Ireland

Ireland – England: the Dee-word. ‘Weigh things up’.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

So it becomes about development, and maybe that’s okaay?

Ireland got marmalised in the cool wind at Stormont – possibly not the first time this has happened? England, especially the leftie Kemp and the wee dutt Beaumont, battered them, before Cross and Filer cruelly underlined the distance needed to travel. Bat-in-hand, the locals were completely shredded by the pace and guile of the visiting attack.

The whole game was dominated by pace and power – maybe it’s always been that way? Kemp’s dreamy-but-thunderous hitting was visibly different-level. Filer’s raw (but in this instance, kinda wily) rockets similarly marked out this season’s soundbite for us pundits – the ‘point of difference’. Ireland couldn’t cope with the latter and had nothing – have nothing – to approach the former’s languid intensity. Kemp stood and struck – and I do mean struck – a typically entertaining 60-odd. It’s ‘her way’ to look like this is easy… but it was easy, for her.

Interestingly, Beaumont had been scuffling around, compiling what looked to be the worst or least satisfying major knock of her career. When Kemp took charge, it loosened (or freed?) her senior partner up to chip away, reach that milestone and then explode into cartoon character-dom. The opener finished on 150 not out. Kemp had already won the match, dismissing the Irish bowling pretty much at will. Those two were simply better than the women in green.

None of us have any real issue, I suspect, with the fact of Ireland being out-gunned. They look to have only one bowler who is manifestly in the genuinely elite international bowling category – Orla Prendergast. (Or ‘apprenticast/all apprentice/prenographs/oil Apprentice’ as the auto-subtitles thingamejigg fabulously called her, on the otherwise excellent live feed. See my twitter @sportslaureate.co.uk).

Batting-wise, it’s her and maaaybee captain Gaby Lewis and keeper Amy Hunter. Whatever; the detail and/or ‘the record’ could stoke a decent pub chat. There is, however, little or no doubt that we’re talking different strata, here. Beaumont struggled, relatively, then had the class and composure to regather, before assaulting the bowling in the later stages, getting England well beyond 300. The Irish can not get beyond 300: not currently. Not in an international game. *(O-kaaay. Not in an international game against strong opposition).* Which brings us to development.

Rather than bleat about it, let’s look to manage this towards a better day. We all know that England’s vastly superior resources (in terms of dinaros and players) make this a challenge. But it’s also how Ireland, or any other advancing/maturing/progressive or progressing nation gets to stand toe-to-toe. Meaningful games; games against better players; exposure to the scary-but-brilliant.

In practical terms this really might mean England withdrawing batters or bowlers from the contest – either before or during the remaining events. Yes Cross is almost my favourite cricketer but no maybe she doesn’t need to bowl; or play? Beaumont plays to ‘offer much-needed experience’ but is that need greater than that of young player X, who needs to bat? Or more than Ireland need to be able to compete? These ‘risks’ are only risky if your developing players ‘fail’. So coach them and support them… and then let’s see.

‘Course I know some of this is simplistic. There are points at stake and reputations at stake: league tables and salaries and growed-up stuff like that. Weigh things up.

Some of the above is mischief but not this idea that from now on, in this tour, a kind of generosity and understanding needs to be front and centre. What’s the maximum benefit we can all get, here? This is a competitive situation *in brackets*, not a(n entirely) competitive situation. Let’s get real about that but use the remaining edge intelligently to build experience/sharpness/comfort/discomfort/learning in our players. Let’s manage situations so as to maximise development.

Welcome to the End of Everything.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

It rained. Like biblically. And then it was clear and bright – IS clear and bright as I write – for a big lump of time. Others, notably my hugely esteemed friend Mr G Dobell, Esquire, expressed immediate concerns about possible errors/omissions/slacknesses from the groundstaff because the match was abandoned surprisingly early, given the medium-fab conditions which followed. In short, (dare we ask?) did the venue staff cock it up, allowing the devilish downpour to seep through into critical areas of the pitch? (Because it didn’t look right).

