A win at last!

As you’ll know from previous posts, I’m a Brentford fan. Well yesterday saw us beat the mighty Chesterfield 2-1 to record our first win for 22 games. Yup, you read that right. 22 games without a win.

Rumour has it that Greg Dyke plans an open top bus victory parade followed by tea at Number 10. It’s just a shame they missed the New Years Honours list by a couple of days.

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Whitewash likely

I couldn’t be bothered to write anything about the final days play in the Fourth Test. If I had then it would probably have been a single word post – pitiful.

So onwards and upwards. Only one more Test match to go before the one dayers. If you thought things looked bad now, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

I honestly cannot see anything other than a 5-0 whitewash.

Crap, I’m depressed.

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I can’t think of any other word that better describes the assault on the English bowlers by Hayden and Symonds than bludgeoned. Battered is quite good but somehow it doesn’t quite work as well.

Bludgeoned is a sadly underused word in the English language. A bit like piffle. I think it’s great that those two nice Australian chaps gave me an opportunity to use it. I’m sure that the post match press conference with Duncan Fletcher will also give me an opportunity to use piffle too.

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700th Wicket

I’ve just been watching the video clip over at The Corridor and it reminded me of something that went through my wine/beer/sherry/brandy addled brain last night as I watched the moment when Fat Boy got to 700 Test wickets. You don’t see it on the Australian TV coverage but I swear there was a wry smile on Andrew Strauss’ face as he walked off. He knew that no matter whatever else he does in his Test match career, he will always be known as the 700th Test wicket for Shane Warne.

Murali will probably still hit 1000 wickets because the laws of the game will continue to be changed to accomodate his cheating action and allow him to continue chucking bowling but Shane Warne will always be regarded as the greatest spin bowler that has ever graced a cricket field.

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Make it stop

I watched the first session of the day accompanied by my snoring dad until his false teeth fell out so I poured him into his bed at the lunch break and returned to sit in the dense fog that he’d left behind (note to self – don’t give him parsnips next year). By the time we got to the tea break I was pretty much all in myself so decided to call it a day. I’d seen Fat Boy get his 700th wicket so at least I hadn’t missed that.

I remember thinking as I drifted off that I shouldn’t be worrying. “We’re 117-4 with KP and Freddie at the crease”, said my subconscious mind. “You’ll wake up tomorrow and we’ll have 250 on the board”. However I guess that years of being a Brentford supporter as well as an England cricket fan have taken their toll. As I drifted off to sleep on the sofa, there seemed to be something else hanging in the atmosphere other than the toxic cloud of parsnip packed poo particles. It was that ever so familiar air of inevitability.

Needless to say that when I got my first opportunity to check teletext today that I was not surprised to see that The Bees had lost 4-1 at home and that England had managed to add just 42 runs for the final 6 wickets.

Ho Ho bloody Ho. Happy sodding Christmas.

Oh well, putting the cricket to one side, I hope you had a good Christmas and received lots of really useful presents. I got some socks and a novelty calendar about poo so at least the prizes for the sweepstake are taken care of.

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