Ashes 3rd Test Review

After a heavy defeat at Lords and finding themselves 2 – 0 down in the series, Australia needed to bounce back in the 3rd test at Old Trafford and bounce back they did. Winning the toss and electing to bat first, their batsmen dug deep and fully applied themselves. Chris Rogers proved himself for the first time in the series, making a well constructed 84, falling agonizingly short of what would have been his maiden test century. Steve Smith also applied himself well and like Rogers, his dismissal came before he reached his hundred. Although these two innings were good they were dwarfed by a certain Michael Clarke. Struggling early on, Clarke got off to a slow start but only grew in confidence. He gave a lesson on how to play Graeme Swann during a fascinating battle between the two. Down the pitch and over mid off, then on the back foot cutting through backward point. True class. The Australian captain made 187 before chopping the ball onto his stumps from a short ball by Stuart Broad to give him his 200th wicket. Then came Haddin and Starc. Their enterprising partnership put runs on the board quickly to take the score up to 527.

A Letter from the DRS: Its Not My Fault

Dear readers, I can understand your hatred.

After a century-long tradition of on field umpires dictating play, you the cricket audience have been up in arms about my introduction to the game.  I am the Decision Review System, and I am here to pledge my case.

I have been tasked to improve on the human eye, I understand you make mistakes so I am available to you to make sure horrid umpiring decisions do not dictate our great game.  But instead I have been the subject of condemnation and torrents of abuse.

The simple fact is, I am merely misunderstood. My situation is analogous to building a house whose floor fell through and then blaming the hammer.

So who's fault is it really?

India
For your "overwhelming" support. Thanks.

Your Idiotic Rules
Who came up with the bright idea of limited referrals? If you are going to impose a limit, at least be realistic and give three or more.  I hear you argue that you don't want the players to waste them on 50/50 calls, but now we've landed the ludicrous situation where everyone including me knows its out except the poor sod on field who muffed it. But is it his fault? Alas no, its mine somehow.

Your Idiotic Captains
A smart captain, Mr Cook, uses me sparingly because of the aforementioned silly referral limits. He removes the howlers and the howlers only, anything that's iffy he goes with the on-field call. And voila, I hand him reviews for the rainy days.

A silly captain, Mr Clarke, uses me any which way he pleases and burns all his team reviews. When the real howler comes along I am no help.  And who's fault is that? Alas, mine somehow.

Shane Watson
The bane of my existence! Stop this blonde idiot from abusing me!

"Blasphemous... review it" © Getty

That goes for you too Mr. Sehwag, I haven't forgotten the World Cup 2011.

Tete-a-Tete with the Stani Army

First of all we would like to thank the members of Stani Army for taking time out of their schedule and talking to us.

Stani Army with Chacha cricket out in Sri Lanka at the 2012 T20 World Cup

  

It is impossible to miss them if you watch any Pakistan match. They turn the match atmosphere into that of a carnival and ensure that there are no dull moments in the matches for the fans present at the ground and the ones viewing on TV. 

DieHard Cricket Fans spoke to them about their inception, activities, planning and much more.  

MS Dhoni: The Golden Calf

In two weeks, this is my second article on him. And I just can’t help writing. If someone keeps you stuck like a barnacle to your television set even after the bewitching hours and makes you transfer his videos to the cell, recurrently, till you have reached a phase where you can just pull your hair, I don’t think you can help much.

After Sachin’s retirement, One Day cricket had nearly kicked the bucket for many of us. It didn’t tantalize the cricket fan in us anymore. It was humdrum. 15 were needed of the last six. We went to sleep.

And then India won with one wicket left!

“I think I am blessed with a good cricketing sense.” The skipper could not have been more on-the-nose in his self assessment.

The Ashes Begin: With A Bang

Its probably the littlest trophy in the whole sporting world. Certainly one of the oldest. More have been written about the Ashes than any other sporting contest. And why not? After all it carries a little poem too.

When Ivo goes back with the urn, the urn;

Studds, Steel, Read and Tylecote return, return;

The welkin will ring loud,

The great crowd will feel proud,

Seeing Barlow and Bates with the urn, the urn;

And the rest coming home with the urn.

Its been a long buildup to the double headed Ashes that are going to be played over the next 8 months. 10 Tests between the oldest rivals. 

The Yumm Yuss Dee Effect!!

They were right when they said, “you never know when it happens.” And what I’ve lately cryptanalyzed is that this saying holds true in case of admiration too.

People ask me “Why do you love Dhoni?” “Why are you always going so gaga about him?”

I have my reasons. Some absolutely logical, and some other, equally illogical, dillogical!

But if you ask me, “When did you begin liking Dhoni?”

I will be tongue tied, for I don’t have an answer.

Maybe when he along with his long locks obliterated the Sri Lankan attack, that awestrucking 183*. Maybe when he gave the ball to Uthappa in the India-Pak ball out. Or maybe when he took of his jersey after winning the WC of the shortest format.

Whatever the reason maybe, it ensured that I was enslaved. And enslaved for keeps.

Yes I follow Mahendra Singh Dhoni. I follow him not to strike a note about his stats and records or to call him “lucky.”  I do not follow him to debate about he being the best Indian Captain, for I know that he incontrovertibly is. But I follow him, ‘cause for me he’s a synagaogue of idealness. A perfect cricketer, and more than that, a perfect human being.

Calm, ice-cool, composed. Planning scrupulously, wangling insidiously and striddling the opposition like an edacious beast of prey. Bogusing a brine of phlegm amidst tempestuous storms. An wellspring of sagacity, amidst the gore. The calming dominion in Indian Cricket.

That’s what he is to me.

I wonder what my cardiograph looks like when he’s taking strike. Those who get a chance to watch him with me being in the same room, can figure out three different forms of me in the post-hitting moments 1) a girl admiring and being awed by the alacritous runner between the wickets; 2) a wacko caterwauling “Oh, boy!” at the top of her lungs with both hands up in the air, if the ball crosses the ropes; 3) and, a leaviathan springing, throwing expletives at the air if the ball takes one beautiful flight and kisses the sky.

You might be charmed to see a MJ moonwalk, or a Madhuri Dixit dance straight from  the 90s. I will be beguiled to see a MS Dhoni sideways dive. Or for that matter, even a flash of his pearly whites.

Having talked of MSD’s antics, I am so cajoled and can’t stonewall the fire in belly to talk about Champions Trophy as well.

Putting the dumb in a dumbfounding decision, when it was dreaded that in the battle of common sense vs. ICC, common sense might just retire hurt, fortunately, cricket overshadowed the stupidity.

Yes, Shikhar Dhawan played well, Virat Kohli batted elegantly, Jadeja came a long way, from internet jokes to the golden ball, and Ashwin bowled as if he never really left home; but among all these spine-tingling performances, MS Dhoni’s was heart-stirring like none other’s. How tiring it should be to scrunch balls, keep wickets and simultaneously, make strategies for eleven people? But Mahendra Singh Dhoni, like a warrior, never halts in the battle.