Colour of a two cent piece: dirty f--ken copper

I watch a lot of sport. Possibly an unhealthy amount, but it's how I ended up being such a cast-iron, Teflon-coated genius about it all, even though I'm as buggered as anyone else trying to figure out why AC Milan want to sign Becks full time (seamless segue from Part One of this evening's rant... John Wayne Bobbitt style, you can't even see the join!) And of all the sports I've had the chance to watch in person, it's cricket that I've most enjoyed watching live - though that Ukrainian honey wrestling shit that gets advertised on pay-per-view might be worth looking into. But as for the allure of live cricket - 'what's the point?' you might ask (if you're mentally bereft.) And fair enough, it's several hours sitting on your arse waiting for something, anything to happen, only to discover not a fucking thing actually will - much as per the old man's film review of The English Patient. But what that leaves out is the fun of the game itself, the fun of watching a large and lively crowd entertaining itself when the former wanes in intensity, and of course, the fun of sitting in the sun for seven hours drinking beers until you, your mates and assorted noble-hearted volunteers have assembled a beer cup snake that reaches all the way around the ground, out the gate and halfway to the 'Gabba busway stop.
















Pink. It's gay-as, unless you're an European footballer, apparently... in which case it's still gay-as, but you don't give a toss since you're just acting that way to get chicks

Even Americans, who don't 'get' cricket - and those that do are likely to 'get' something else, i.e. fifteen to twenty in medium security white-collar prison - have baseball, which generates much the same dynamic in terms of sporting experience: sit around all day, drink beer, eat processed animal extract, shout 'encouragement' at people paid orders of magnitude more than you do to hit a ball with a stick. As HG Nelson would have said, it's as simple as buggery and twice as attractive.

Except that in recent times, going to the cricket has engaged Defcon Suck. Oppressive security and ever-present fat sweaty coppers, the banning of chants (particularly about aforesaid fat sweaty coppers), beachballs and Mexican waves, paying five bucks for a warm plastic cup of factory-processed midstrength piss, AND losing to the Jaapies and the sheep-shaggers... bugger this for a game of soldiers, as Rommel would have put it. More critically, the modern design of stadia - and the requirement, in Australia at least, that they be all-seater and designed as much for AFL football as much as cricket - means that crowd-friendly bastions of the past like grassed hills and shady trees have gone the way of full-strength beer and going out for a hit on the outfield at lunch and stumps. Except in Adelaide, where it's still half-past 1976 and has been for thirty-three years and counting.

So if you had to design the ideal cricket spectating venue, I reckon it'd need the following:
- Some sort of 'hill' for pissed bogan yobs like Your Correspondent to congregate for the drinking of ale and the offering of encouragement to players and fellow spectators alike - preferably grass verges all around, village green style
- Small boundaries, for high scoring
- Lots of trees and shit around, for aesthetics as much as anything
- Limited security (limited in number rather than mental ability, preferably)
- Full strength beers
- Plenty of burnt animal extract in all permutations of serving contexts (in a bun, on a stick, encased in pastry, and all combinations thereof)
- A home team that doesn't suck the big one

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... the University Oval, Dunedin.

Yeah, it's slightly smaller in diameter than the spa on a NBA player's motorhome, and it doesn't have floodlights, and the land it's on was an inlet of Otago Harbour not much more than a hundred years ago, making the water table only marginally below that of the turf - contributing to the loss of a couple of days in November's test against the Windies after a week of solid rain just refused to drain, giving big-mouthed Auckland media fucktards free range to sledge the hell out of the place.















The University Oval in characteristic pose


But toneless, gormless bleating from soft JAFA metrosexuals aside, the Uni Oval (or the 'Varsity Oval' as the locals quaintly call it) from a spectators' POV, has and is everything you want in a cricket ground.

A hill? Aside from the heritage-style grandstand and a temporary stand left over from the test, it's all grass verges.

Small boundaries? Can't get 'em much smaller, it's gobbing distance from the fielding restriction circle to the rope as it is.

Scenery and greenery? In abundance.

Security? Fuck all, and they're more likely to start a wave than punt you for it.

Beers? Well, in the early years, it was BYO - with a big Liquorland neatly parked midway on the walk from campus to the ground, in the midst of the student ghetto with student-friendly beer prices to match - so you could literally rock up with as many beers under your arm as you cared, sit yourself down and watch the game. Otago Cricket have wisened up to this now, but even so, twenty bucks for a six pack of cold cans (as per yesterday eve's domestic Twenty20 match) ain't bad by 'venue' standards. And, yes, they're full strength.

Animal extract? Fuck it, they let the local takeaway vans who do the local farmers market roll right in and serve the masses - and these aren't your greasy, nasty chip vans, these are professionals. Full scale coffee cart making decent flat whites to go. Euro-style bratwurst hotdogs with all the shizzle. Cambodian Khmer satay. Whatever you want. Name it.

And the home side? That'd be the Otago Volts (shit name, good team.) 2007/08 domestic one-day champs, beaten finalists in last year's T20 and in this year's one-day comps. Five or six current or recent BLACKCAPS in the side - both McCullums, Ian Butler, Aaron Redmond, Craig Cumming, Neil Broom - plus English T20 madman Dimitri Mascarenhas, who hits sixes for fun. T20 this season: played six, won five, lost one, top of the table.

Last night's game was against Central Districts - Hawkes Bay, the Manawatu, Taranaki etc - who had perennially broken BLACKCAP, big Jake Oram (he used to be a soccer goalie you know) making his latest injury comeback after the shock of seeing NZ doing quite well without him following his most recent structural failure, along with perennial national team discard Mathew Sinclair who gets dropped from the BLACKCAPS as often as Oram gets injured, which is more than would appear statistically possible. But he is a big bloke and he did use to be a soccer goalie, and that counts for something. Usually cheap column inches for lazy sportswriters. Sinclair did his usual - got a start, got out, swore a lot - and Oram limped on to begin his career as an allrounder who doesn't actually bowl anymore, but used to be a soccer goalie. He proceeded to hit five consecutive sixes from five consecutive off-stump half-volleys from Otago captain Craig Cumming, and got bowled on the sixth. Otago, set 186 to win at well over nine an over, got there with an over to spare thanks to an unbeaten hundred off fuck-all by opener Aaron Redmond, who got dropped from the test side for scoring too slowly in the series against Australia. Point taken, Sir Richard.

Three hours. 39 overs. A mere 23 sixes. Some which might have even cleared the boundary at a grown-up cricket ground; others which would have been been sixes on any ground, maybe even 'hut unto the top dick of the mimbers stend' (I speak fluent Kiwese); and one which went through the window of a car parked down the street, the ground announcer offering a curt 'Yeah... thanks for coming' at the end of his apologetic announcement. Over 370 runs. Oh yeah, and seven cans of Speights... or was it nine. Hmmm. I see the flaw in that particular plan.

Anyway, as the Jam said... That's Entertainment. They did mean it ironically, but the point remains. Me, I'm just pissed off that's the last home game of the year. Unless we host the final, of course. Think we've been in this territory before...

The Doctor is OUT.