peternorth
Moderator
- May 6, 2005
- 129,483
- 77,458
- AFL Club
- Richmond
- Moderator
- #1
I cant tell f this guys taking the p@@@ or is really upset at sth africas tour....
A cliché, the cliché holds, is a truth worn thin on the hearts of men. The elitist must grudgingly concede that a thing is not automatically false because it is unquestioningly believed to be true by the mob. He must resist the urge to defend whatever it is the man in the street — or the man behind the log bar — is condemning because sometimes, albeit by accident, the man behind the log bar gets it right.
It is therefore not without some shame that one joins that crescendo of noise that accompanies most South African sporting contests against Australia.
Of course, one must be quick to disown the standard one-eyed accusations by the obese chain-smoker who tells you that Shane Warne is a dissolute pig, the Broederbonder who decries the Australians’ racism, the guttersnipe who is disgusted by their verbal abuse and the nine-year-old who sees 20-year trends to support whichever theory the magazines are endorsing this month. No, the Hansie Was Framed, Darrel-Hair-Is-Satan brigade are as lame and misinformed as they always were, and should not have a single one of their store-bought opinions endorsed in any way.
But the divisions between the throng and the stand-offish critic can only evaporate when an Australian commentator opens his flapping cakehole. Pundit-baiting has a long and ignoble history in this country, perhaps understandable given the linguistic and intellectual hole we fell into after the retirement of Charles Fortune. The Brits had John Arlott and Brian Johnston; the Australians had Richie Benaud. We had Trevor Quirk and Peter Bacela.
As a result, we now forgive corrupt politicians, pardon murderers and harbour elephantine grudges over an inswinger that was called an outswinger in 1993.
It seemed a churlish and provincial attitude until this series in Australia. Now all is forgiven. Quirk’s pedantic waffle and Edwill van Aarde’s curious inability to gauge how many runs would be scored off a shot — “En dis ses! Nee, dit wil sê, ah, twee lopies. [And that’s a six! No, I mean, ah, two runs.]” — seem retrospectively cogent next to the nasal, plodding insights of Ian Chappell and his merry band of organ-grinders cranking out bleached platitudes.
At the time of writing — premature stumps on a soggy, gloomy fourth day — the series was not yet decided. South Africa were steaming, robbed of the chance to crack on to the close to build a lead and open up the fifth day. Much more certain was the fact, confirmed over too many hours this summer, that Australian commentators are warped, stuck records who have two speeds: jingoistic gong-banging and jingoistic nay-saying. They’ve been saying the same thing for so long (Warne he good, Strylians they good, opposition they crap, MCG it God’s home on Earth), that any pretence at original thought or scenario-specific comment seems to be out of the question.
Chappell’s main thrust for most of days two and three was that Jacques Kallis was batting too slowly. “Sefrica nade to wean this gime,” he kept insisting, his brain having collapsed into the comfortable old cushions of cultural stereotyping about South Africans being defensive and stodgy.
Firstly, the Sefricans didn’t nade to wean the gime. Talk of moral victories often hides failures and encourages unearned relief, but a draw at Sydney with Warne and McGill at the height of their powers (and umpires Billy Bowden and Aleem Dar at the nadir of theirs) ranks alongside any 100-run victory over a lesser side. The rain spoiled a potentially scintillating last day, but it also took the gloss off a thumping, emphatic draw. David might not have killed Goliath, as Chappell was egging him on to do, but he gave his shins a damn painful kicking.
Secondly, Kallis’s measured approach was a timely refresher in the basics of Test cricket. Play properly, his monolithic bat said, and you put the opposition out of the game and render even the most famous attack irrelevant. It was less an innings than a manifesto.
Gary Kirsten did something similar at Eden Gardens in Kolkota 10 years ago, scoring two centuries in the match and burying once and for all the idea that South Africans didn’t know how to play spin on the subcontinent. This week Kallis proved that South Africans can bend the Sydney Cricket Ground to their will. Whether future Protea teams win or lose there, the Australians have relinquished it for good.
Certainly Kallis played well, and the admirable Ashwell Prince was unrecognisably different from the awkward Western Province part-timer who possessed only a big cover-drive and a frantic pull shot. André Nel was apparently born to get up Australian noses. But problems remain.
Two of them will be left behind soon: Bowden and Dar did nothing to dispel the notions that the former is a clown and the latter is a nobody pushed on to the elite panel to keep Asian money happy. But the dropped catches were a serious concern and the response to Adam Gilchrist’s onslaught on the third day — under-13 lines and lengths by the pace attack — was far too familiar.
Similarly, any sense of euphoria or unqualified optimism must be tempered by the admission that things might have been very different in the series had Matthew Hayden and Justin Langer not played like halfwits almost every time they took guard: of the eight innings they had completed at the time of writing, five were ended with botched pulls. As a result, Australia’s opening pairs averaged just 23, a far cry from the 100-for-none syndrome most teams have become accustomed to.
A missed opportunity for a win at Perth; an inevitable thrashing at Melbourne; an upset draw at Sydney (or so it seemed at the time of writing), pre-empted by rain; the momentum of morale tilting in South Africa’s favour. A fair result for both sides, and a tantalising taste of things to come later this year.
