June 2009

[Sweder]

It's a pity though, what with the weather over there being almost warm for a change... you could possibly even leave your leggings behind and strip down to just two top layers.

:RFLMAO:

He's baaaaa-ak ...

Physician, heal thyself.

I did venture out around 8pm for what was in truth an uncomfortable flog, a wobbling rage against the dying of the light (or at least the setting of the merciless sun). And my thoughts were very much with MLCMan as I tuned in to 5Live's 2005 Ashes retrospective. Guests included the then Aussie coach John Buchanan, a typically prickly yet candid character who offered unique insight to the emotions in that visitor's dressing room.

I especially enjoyed the introduction of Gary Pratt, that sub fielder (who, much to the very public chagrin of the Australian skipper, so brilliantly ran him out). Mr Pratt appeared as if by magic on the telephone whereupon a cordial and amusing exchange took place. Hoggard was also on hand, recounting his and Ashley Giles's mutual astonishment that Ponting had, having clipped a shot straight at the fielder, decided to run anyway, presumably as Pratt was 'just a sub'. Buchanan conceded much of the wailing and gnashing of antipodean teeth eminated from their inability to crush the Poms rather than Vaughan's perceived gamesmanship. Ironically that excellent England captain formally hung up his gloves yesterday, his ailing body and uncertain mind convincing him to call time. For the record, and despite the protestations of the disgruntled (but surely never whinging) World Champs, Simon Jones was not only really injured but had left the ground to go to hospital for an x-ray.

The 2006/7 series was, um, touched upon. Buchanan marvelled at the remarkable imprudence of Duncan Fletcher publishing his post-2005 Ashes memoirs, including intricate detail of his coaching and tactical planning, just in time for the return battle. There was much deep Aussie chortling at this point, though it was hard to hear more over the terrible rasp eminating from my heaving chest.

My mood lifted by these witty and frank exchanges I followed the dusty trail to Blackcap and, after a brief pause to douse the milestone with freshly-squeezed Swederjuice, home.
It won't go down as my finest run, but it was in it's way quite beautiful.