And then – factoid – it *really was* balmy, or at the very least pleasantly helpful, for a prolonged period, immediately after the deluge. And, yaknow, this was an international match, in which England were in real danger of eviscerating the record books. So questions.

It may, however, be foolish to let hard rain be the story when the story should be Salt, or Duckett, or the cruel tribulations of the Irish seamers. Some extraordinary cricket happened.

Here’s how the action we saw felt, live:

Don’t ask me; just don’t ask me. I have no idea what triggered the enduring JD earworm. Was it Brizzle in the drizzle, being overcoatastically moody? Maybe. Maybe the (very temporary) greyness pointed my soul back to the Boy Curtis at his poetic/philosophical peak?

Existence well what does it matter? We live in the best way we can.

The past is all part of our future. The present is well out of hand.

Welcome to Gloucestershire County Cricket. Where Salt is facing Adair and Jacks is quietly pacing and Crawley – probably not a JD man – is England skipper. (I nearly wrote ‘incredibly’, here). Oh – and Salt has now taken 18 off the first four balls. (And then then the fifth was a wide). So my earworm thing was a portend. The world is ending. Welcome.

Jacks shows a greater degree of mercy than his partner; partly because the second over, from the spirited Little, is goodish. The poor fella Adair, meanwhile can’t find a wormhole quick enough or fast enough. England are going waaaay beyond that routine making of statements thing into a brutal humiliation zone. Jesus. Jacks joins in. England are SIXTY for 0 off the first FOUR OVERS. It’s an all-new, ridicu-level battering. This is happening despite the *bowler-friendly conditions*. Go figure: both Little and Adair are getting some swing and some movement off the pitch.

I’m trying hard not get distracted by a particular journo who is talking on the phone. It’s work-talk, and he’s not (now) doing that loud self-important thing (quite), but it is a pain in the arse. He ain’t gonna read this, so I will add that a senior colleague of his views him with deliciously real contempt… cos that feels like some kind of silent retribution for the last twenty minutes of infringement.

Salt has got 50 and then 60 before we get through 7 overs. Everything is ‘going’. Then he is, caught skying to mid-on. Cruelly thrilling stuff. Crawley marches out with England on 87 for 1, and McCarthy replacing Little, at the Ashley Down Road End. Jacks welcomes him with a six then four.

100 up on the 7 over mark. Perversely, Crawley gets England there with a gently steered straight drive, after having played a straight-batted defensive shot(!) to the previous ball. Jacks – fishing or fending(?) – is fortunate to escape as he edges towards short third, but Young bowls him with a peach the following delivery. 104 for 2, off 8. Duckett re-forms the Little and Large partnership with the towering captain. The skies have lowered a wee bit… and then cleared and brightened.

There are ironies in play – maybe there always are? Here they concern the noticeable softening of urgency, as the two notably urgent England Test openers see out a regression into Proper Cricket. The expectation for endless violence has retreated, somewhat. This gentility may be temporary.

Crawley drives straight and hard, at McCarthy. Classical. Four. But the recent #bantz in the press box includes the idea that England were ‘on for 700’. So even assuming a good wedge of stoutness and application from our Irish brothers, a massacre, possibly of historic proportions, seems inevitable. As if to reinforce that, Crawley hoists dismissively, for another six. 136 for 2, off 14.

Curtis Campher may be forgiven for drawing plenty of ujayii breaths, (for yogic comfort), before joining us – despite that slight tapering of violence. He gets off fairly lightly and can inhale further, over drinks. Ireland need drinks: short, nasty fekkers, probably.

Adair returns from beneath us. Goes too full. Cuffed through midwicket. Then Duckett absolutely clatters Campher, pulling just in front of square. Gleeful and violent again. When the batter tries to repeat – albeit with more of a cross-court top-spin drive, Nadal-style – mid-on bravely gets a hand there. Good, if symbolic stop.

