Cricket, Bloody Hell

Well, well, well, the early favourites did in the end win the Cricket World Cup, though not by any means in the swashbuckling manner that their stellar pre-tournament form had suggested. No, it was back to the days of two hundred and fifty being a defendable score and bowlers at least getting some of the glory. Praise be to the person (if he or she actually exists and it wasn't one of those happy accidents) who oversaw the production of the pitches - now I consider it, I suspect that happy accident was involved.

So England triumphant after quite simply the most gripping game of one day cricket there has ever been. Death to the bastard child that is T20 and long live the one day international and its big brother, test cricket? Sadly I suspect not but for a few days we can at least bask in the sunlit glory of England's victory. Now, the observant amongst you will have noted that I was critical of the team when they endured their mid tournament blip. Do I now recant? No, not completely. They are still not the finished article (an unpleasant prospect for the rest of the teams) and some of them betray their membership of the snowflake generation but what they achieved on Sunday was resoundingly good news for cricket and sent the nation to work on Monday with a smile on its face. Our footballers needed extra time in 1966; the rugby team needed the Wilkinson miracle in 2003; our cricketers took it even closer to calamity before winning. What will we have to endure before we can celebrate another global team title?

the final act in a true sporting drama

Drama notwithstanding, I would select as the moment of the match Martin Guptill's immediate and sporting signal of six when his teammate Trent Boult carried the ball over the boundary. I know that television would have made certain that the runs had been counted but Guptill's actions were instinctive and honourable. Not enough was made of them by the television commentators.

Cricket bloody hell. Bring on the Ashes. I've got a ticket for day two at Edgbaston.

By way of a change I am now ensconced in a student hall of residence in Swansea as I await the British Shakespeare association conference. Bulletins to follow and hopefully this time I will manage not to offend any of the great and the good. There's always a first time.

Flat Track Bullies Do It Again; The Island; Salmon Fishing In The Yemen; A Crappy Small World

We are only two days away from England's Cricket World Cup semi-final against Australia so it would be wrong of me not to mention that Jonny Bairstow scored another hundred at the tail end of last week - clearly if this is how he reacts to perfectly justifiable criticism then we should lay it on with a trowel. As they say on the terraces (or rather as they used to say when terraces were still permitted) Ing-ur-land, Ing-ur-land. The Big Fat Pig is right behind you boys.

Ynys Moelfre - where the walk starts and finishes

The Groupie and I had a joyous weekend in Anglesey - great weather for walking and, of course, great terrain to walk in. We did Moelfre to Lligwy and treated ourselves to a pint (glass of white wine for the lady) and a portion of chips on the way home. Bosting.

Salmon Fishing in the Yemen starts with a great advantage - the title is enticing. I have not read the book but we did watch the film at the weekend (available on Netflix) and it is perfectly diverting without living up to the promise of that title. Ewen McGregor and Emily Blunt are good but the best thing about the piece is Kristin Scott Thomas as a foul-mouthed government spin doctor. National treasure material. 7/10.

There is an unedifying little spat going on at the moment on the back of leaked memoranda from the UK's ambassador to the USA, in which said diplomat made the hardly startling observation (and here I paraphrase) that Donald Trump is a bit of a twat. Trump has responded to all of this with his customary finesse - that is to say no finesse whatsoever. Meanwhile Jeremy Hunt who is busily losing the Conservative leadership election to the disappointing Boris Johnson (A man lacking any moral anchor I'm afraid) has been an unexpected beacon of rectitude in calling Trump out for his impropriety. And by the way, they should find whoever it was who leaked this stuff (my bet is s die-hard pinko with an Assange complex) and sack them with all pension rights removed. The ability to speak frankly and in camera is the necessary subtext to the negotiation that is inherent in democracy.

