I like cards. I like playing cards, I like my credit card, I like handing out other peoples’ business cards to drunks. Cards are fun. Then, this morning, I looked at the score card for the fifth test.

Crikey, what a mess. From the standard “Sharing the honours after Day One” (whatever the frak that means), we’ve gone to “backs against the wall after Broad strikes”.

Fifteen wickets in a day is the kind of thing you expect to see in the pyjama game, not a Test. (It’s good to see that at least a couple of wickets can be put down to this series’ undeniably appalling umpiring, Asad Rauf being the villain this time, giving a bat-pad that could be seen from space out LBW, and a catch that was clearly off the pad. Not to mention wickets taken on no-balls…). It’s all rather dire, and, given Australia’s effort in the last Test, somewhat bewildering; this series has flip-flopped like Peter Garrett.

I have to admit that I haven’t taken my usual keen interest in The Ashes this year, I think the main reason being that the First Test was on at the same time as the Tour De France and I never really bothered catching up. Which is a bit of a shame as I think back to all the glorious overnight couch-time I’ve spent over the years, watching grainy broadcasts from India or South Africa, marvelling at how good our sports coverage is and how great our Aussies were. I cannot for the life of me remember where I was when I watched, but Dean Jones vomiting and explosive-diahorreaing all over the place (and almost dying of dehydration) on the way to a double-ton in the Calcutta Tied Test is one of the greatest sporting moments anywhere in the world, and I SAW IT LIVE. Or something.

Since then, I’m not sure where or when my interest dissipated, but there are a few key moments over my cricket-loving lifetime that stand out as pointers to when the rot set in. Warne and Mark Waugh dealing with illegal Indian bookmakers and then playing Brittney Spears dumb and innocent was one. Warne giving three different versions of how and why he came to be taking a banned diuretic was definitely another, along with him taking money from a quit smoking company, then starting on the fags again, or the time he grabbed a little kid’s camera, or all his classy SMS action….. Why did the Cricketing gods reach down and bless such a jerk-off?

India and Pakistan controlling the ICC and running the entire game for the benefit of the sub-continent, while constantly crying about being the victims of racism has had me switching off in disgust for a long time now. Add in Harbhajan Singh’s revolting behaviour, and the hypocritical and utterly corrupt response, and it’s all just a bit sad.

The fact that Bangladesh is allowed to play Test cricket. The fact that Zimbabwe are allowed to play international cricket at all. The world record wicket-taker is a chucker, but calling him for it is racist, talking about it is racist, and the best way to deal with it is to change the definition of chucking so that he can continue to chuck.

Andrew Symonds being selected, over and over again, without regard to anything other than the supposed ratings boost. Andrew Hilditch working his arse off to displace Demetriou as Sports Administrators’ Hall Of Fame Poster-Boy For Wilful Blindness And Hypocrisy…

I just read back over that, and it’s more than a few moments, isn’t it? Any more and I’ll just get even sadder. Go Aussie.

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Well, it had to happen, law of averages said it was bound to happen, we were due, the pressure’s been there for the past ten or eleven rounds, we’ve been lucky with injuries, blah blah blah. The Saints finally lost. We had all the run in the last quarter against Essendon, and if it had gone on another two minutes I have little doubt that we would’ve recovered from Rooer’s miss, kicked the winner, and be counting down still toward the perfect season. Ross Lyon was right, however, when he said that at least that’s one less newspaper column about St Kilda each week from now on.

It will make things a little difficult for AFL writers over the last two rounds of the Home And Away season, though; every week I’ve read one knuckle-head or another come up with a way for that week’s opponent to beat the Saints, and now that’s no longer an issue. Essendon outplayed them for most of the game, it’s that simple, and if they’d been able to keep up the run and pressure for the whole four quarters, the margin would have been a hell of a lot more than one kick.

Of course now we've also lost to North Melbourne, and it's starting to look like complacency. Sure as shit looked like it from where I was sitting.

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I’m indebted to the St Kilda FC for tweeting the Bleeding Obvious this morning: With Geelong’s loss last night, the Saints are now guaranteed the Minor Premiership. Shit, really?

