Cricket World Cup

[Sweder]

My money's on the Kiwis.
Not just because they flattened our sluggish sluggers this evening or because they battered the Aussie Reserves recently . . . no, no such scientific analysis here, rather a nod to the portents clearly displayed in the BBC's coverage, or should I say carpet-bombing ads.

Those who've seen it (OK, those in the UK) might recall the adverts showing three blokes dressed as England supporters saying 'we can win it.' There follows a montage of foreigners, all archetypically dressed or situated to put the case for their own nations, pouring good-natured scorn on 'our' unfounded enthusiasm. All the major nations are represented, plus one or two of the less-well fancied, including Scotland and Ireland. Most, in fact, with the notable exception of . . . you’ve guessed it; the All Blacks. It is, to me, painfully obvious that this omission is in some way cosmically linked to the outcome. So my 50p is riding on Flemming’s Floggers to carry off the chalice, with an each-way aside on South Africa.

Of course I’ve more to gain if the Springboks leap to glory; I’ll be amongst them during the sharp end of this competition, and whilst I’ve not worked out exactly where I’ll be during the final, chances are I won’t be too far from a cool pint and convivial surroundings. Big hitting will play a part in this World Cup, and they don’t come much bigger, or hit much harder, than Mr Six-Sixes himself, Hershelle Gibbs. Not only that, but South Africa remain the only nation to have missed out on World Cup Glory thanks to a tie; not once, but twice. Could be it’s their turn to get the rub of the green.

I flatly refuse to back the Aussies.
It’s perceived madness to risk one’s dime against the Mighty Green and Gold, but surely it’s just too easy to wager on the one team apparently capable of talking their way into the final? John Buccanan has today attacked the South Africans whilst Glen McGrath drew a chorus of vaudeville yawns from the assembled journos whilst he savaged England one more time. Give it a rest, Glen, no-one gives a monkeys anymore old son. Just so long as your grinning mug isn’t leering out from behind ‘Pixie’ Ponting come the final reckoning.

One thing's nailed on: I'm going to be horribly sleep-deprived by the time we head of for the Cape. These late-night round-ups on the telly are already taking their toll. I'll miss tonight's, choosing to avoid the telly-box alltogether thanks to the celebrity love-in that is Comic Relief (great causes, greater nausea as the rich and famous make themselves feel better for a night*). But for the rest of the weeks ahead I'll be there, curled up on the sofa, red eyes squinting in the gloom, sound turned down so as not to waken the Sports Widow, cursing myself for not crawling under the duvet at nine-thirty when I'd started nodding off and could have banked a priceless nights' sleep.


[SIZE="1"]*The views expressed by Sweder do not necessarily reflect those of Running Commentary or associated members of this site. Sweder acknowledges that he is a curmudgeonly old git, and accepts he may well become a shoe-in for the lead in the next RC production of A Christmas Carol. More on this Red Nose nonesense later.[/SIZE]