Sit back briefly, to reflect. A re-cap should probably include the idea that Ireland haven’t necessarily bowled that badly. Feels more to me that England simply have better players. Salt (in particular) then, and Jacks were enabled or freed towards that killer explosion from the off. Duckett’s swing at Camphor suggests that he’s ready to launch, now, too: fabulous, skilled driller goes flying between the bowler and the ump. Four, and now 176 for 2, off 20.

We have our first sight of spin, from what (I’m going to call) the Media Centre End. Van Woerkom (born Christchurch) is a left-armer. The batters don’t let him settle. Little’s authentic Irishness serves him no better, on his return to Ashley Down. Crawley blasts to 50 in the over, which includes a crunching six over long-on.

200 come up in the following (23rd) over, with the light now brilliant and Duckett’s sweep joyfully extravagant. He also has 50, now.

Crawley goes. VW gets some turn away from him and the ball flies to short third. Sam Hain (born Hong Kong) will replace him. Duckett is pulling hard, at Little, who seems happy enough to proffer that gamble. Slight miscue, safe and good running brings three. Ireland cannot afford any misfields. There have been a couple. England’s leftie slog-sweeps, and times, to go to 68.

I think George Dockrell has just become Ireland’s seventh bowler on the day. No issue with that: why wouldn’t you cast around to seek some change or respite – or luck? Hain looks settled, early but it’s Duckett again who catches the eye. Another fabulous, liquid sweep rattles the boundary fence/rope/toblerone-thing. Hearing various numbers quoted here: all suggest this is a world-beating, record-breaking score (for England’s second team).

Oof. Adair has fallen heavily into the advertising-boards. He may wish it happened after his first three balls… but he will carry on.

Hain is plainly a man who can launch, but currently I’m enjoying his late-playing, soft-hands vibe. He’s guiding the ball around, seemingly untroubled, seemingly waiting. Ah. Until that. A rather ugly swipe towards cow – top-edged. He’s fortunate. There may be a team policy to pull the seamers hard, perhaps to expose and even demoralise the (mere) medium-quickness of the visitors. Cloud is in-filling, as Duckett slaps Dockrell for six, to go beyond the ton. (Off 72 deliveries; lots and lots of ver-ry well struck and well-placed shots).

14.45. Rain feels possible – maybe imminent.

I thought Hain was looking good, early doors, but his frustration may have grown. As it gets *really dark*, he slaps hard at another shortish one and clubs it to mid-wicket. Just as the rains starts.

Wow. It rains hard. On a ground where there’s not a huge amount of cover. (Not a complaint, just an observation… and possibly borne of the fact that my son is out there, and I’ve got his coat. Insert appropriate emoji). It’s rained HARD. To the extent that we wonder if this is over… at 15.02.

15.12. Clearer and brighter to our left. But is The Damage already done? Not heard any announcingments yet…

MATCH ABANDONED. May add more thoughts later… or may go the pub with my son, who leaves for Thailand/Aus (for SIX MONTHS) tomorrow!!

Welcome to the End of Everything.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Don’t ask me; just don’t ask me. I have no idea what triggered the enduring JD earworm. Was it Brizzle in the drizzle, being overcoatastically moody? Maybe. Maybe the (very temporary) greyness pointed my soul back to the Boy Curtis at his poetic/philosophical peak?

Existence well what does it matter? We live in the best way we can.

The past is all part of our future. The present is well out of hand.

Welcome to Gloucestershire County Cricket. Where Salt is facing Adair and Jacks is quietly pacing and Crawley – probably not a JD man – is England skipper. (I nearly wrote ‘incredibly’, here). Oh – and Salt has now taken 18 off the first four balls. (And then then the fifth was a wide). So my earworm thing was a portend. The world is ending. Welcome.

Jacks shows a greater degree of mercy than his partner; partly because the second over, from the spirited Little, is goodish. The poor fella Adair, meanwhile can’t find a wormhole quick enough or fast enough. England are going waaaay beyond that routine making of statements thing into a brutal humiliation zone. Jesus. Jacks joins in. England are SIXTY for 0 off the first FOUR OVERS. It’s an all-new, ridicu-level battering. This is happening despite the *bowler-friendly conditions*. Both Little and Adair are getting some swing and some movement off the pitch.

