photograph, which I think is indescribably hilarious.
Oh, dear. Not again.
Well, not quite indescribably. Clockwise, from top left: Kevin Pietersen, not watching the ball run away to the boundary, even though he did plenty of that last night. What is he watching? Why isn’t he watching the ball? It is clearly behind him. James Tredwell, running after it, almost certainly in vain. Graeme Swann, head in hands, wondering why he’s the only one who bothers to show up for these matches, and probably not feeling all that guilty because no one particularly troubled to field off his (Swann’s) bowling. Matt Prior, whose expressive use of wicketkeeping gloves is unparalleled. Look at that pathos. And worst of all, poor Paul Collingwood, about to go pointy nose to turf, the best of a bad lot, but still inadequate. Perhaps KP’s stylish indifference is a better solution. It doesn’t seem much less effective.
Now, £17 million is a great deal of money, and generally you want a better return on that kind of investment than Mr. Hargreaves and his big brown eyes looking picturesque on your bench for a year and a half. He might get injured at the World Cup. England will almost certainly not win, though they might have a better chance of winning with Mr. Hargreaves in midfield, since everyone else appears to be a child, antique, or broken, and he was by far their best player last time ’round. (Obviously fitness issues play into this.)
On the other hand, as Roy Keane has pointed out, probably in some rather salty language, you should want to play for your country. That’s where the glory is. It’s selfless. There’s no sponsor’s logo on your chest, just the Cross of St. George (or what-have-you).
This subject is complex, and there’s a great deal to be said for both sides, since not everyone has my starry-eyed ideals of love of country and lack of mercenary instinct. Possibly because their livelihoods rely on making money from sport. So we’ll leave it to a vote!
Is that not the best day ever? You get real baseball and chocolates! By the All-Star Game, the Peeps will be edible.
If you’ve given up booze, you can knock back a few while watching the thrice-accursed New York Yankees open the season. If you haven’t, you can also do this. Baseball is not picky about your Lenten discipline. It just wants your love.
And no, Grady Sizemore is not Jesus. But he has the best name in the major leagues, he wears cute baseball socks, he’s pretty cute himself, and Cleveland gets a lot of stick around here that it only mostly deserves, so here’s one for them.
We hope this will make up for the continuing lack of cute baseball socks on the new banner.
It will never rival the Eli Manning Face (you know the one) for sheer pathos, but it’s making a good push. I think it’s new since Mr. Cook was made captain; in any case I didn’t really notice it before on a regular basis, and I am now more sympathetically inclined and no longer call him “Stupid Alastair Cook.” This is mostly because, as someone who gets scarily over-invested at sporting events, the abject relief on his face when they won on his début as captain was very touching.
Anyway, there are currently, as far as I can tell, two versions of the Alastair Cook Face. The first is all teeth, looks like he’s been punched in the gut, and neatly communicates “I cannot believe Stuart Broad has been hit to the boundary again.”
The second is this:
Maybe if you enforced the follow-on you wouldn’t be so sad all the time….
If by “it” I mean “their chances at having the hottest qb corps of all time.” Seriously, you bring Brady Quinn into town only to ditch Chris Simms the next day? Someone in your front office is obviously making decisions based on things other than aesthetic pleasures. What is up with that?
You could have had both of these. In the same city. On the same bench!
Ah, I see the problem. Denver would have exploded from the sheer intensity of gorgeousness. And that, my friends, is a scenario we save for Tom Clancy novels. If Tom Clancy wrote novels about gorgeous bombs instead of nuclear ones.