101 reasons why I like the Kiwis

I've been trying to figure out why I like the Kiwis so much. Apart from the fact that they have Daniel Vettori and are basically neutral like Switzerland I mean. So I was reading up on them when it suddenly struck me.

New Zealand is considered by many to be a state of Australia.
Canada is called the 51st American state.
Truth is, We are both a million times better than our neighbours.

That was reason number three.

The Kiwis always surprise people with their cricket. We never look at them and say, 'this team is so fucking talented they will rule the world one day'. Then they thrash India by 200 runs.

That is a huuuuge margin. Even bigger considering three of their top players and match-winners were all absent. Vettori is apparently in labour, Jesse Ryder is still drunk and Baz is probably at sea, in a quest to truly find his calling.

That is reason number four.

Reason number five is IOB. Enough said.

Then there are others, like Ross Taylor, Scott Styris, Shane Bond and of course Stephen Fleming. Stephen Fleming alone can be reason number nine to a hundred. And because of his awesome performance I will now add Daryl Tuffey to that list.

Reason number hundred and one.

Strangely, by the end of this list I have also managed to come up with a reason I like India: they gave Dhoni grey hair.

Or maybe it was the wife.

It's all relative

One day as Mascaraman stood in front of the mirror applying makeup to his eyeballs to make it as pretty as his lashes, he had heard voices. A distant whisper, in a Goochie-like voice...

"Alastair...you can bowl".

So the next day he bowled. He presumed it was a bit like throwing water balloons at people. And he had plenty of experience in that department thanks to the lovely pajama parties hosted by Ms. Stuart. He conceded 111 runs in 5 overs. 111. Straight and symmetrical. Just like his mascara brush.

Offended that a worse bowler has emerged, Mitchell Johnson quickly moved to grab the spotlight. Except he kind of forgot to grab his own brain when running out the door and tried to borrow Scott Styris'. When Scott wouldn't give it to him, Mitchy went upto the brain and started calling it in a strange language, to get it to jump out. Mitchy huffed and he puffed, but it didn't budge. Then he tried banging it with his head. Bang, bang, bang...went Mitchy.

So great was the effect of Mitchy's banging that even Butt heard it over at Pakistan. Only the air particles and infinite sound waves floating around between New Zealand and Pakistan created a chinese whisper effect and the words reached Butt's ear as 'ban, ban, ban'. Next day, any Pakistani player who had dared to have luscious hair, facial or otherwise, were banned. They said it was about the cricket, but we doubt whether Pakistan actually plays cricket or shows up once in a while to make the world interesting. Regardless, you are now punishable by law for having hair.

Which is why Dan the man got rid of his beard and in the process brought back the frown lines on Ricky Ponting's monkey face when he decided to once again, defeat the opposition all by himself. Methinks Daniel is a bit of a loner, and that is kind of a problem because this ain't tennis. Or the French football team. But it is also true that his team frequently abandons him in their quest for zesty chicken now that KFC is their official sponsor. But not Dan. Dan can't be swayed by them birds.

Chicken talk inevitably leads to the dashing Bangladeshi captain. No, the real one. The one who has given up playing altogether for unknown reasons. Mashrafe Mortaza is missing. Nobody knows why. Please find him. His team got our hopes high for a brief period (you think we have learnt our lessons by now) and his deputy took atrocious captaining to a new level. Neither the good nor the bad had anything to do with him, but according to Shakib the old Mashrafe has disappeared and the new one is no good.

Maybe the old one has gone for a walk with Lara Bingle, who, after showing too much, has also disappeared. Before that however, she made her beloved fly back home...only to end things. These are times when I am in full support of phone break ups. Think of all the paper that we would have saved had Clarke not flown back and the media not gone crazy. And think of all the paper they will be using when Clarke gets into another relationship and the papparazzi tries to get a statement from Bingle. I don't give a shit about the matter of their hearts, I just want the trees saved.

In extension, while you are saving trees, it is a reasonably good idea to save the Zimbabwean cricket team. A team that can beat West Indies with Chris Gayle playing is a team that deserves to be showered in Gayle's sunglasses and have Gayle serve them. At least for a night. Please can people play Zimbabwe more often?

Maybe we should have a team called the Zimbabwean Chris Gayle Beaters in IPL 4. I will get Bouch to twit his Modiness.

Short and Sweet

During the Kiwi vs Aus game, I was having a conversation with a friend. It went like this,

"Where is Scott Styris? Why the fuck are all these Franklins and Brooms batting ahead of him when the required run rate is 6 and over and MICHAEL CLARKE is bowling?"

Then Scott Styris arrived. And the Kiwis won a game without Vettori, Elliot and Sumo Ryder. Against their next door neighbour. You know the one with the unbeaten summer? Hasn't lost an ODI since England? Yeah them.

MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Now all the Black Caps need to do is keep it together for two more games and hand the Aussies their first series loss since summer in the Northern Hemisphere. I am really looking forward to that. Where the hell are the Aussies going to keep another trophy anyway? I swear they have a storage room at CA headquarters where a heap of dusty trophies that they don't care about, are lying around. Like the Natwest Trophy, after they beat England 6-1. Or that trophy they got in India. What was that one called? "It's such a long series the trophy got tired of waiting and burst into flames".

(P.S: Ricky took the ashes home)

In other news, Bangladesh came very close to winning the second ODI but the Irishman offered them alcoholic pleasures. So they decided to let the little one trample them with his tiny feet.

And you thought this post was going to have a sweet ending. Well, so did I!