I’m trying hard not get distracted by a particular journo who is talking on the phone. It’s work-talk, and he’s not (now) doing that loud self-important thing (quite), but it is a pain in the arse. He ain’t gonna read this, so I will add that a senior colleague of his views him with deliciously real contempt… cos that feels like some kind of silent retribution for the last twenty minutes of infringement.

Salt has got 50 and then 60 before we get through 7 overs. Everything is going. Then he is, caught skying to mid-on. Cruelly thrilling stuff. Crawley marches out with England on 87 for 1, and McCarthy replacing Little, at the Ashley Down Road End. Jacks welcomes him with a six then four.

100 up on the 7 over mark. Perversely, Crawley gets England there with a gently steered straight drive, after having played a straight-batted defensive shot(!) to the previous ball. Jacks – fishing or fending(?) – is fortunate to escape as he edges towards short third, but Young bowls him with a peach the following delivery. 104 for 2, off 8. Duckett re-forms the Little and Large partnership with the towering captain. The skies have lowered a wee bit… and then cleared and brightened.

There are ironies in play – maybe there always are? Here they concern the noticeable softening of urgency, as the two notably urgent England Test openers see out a regression into Proper Cricket. The expectation for endless violence has retreated, somewhat. This may be temporary.

Crawley drives straight and hard, at McCarthy. Classical. Four. But the recent #bantz in the press box includes the idea that England were ‘on for 700’. So even assuming a good wedge of stoutness and application from our Irish brothers, a massacre, possibly of historic proportions, seems inevitable. As if to reinforce that, Crawley hoists dismissively, for another six. 136 for 2, off 14.

Curtis Campher may be forgiven for drawing plenty of ujayii breaths, before joining us – despite that slight tapering of violence. He gets off fairly lightly and can inhale further, over drinks. Ireland need drinks: short, nasty fekkers, probably.

Adair returns from beneath us. Goes too full. Cuffed through midwicket. Then Duckett absolutely clatters Campher, pulling just in front of square. Gleeful and violent again. When the batter tries to repeat – albeit with more of a cross-court top-spin drive, Nadal-style – mid-on bravely gets a hand there. Good, if symbolic stop.

Sit back briefly, to reflect. A re-cap should probably include the idea that Ireland haven’t necessarily bowled that badly. Feels more to me that England simply have better players. Salt (in particular) then, and Jacks were enabled or freed towards that killer explosion from the off. Duckett’s swing at Camphor suggests that he’s ready to launch, now, too: fabulous, skilled driller goes flying between the bowler and the ump. Four, and now 176 for 2, off 20.

We have our first sight of spin, from what (I’m going to call) the Media Centre End. Van Woerkom (born Christchurch) is a left-armer. The batters don’t let him settle. Little’s authentic Irishness serves him no better, on his return to Ashley Down. Crawley blasts to 50 in the over, which includes a crunching six over long-on.

200 come up in the following (23rd) over, with the light now brilliant and Duckett’s sweep joyfully extravagant. He also has 50, now.

Crawley goes. VW gets some turn away from him and the ball flies to short third. Sam Hain (born Hong Kong) will replace him. Duckett is pulling hard, at Little, who seems happy enough to proffer that gamble. Slight miscue, safe and good running brings three. Ireland cannot afford any misfields. There have been a couple. England’s leftie slog-sweeps, and times, to go to 68.

I think George Dockrell has just become Ireland’s seventh bowler on the day. No issue with that: why wouldn’t you cast around to seek some change or respite – or luck? Hain looks settled, early but it’s Duckett again who catches the eye. Another fabulous, liquid sweep rattles the boundary fence/rope/toblerone-thing. Hearing various numbers quoted here: all suggest this is a world-beating, record-breaking score (for England’s second team).

Oof. Adair has fallen heavily into the advertising-boards. He may wish it happened after his first three balls… but he will carry on.