Flat Track Bullies Redeemed, As Is The Snowflake Generation (For Now) ... Oh And More Films

My reference to the snowflake generation is made in the context of those flat track bullies, better known as the England cricket team. Only a few minutes ago they completed their return to national approval by soundly beating New Zealand so that they are guaranteed a semi-final place, most probably against India, the very side they beat on Sunday to announce their resurrection. Prior to that victory they (most particularly Jonny Bairstow, bless his cotton socks) had reacted in true snowflake manner to the justified criticism that had come their way after two supine defeats. The poor little loves would have it that they were unlucky against Australia and how dare anyone (especially that nasty Michael Vaughan - what would he know about cricket) criticise their game plans. What tosh boys - you were murdered by the Aussies and you copped nothing more than you deserved from the commentariat. May you now blaze a trail of glory to lift the World Cup. The Overgraduate is firmly behind you but fair criticism comes with any trade, so man up.

Operation Finale dramatises the capture and removal to Israel of Adolf Eichmann. It is a worthy film somehow lacking in real drama, but nonetheless notable for Ben Kingsley's calm portrayal of Eichmann - an essay on the general banality of evil and its suave interludes of charisma. An important story but regrettably not an important film. 6.5/10. 

In similar vein another perfectly passable piece of cinema but not a great one. Christopher Robin is what we might deem a nice Sunday afternoon film - that indeed is when the Groupie and I watched it. A downtrodden (by the exigencies of his employment) Christopher Robin is revisited by Pooh (if this makes no sense to you then you are lucky because you still have ahead of you the joy of reading the Winnie the Pooh books - arguably the funniest things in the English language) and an adventure ensues both in and out of the Hundred Acre Wood. By the end a more than passable amount of fun has been had and the eponymous hero has learnt a lesson that he might have learnt much earlier if he had watched Mary Poppins. 7/10.

The sun is shining on our little land today, a fact I celebrated by taking the Precious Jag for a spin while wearing the Precious Oakleys. They do, quite naturally, make one a better driver.

Of Flat Track Bullies (Again) And the Boasting Of Mystic Dave

I warned you that England's over-hyped cricketers were heading for a fall. I warned you. I get things right so infrequently that you will understand my need to boast.

But, my ego aside, we should just consider what has gone wrong - most particularly we should locate the failing as something other than 'just one of those things'. Manifestly it is not such, because in the space of two weeks it has happened twice, on both occasions at the hands of hitherto hapless opposition. I will tell you what is missing from England's game - nuance. One of my favourite words, nuance. Test cricket at its best (and that is the highest expression of the sport) is highly nuanced. One day cricket (but not that omnivorous beast T20) just about permits of nuance. In recent years and even in test cricket England have had two speeds - full throttle and calamitous crash. Just look at Moeen Ali's dismissal against Sri Lanka - a fall categorically lacking in nuance. And he wasn't the only one.

Misses the mark - lacks nuance?

So here it is -  nuance matters. Cricket is a game of nuance, or at least it ought to be and as I have said in this context too often, pop will eat itself. And whilst we are on the subject it should be noted that Mark Antony should be played with nuance and it is this necessity that makes Antony and Cleopatra potentially so beguiling. As a critical aside, and not that anyone will care, the BBC Antony and Cleopatra, marginally misses the mark.

So you see, sometimes I am right. Sometimes I am wrong. And sometimes it rains.   

A Nation Expects - Unfortunately

The Cricket World Cup got underway today to the tune of England's favouritism. Usually such expectation has a debilitating effect on our players but, on this occasion, only the greatest churl would argue that they have not earned the tag by virtue of their prior performances. They have elevated the fifty over game to a point where a total of a mere three hundred can seem inadequate. Their bowling does not convince quite as readily as the brutal batting but, hey, you can't have everything.

 I watched much of the game against South Africa today and at one point in the middle of the South African reply to England's innings, I felt that too familiar deflated sensation of the England fan (in any sport - cricket is hardly alone in letting us down) and was readying myself to write a blog which castigated the attendant mood of confidence. In fact I was wrong by a massive margin. England were reassuringly professional in bowling South Africa out. And if you haven't yet seen Ben Stokes's catch, please gooogle it and wonder at what a man can do. I think I am going to allow myself to be optimistic