* * *

If they show it on a sports channel, its sport. So Poker is a sport. So I can write about it here. The King Of Tonga ran the second Texas Hold ‘em poker night recently, and I won. We were somewhat down on players this time around, and the King wasn’t even there, the selfish/stupid bastard was out for dinner for his BIRTHDAY, like he wouldn’t have known that when he set the date…

Anyway, it was a lot of fun starting with only five sharks at the table, and blisteringly efficient bar staff, and teaching Drew how to add up (Drew, for fuck’s sake, that’s nine fucking hands in a row you’ve had to ask what it’s gonna cost to Check!!!), but things got icky when we got down to three, two of whom were your co-editors and I was the Big Dog, and Jane was Short Stack and she kept calling me when I thought it was obvious I was saying FOLD, and eventually I KO’ed her with a flush against two pair, and there was an uneasy silence…..

So it was down to Drew and me, and he wanted to get home and watch the cricket so called High Card against my Trips, so I won.

First time I’ve won anything since Sexiest Male Editor at the annual Written On The Couch Published Out Of A Spare Room, Printed On A $150 Ebay Printer Amongst Bikes And Spare Mattresses And Hand-Delivered By Us And A Queenslander Media Awards….

* * *

Anyone who has Foxtel is not allowed to answer the following question: Do you have an interest in Rugby Union? Of course, those of us who don’t have Foxtel are unable to answer the fucking question.

When was the last time a Wallabies Test was shown before midnight, let alone live? As for Super Fourteens, well fuck me, I know there’s a Waratahs, and a Brumbies, and Waikato Chiefs and a bunch of jaarpers, but without cable TV it’s just pointless trying to even feign an interest. Seven allegedly holds the rights to Wallabies games, but they treat The Game Played In Heaven with about the same level of respect that Nine showed to The West Wing, i.e, none at all.

Anytime there’s a Tri-Nations and/or Bledisloe match on, home or away, Seven will do all of the following: announce the result at every newsbreak over the course of the night; schedule at least one, but usually two, 1980s Kurt Russell movies before the telecast; ensure that the telecast starts at least fifteen minutes either side of the time they alleged in the TV guide, then end the broadcast and go to Home Shopping in the middle of penalty time.

It’s a wonderful wonderful thing that Melbourne is bidding for a slot in the latest expansion of the Super-Whatever Rugby. My concern is that the Melbourne BidWinners will be treated here in PooTown the same way the Lions are in Brisbane and the Swans are in Sydney – you must have a Quixotic dedication to be able to actually see them on TV. Please, can someone give some cash to the ABC so they can buy the TV rights in Victoria?

* * *

A VERY BELATED WRITE UP OF THE 2ND ANNUAL KOT V THE COLLECTIVE CHARITY CRICKET MATCH

The second annual Elwood Charity Shield cricket match between Tennyson St’s King of Tonga and Ormond Rd’s The Collective had it all: runs, wickets, good natured sledging, beer and even a streaker who ran around the field wearing nothing but socks and a smile! Oh yeah, of course, how could I forget! It also raised approximately $2500 as a contribution towards the Red Cross Bushfire Appeal. Well done to all who contributed and assisted in the event, be it by manning the BBQ, working the makeshift bar, buying a beer or playing in the match.

KOT won the toss, and despite howls from The Collective about rigged coins, Steve’s boys went in to bat, and after a slow start set Ormond Rd an impressive target of 165, at a very healthy 7.85. Given that our sponsors had very generously supplied a plethora of drinky-type things, and we all work/drink for/with the competitors, the number of refreshment breaks per hour increased, and The Collective were always going to be up against it, going in second.

The King Of Tonga took the trophy by 46 runs, but let’s face it, this wasn’t about some hideous trophy, or even bragging rights. This was for the fire fighters and other emergency workers and volunteers, and all those who lost so much on Black Saturday.

The day was a huge success and special mention needs to be made of the sponsors who provided such excellent support to the event. St Arnou and Cricketer’s Arms Lager for the beer and Kookaburra Sport for providing the training balls and two match balls along with those businesses that chipped in with the food for the BBQ. All of these things assisted in maximising the contribution to the Bushfire Appeal. The players who gave up their Sunday to come down and support a worthy cause deserve a huge thank you. And finally of course thank you to everyone who attended and made the day such a roaring success.

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Apparently, if you believe our web server, my footy tips have been popular recently. This is a good thing, because I think some people take AFL far too seriously, despite the fact that it’s a job and a way of life for many. That aside, it concerns me that suddenly my page-hits have increased exponentially when, as I write, there’s only two rounds to go plus the finals.

So, please stick with the Footy Tips button on our website, I’ll be going into a bit more forensic detail from week to week, I might even write up post mortems (or is it Morta? Whatever), but I definitely will be examining the finals series, and once the season ends, I invite your suggestions as to what I should tip on or write about.

Basium Meus Orbis.

Juzzy

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