Hain is plainly aman who can launch, but currently I’m enjoying his late-playing, soft-hands vibe. He’s guiding the ball around, seemingly untroubled, seemingly waiting. Ah. Until that. A rather ugly swipe towards cow – top-edged. He’s fortunate. There may be a team policy to pull the seamers hard, perhaps to expose and even demoralise the medium-quickness of the visitors. Cloud is in-filling, as Duckett slaps Dockrell for six, to go beyond the ton. (Off 72 deliveries; lots and lots of ver-ry well struck and well-placed shots).

14.45. Rain feels possible – maybe imminent.

I thought Hain was looking good, early doors, but his frustration may have grown. As it gets *really dark*, he slaps hard at another shortish one and clubs it to mid-wicket. Just as the rains starts.

I did warn you.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Tea, day 2. England are 503 for 2, leading by 331. The stallholders, barmen, security staff and grandees of the Home of Cricket have been charging the home balcony to plead the case for spinning this out, somehow, into day 4. Livelihoods depend on it. Relationships depend upon it. The ice cream parlours within the postcode depend upon it. ‘Steady on, Stokesy! Get the lads some batting practice – bring back Trotty or David Steele or somebody. Get Broady to extend his run. Get Stop Oil in to cause a ruckus. Just give us a fekkin’ fourth day!’

I did warn you. (Read yesterday’s post). Ireland had to do lots of stuff *ahead of* going after wide balls or ‘trying to be positive, form the get-go’. Firstly, probably, they had to be aware that – despite what the sports psychologist & the coach might have been saying – they had to give themselves some kindofa chance… by staying in the game. Priority Number One.

Instead, two or three of their better batters took on minor risks and paid a high price.

A brutalist view might be that the game was dead by lunch yesterday. And therefore England’s jolly romp (and Ireland’s wilting in the field) – whether that be through nerves, poor execution, or just the inevitable consequence of a strongish, in-form side meeting opposition of manifestly lower quality – has been a result of seemingly inconsequential, seemingly minor errors of choice. Cross-bats, slightly lazy movement, or unwise advances. (Bye lads. 20-odd for 3).

Now, live, Pope has smashed a six to get to the fastest double-ton by anyone, in England. Before dancing down and getting stumped; bringing the declaration, at 524 for 4. Meaning up to 30 overs of Broad, Potts and Tongue, tonight. It may well be thrilling – possibly even for the fans in green. But such is the squishtastic England advantage, any kind of restorative rearguard action from Ireland feels deeply unlikely. Sadly.

Broad starts with a maiden. No hooping; no real alarms. Then Potts.
Moor and McCollum are out there, trying to be grittier and doughtier than very gritty, doughty things. If you can separate things out, you might think that conditions are goodish, for batters. Lush sunshine, ball initially doing bugger all, pressure (bizarrely?) more off than on them. (The game IS dead, surely?) But clarity and separation and cool, cool-headed-ness are hard to find, eh?


Potts bowls an absolute peach for no luck. Then immediately McCollum whips to leg and misses. Concerning. Full enough and straightish but nipping too much. The Durham quick looks robust, skillful, sharpish: is he top, top level? (I mean in international terms?) Not convinced – but do like him. Time and opportunity will tell.

Moor is extravagantly ‘textbook’, in defence, to Broad. Good. Head, elbow, eyes. Forward when he can. McCollum follows the pattern, to Potts. Good. Some nip, for the bowler’s off-cutter; possibly tailing in, too. The openers reeking of watchfulness, encouragingly. McCollum breaks out when Potts offers a smidge of width – four. 16 for 0.

Enter Tongue, who gets Moor with his very first ball of the day: his pace telling. Maiden scalp for the bowler, who went well for no reward yesterday. Moor was late on it, but the speedo-thing is suggesting 82, only. Felt quicker to this viewer and was too sharp for the batsman.