A cliché, the cliché holds, is a truth worn thin on the hearts of men. The elitist must grudgingly concede that a thing is not automatically false because it is unquestioningly believed to be true by the mob. He must resist the urge to defend whatever it is the man in the street — or the man behind the log bar — is condemning because sometimes, albeit by accident, the man behind the log bar gets it right.
It is therefore not without some shame that one joins that crescendo of noise that accompanies most South African sporting contests against Australia.
Of course, one must be quick to disown the standard one-eyed accusations by the obese chain-smoker who tells you that Shane Warne is a dissolute pig, the Broederbonder who decries the Australians’ racism, the guttersnipe who is disgusted by their verbal abuse and the nine-year-old who sees 20-year trends to support whichever theory the magazines are endorsing this month. No, the Hansie Was Framed, Darrel-Hair-Is-Satan brigade are as lame and misinformed as they always were, and should not have a single one of their store-bought opinions endorsed in any way.
But the divisions between the throng and the stand-offish critic can only evaporate when an Australian commentator opens his flapping cakehole. Pundit-baiting has a long and ignoble history in this country, perhaps understandable given the linguistic and intellectual hole we fell into after the retirement of Charles Fortune. The Brits had John Arlott and Brian Johnston; the Australians had Richie Benaud. We had Trevor Quirk and Peter Bacela.
As a result, we now forgive corrupt politicians, pardon murderers and harbour elephantine grudges over an inswinger that was called an outswinger in 1993.
It seemed a churlish and provincial attitude until this series in Australia. Now all is forgiven. Quirk’s pedantic waffle and Edwill van Aarde’s curious inability to gauge how many runs would be scored off a shot — “En dis ses! Nee, dit wil sê, ah, twee lopies. [And that’s a six! No, I mean, ah, two runs.]” — seem retrospectively cogent next to the nasal, plodding insights of Ian Chappell and his merry band of organ-grinders cranking out bleached platitudes.
At the time of writing — premature stumps on a soggy, gloomy fourth day — the series was not yet decided. South Africa were steaming, robbed of the chance to crack on to the close to build a lead and open up the fifth day. Much more certain was the fact, confirmed over too many hours this summer, that Australian commentators are warped, stuck records who have two speeds: jingoistic gong-banging and jingoistic nay-saying. They’ve been saying the same thing for so long (Warne he good, Strylians they good, opposition they crap, MCG it God’s home on Earth), that any pretence at original thought or scenario-specific comment seems to be out of the question.
Chappell’s main thrust for most of days two and three was that Jacques Kallis was batting too slowly. “Sefrica nade to wean this gime,” he kept insisting, his brain having collapsed into the comfortable old cushions of cultural stereotyping about South Africans being defensive and stodgy.
Firstly, the Sefricans didn’t nade to wean the gime. Talk of moral victories often hides failures and encourages unearned relief, but a draw at Sydney with Warne and McGill at the height of their powers (and umpires Billy Bowden and Aleem Dar at the nadir of theirs) ranks alongside any 100-run victory over a lesser side. The rain spoiled a potentially scintillating last day, but it also took the gloss off a thumping, emphatic draw. David might not have killed Goliath, as Chappell was egging him on to do, but he gave his shins a damn painful kicking.
Secondly, Kallis’s measured approach was a timely refresher in the basics of Test cricket. Play properly, his monolithic bat said, and you put the opposition out of the game and render even the most famous attack irrelevant. It was less an innings than a manifesto.
Gary Kirsten did something similar at Eden Gardens in Kolkota 10 years ago, scoring two centuries in the match and burying once and for all the idea that South Africans didn’t know how to play spin on the subcontinent. This week Kallis proved that South Africans can bend the Sydney Cricket Ground to their will. Whether future Protea teams win or lose there, the Australians have relinquished it for good.
Certainly Kallis played well, and the admirable Ashwell Prince was unrecognisably different from the awkward Western Province part-timer who possessed only a big cover-drive and a frantic pull shot. André Nel was apparently born to get up Australian noses. But problems remain.
Two of them will be left behind soon: Bowden and Dar did nothing to dispel the notions that the former is a clown and the latter is a nobody pushed on to the elite panel to keep Asian money happy. But the dropped catches were a serious concern and the response to Adam Gilchrist’s onslaught on the third day — under-13 lines and lengths by the pace attack — was far too familiar.
Similarly, any sense of euphoria or unqualified optimism must be tempered by the admission that things might have been very different in the series had Matthew Hayden and Justin Langer not played like halfwits almost every time they took guard: of the eight innings they had completed at the time of writing, five were ended with botched pulls. As a result, Australia’s opening pairs averaged just 23, a far cry from the 100-for-none syndrome most teams have become accustomed to.
A missed opportunity for a win at Perth; an inevitable thrashing at Melbourne; an upset draw at Sydney (or so it seemed at the time of writing), pre-empted by rain; the momentum of morale tilting in South Africa’s favour. A fair result for both sides, and a tantalising taste of things to come later this year.
