Fuckin' Northern monkeys
Anyway I was going to begin this year's diarrhoetic diatribe with a thorough-going schmackdown of Richard Poontang, bonsai Australian captain, for his monumental hubris in not declaring Straya's second SCG innings shutski until near-as-buggery-to-lunch on Day 5, giving them near-as-buggery-to no time at all to bowl India out, just because he and the rest of the Baggy Green brainstrust (stop sniggering up the back) were so massively hard-on to give the Injuns negatory chance to win the game because of the ill will between the two squads. And as a result of the Mowbray midget's arrogance, India got away with a draw, didn't they? Wanker.
Except of course I fermented that particular line of argument in the many hours preceding the penultimate over of Day 5's scheduled play, whereupon Michael Clarke did his usual job of taking both (a) Lots for Fuck-All and (b) a great big crap upon the chances of the subcontinental contingent's hopes of keeping the series alive heading into Perth.
So, yeah. Good job Punter, judged to perfection as ever...
So instead the World of Bollocks is left scratching its bearded head (and no that's not a euphemism) over the carryings-on of the Indian team and its management in the aftermatch aftermath. For those who came in late, yesterday arvo Harbhajan Singh was brought before the beak after the close of play to answer for having called Roy Symonds a monkey, on the basis of his being dark-skinned banana bender who happens to pong a bit. What the Harb failed to understand was that (a) 'monkey' isn't a very nice thing to call a gentleman of West Indian extraction and (b) Roy pongs because he never washes his dreads, and it's not as if the Turbinator is in a position to make the big calls related to sweaty, stinky personal headwear lifestyle choices; there's a valid reason there's not a queue of Indian teammates wanting to sit next to the Harb on the team bus back to the hotel at the end of play. Anyway most of the Strayan team including the physio and the bus driver put their hand up to give evidence to match referee Mike Proctor that the Harb had definitely said them things yer Honour, and the Proctologist duly lived up to his reputation. The beak granted the Harb a three-match holiday from busting out his skills despite the character reference supplied by his batting partner, unknown rookie sensation Sachin Tendulkar, and the fact Chanel No. 9 failed to produce any sonic evidence of his Mouthing Off. Not even a Hot Spit thermal signature from him gobbing off or even spitting the dummy.
The intruguing element to the mammoth six and a half hour misconduct hearing was the Indian team's attempt to lob an overspinning red herring leg break into the mix by trying to have Brad 'The Cock' Hogg indicted on a corresponding charge on the basis that he called someone or other a bastard, which the Indians claimed was as offensive in India as being called a monkey. Notwithstanding their ludicrous position that they don't understand how 'monkey' could be viewed as a racial taunt (this after all the shit directed at Symonds in the Indian ODI series?), the most bizarre thing about this is that the Indians would choose to make an attack on the only Australian team member to have tried his arse off for the Indian cause during the course of the game. Arsey first-innings 70-odd aside - which looked good at the time, I will grant thee - but for fuck's sake people, the guy was picked as his nation's spin spearhead on the most tweak-friendly wicket in the land, and yesterday was sent out to earn his coin under the most spin-friendly conditions imaginable, to wit day 5 on a dusty, degenerating SCG pitch. Result: Australia's spin spearhead was utterly outbowled by a pair of part-timers, one of which was hobbling about on a munted ankle (not to mention his hurt feelings about the monkey insults), the other of which is and remains a peroxided bogan from Campbelltown preoccupied with appearing in piss-poor TV ads and shagging the arse off fake-tanned slappers with a penchant for aviator sunnies.
So yeah. Good job Pup, judged to perfection as ever...
Stop batting off you bastards. Sorry, I mean monkeys. Don't want to offend anyone reading this on their two minute lunch break in a Mumbai call centre
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That's it for now although we end with a housekeeping note; after being inundated with literally a request (thanks v. much J. Clarkson) the World of Bollocks will probably get around to sorting some sort of aRSSy feedburner update thing for you lazy goatfelchers who can't be arsed checking the page to see if I've gotten off my burgeoning post-Xmas coit and written anything recently. There, that should get you lot more excited than a B-grade swimsuit model at an Allan Border Medal afterparty.
The Doctor is OUT.
3 comments:
OK munters, feedstock is done and done. Admittedly done in a very half-arsed manner but one's status as an interweb luddite who knows fuck-all about fuck-all (in itself a recursive loop) is to be protected at all costs.
Back to the topic at hand, can anyone explain to me in very simple terms exactly what the fuck the insidious, heinous act was that Australia committed that gave the Indians ground to carry on like such a bunch of wankers? To the point that the Indian press contingent gave Anal Krumble a standing ovulation when he thefted the old Bodyline line about only one team out there playing cricket? As near as I can tell the other was also playing cricket, but not quite as well as the first one, hence the whole 'losing the match by 122 runs' deal. You get that on the big jobs. Harden up.
The Doctor is OUT (presumably b Clarke in the last two overs, apparently it's so in right now)
Attention Feedburner arsemonkeys:
http://feeds.feedburner.com/WorldOfBollocks
...but it looks better through the main page rather than automated interweb Atom/RSS teastrainers. Moral of the story: just check the fucking website more often you lazy funtcases.
This cricketing incident actually hit the news in Yankland. Well, it hit NPR. In fact, BBC on NPR. So the only people who listened to it were communists and college professors, and me.
I felt pangs of homesickness upon discussing the matter with a nearby college professor.
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