Balbirnie, on a pair, drives Tongue smoothly enough… but then the Irish skipper gets a top edge to one and Bairstow can pouch. Two wickets in the over and a further sharp intake of breath for the Irish. They may not share the sense that the young quick *may have earned that*, with yesterday’s debut performance. They may just be crapping themselves.

A second look at that Balbirnie dismissal confirms the presence of what the pundits often call brain-fade. It was – for him, a seasoned international player – a bloody disgrace. Weak, lazy, glazed-over-eyes job. Unedifying.

If this was Newcastle or Arsenal, you might suspect that McCollum’s susbsequent, protracted injury was tactical. After all, Ireland need to ‘break up the game’ – ideally for about another 30 hours. But the poor bloke has twisted and fallen at the crease and is clearly in pain. We do lose ten minutes or so, before Stirling is whirling his arms at the crease. Tongue is fired-up and at him, slapping it in and drawing some cut from the pitch. Smothered. Ireland are 28 for 2 after 10 overs. With McCollum crocked.

Stirling is getting his eye in. Clubs Potts compellingly and boldly through the covers. He has 9 from 9, which is his way. He eases Tongue through point then takes on the pull next ball. Mis-times but no dramas. Drinks, a handful of minutes after that prolonged stoppage… in which everybody who needed one probably had a drink.

Leach will join us. Spearing with some purpose, again. Yet another good shout, from Stokes, you sense. Just looking to challenge, or re-challenge, at the right moment: spacing those changes immaculately. Leach rarely really turns it, we know that, but he’s extending that loop again, to get the ball right into the toes, or under the bat.

Tector, from nowhere, has had a thrash at Tongue. It goes for six, but heralds some testing short stuff. 58 for 2, Ireland. Big appeal, from Leach… but he will not push for the review: begging the question. Tector is notably fuller with his batswing, but mixing that with legitimate resolution. (Not sure the fella can bat, mind). 🙃

Bairstow and Tongue seem clear. Stirling has clipped it as the ball passes across his ribcage. Is it glove? It is. Gone for 15. 63 for 3. Tucker is welcomed by a real nasty one: Tongue, who now has three wickets, bending and slamming. Helmet. That’s an ugly, scary way to start your knock. Another interlude – understandably. Unfortunately for the newcomer to the crease, this will only encourage the chin-music.

Dreadful ball from Leach gifts Tucker a way in. Four to the leg boundary. Silly mid-off in, and slip. Lovely, evening light; rich shadows. Tector has battled to 23.
Tongue has three men back. Bowling about 84mph. Strikes me that though his movement has looked a tad restricted, Bairstow’s keeping has been good. Lot of leg-side takes as the quicks slap it in.

Leach has bowled one or two – and therefore one or two too many – gimmes, wide of leg stump. He concedes another boundary. Meanwhile Tongue has bowled eight overs ‘straight’, but this period has included those two breaks. Solid effort from the young fella. Has 3 for 27: looks bit tired, as he retreats to the boundary.

Finally, Leach rips one past the bat: Tucker helpless. Will we see late drama? Maybe. Broad is wheeling away, prompting knowing nods and approving gestures in the crowd. Here he comes. A thoughtful twiddle of the headband and he will come round, to Tector. Legside field. Highish percentage of bluff?

Two short ones, one duck from the batter. Then variable bounce becomes a factor – mishits or airshots. But no dramas. Two no-balls in the over as the old warhorse charges.

Things almost quieten. But then (of course) Broad makes something happen. Short ball, looks to have struck glove. But no. Chest: as you were. Tector can even respond with a smart pull, middled, to the boundary. 92 for 3, with the last over of the day approaching.

Leach is in again, bodies around the bat. Legstump line, by accident or design. Probing, but Tector and Tucker have manfully seen this out, with Ireland 97 for 3 at the close.

Decent and important effort from the surviving batters; just the small matter of 255 runs to find. With some luck we’ll see a meaningful lump of cricket on the morrow. Or, perhaps more exactly, the visitors might claw themselves towards respectability and extend the game-time. There is some value in that.