Viv Tufnell: lies, excuses, arseholenessness
I have a news flash for all you bloggers out there: you’re not real writers. If you were, you’d be published on mainstream sites, run by professionals. I’d particularly like to remind the arsehole who runs Shieldstats.com.au of this. The wannabee writer, worm who blogs on this site most particularly needs reminding of his place in the scheme of things. His contention that I have the worst record of making runs when it counts is typical of the poorly researched trash you find on these sites. I mean, how do you come up with a category like ‘Making runs when its counts.’ It’s as subjective as it is spurious. From what I gathered, he’s ruled out 11 of my 12 century’s as being “made when it counts.” He contends that they were scored during so called junk time in matches meandering towards draws. Well I have some news for him: the reason those games were drawn was because of me. I batted out of my skin to save my team’s bacon in these games, damn it. If I hadn’t have played so heroically, my precious Tassie would have spiraled to a series of humiliating losses. Sure, it would have taken an astonishingly incredible sequence of events for this to have happened, perhaps you’d argue an unbelievably ridiculous series of events for this to have taken place, but nevertheless, it’s in the mix. My beef is why wasn’t this factored into his calibrations? Why isn’t the absurd and the implausible considered? I think we all know the answer to that question, don’t we? Bias: plain and simple bias. The people who runs these sites are driven by hate and prejudice and grievances. And that’s what’s going on at shieldstats.com.au.: hate, prejudice and grievances. I tell you, you only have to look at the other tables on this site to confirm my suspicions. Especially the one headed by me titled, “Most runs nicked through slips.” That one is appallingly biased.
Steve Phibbs, laugh riot f@#* that he is, was at me again today. I’d just got back in the rooms when he wisecracked, “Shit, they really slow handclapped you today, didn’t they Viv? I mean they slow handclapped you until their palms were raw.” He then turned to Danelio and laughed, “That’d be Viv’s special subject on Mastermind, wouldn’t it? Slow handclapping 101. I mean, no one knows more about slow handclapping than Viv.”
You know what Steve’s special subject on mastermind would be? F@#*^d up jokes – that and having f@#*^d up hands. I mean, no one but no one knows more about f@#*^d up hands than Steve. And it’s all thanks to 20 years of keeping wickets. I mean, after the battering they’ve taken over this time, Steve’s hands look as arthritic as f@#*. Like, they’re so off, they should put them on cigarette packs instead of gangrenous feet and sooty lungs. In fact, maybe that’s what Steve’s special subject should be: having a disfigurement that’s more off than a smokers disfigurement without having ever smoked. If that were his special subject, he’d win the holiday and the f@#**n car! Ouch!
I’m on the phone with Mick the other day, when I have this flash of genius. “The box? No one has targeted the box for endorsement.” Mick says all confused, “You want me to approach Slazenger about endorsing a box?” I shook my head. I mean, sometimes you really have to slow down to let Mick catch up. “Mick,” I said, all irritable, “I didn’t mean a box per se. I meant equipment that hasn’t been targeted yet. Or you know, Boonie dolls and stuff.” “Oh,” he says all unimpressed and flatfooted; “OK,” he then adds before hanging up.
Oh … OK, I then think. That’s so Mick these days. I mean, I’ve always known what a nickels and dimes agent he is, and that you get what you pay for, but sometimes I wish he could stay on the same page. Like, why is that I’m always the one coming up with ideas? Not that I’m saying they’re all good, but at least I have a go. Where’s his ideas? Where’s his efforts to generate extra income ? Nowhere.
2 minutes later I get a call. It’s from Mick. He says. “Viv, you’re not gonna believe it. I just spoke with Slazenger. They’re nuts about this box idea.”
You know there’s something funny going on with our opening bats Andrew D’Silva and Craig Wigz. Like they’re more than just best friends and teammates. I mean, ever since they started opening together they started doing everything together: rooming together, going on holidays together, marrying their wives together (they got married at of those Moonie weddings.) They’re more Torvell and Dean than Langer and Hayden is the thing. It’s really creepy. One time I walked into the showers and I noticed these sudden movements as though they were caught doing something. What it was, I don’t even want to think about really. My advice to them is less emphasis on doing things together and more emphasis on taking the shine off the new ball; that and wearing down the kookaburra’s seam. Focusing on that would be a help to all us lower order types, and … err homophobes.
I’m a silent partner in a café near Bellreive Oval. The café is co-owned by my step-sisters, Tina and Anastasia. I want to sleep with both of them and have been trying for years. The trouble is they consider me family. “That and you’re a big fat bastard,” they laugh. The café has been faring poorly recently. I reckon I know why. It’s because of this regular customer. He’s there every lunch time and ever since he began showing up, I’ve noticed business has dropped. I know it’s cruel to think this, as well saying the unsayable, but I have to broach it. The guy had this withered arm. It’s like those thalidomide deformities where he had a flipper for a hand. He always sits right near the bay marie, and it’s a downright turn off. I mean, every time I go there and he’s there, it puts me off my meal. I told Tina and Anastasia we have to find a way to move this guy on, but they won’t hear about it. They reckon he’s lovely and the best customer they’ve got. “Christ, he’ll be the only customer,” I say, unless something is done. Whenever I say this, they look at me as though they have another reason never to sleep with me.
As you well know, we recruited our number 4 bat Dwight Whelan from England last year. He came with a big reputation and was supposed to be out great white hope. Well we all know how that worked out, don’t we?
Mick and I have this analogy about constructing a team. We liken doing so to supping up a race car. As for Team tassie, we mused the other day that the Brabhams building our team had made some serious blunders. A case in point is their recruitment of Dwight. They loaded Dwight’s pockets with heaps of money to get him over from Derbyshire, right. Like it really was a shitload of dough. And did Tassie gain any mileage out of him? No! Did we gain Torque? Nix! So what did we get out of him. Hmm, we thought? What did we get out the ex-Pom? What … did … we … get?
We checked under the bonnet. No sign of him. We checked the dash. Not there either. The interior? Nuh. Maybe the boot? Bugger, missing in action as well. We were about to give up when we thought about the chassis. And there he was: an airbrushed flame on its side. That’s right, a cartoon flame licking its exhaust. And that’s about the sum of it: Dwight Whelan has had the same effect on our team as a pissy looking gimmick.
You know what? Test batsmen don’t know how good they’ve got it. I mean to be able to play under DRS would be a paradise. Especially when you’re as hard done by as me.
I tell ya, umpires have got it in for me. They always have. That’s why it would be so sweet being able to challenge their ineptitude and corruption. It would have made such a difference to my career. In fact, it’s fair to say it’s cost me international selection. That and an Alan Border medal.
I honest to god, my hand on my heart, swear on my parents untended graves, have never been LB. Call it intuitiveness, or a feel for the angles and trajectories or whatever, but I’ve never been adjacent. I know it in my bones. That’s why it’s been so hard coming to terms with the 40 dodgy LBW decisions mete out to me thus far in my shield career. (And how they continue to gnaw away at me … )
Also, there have been 20 clear cut times that I have been ruled caught by a wicketkeeper when it clearly missed the bat. And yes, I know you’re gonna say, isn’t that every time you’ve been caught by a wicketkeeper, but it’s true. I honest to god, my hand on my heart, swear on my parents untended graves, have never been out this way. Really.
And as for run outs and stumpings, well no one but no one has suffered more from Umpiring howlers than I have … no one!
So how sweet it would have been to have challenged this ineptitude. How vindicating it would have been to have righted these wrongs. Truly, only the severely wronged like Nelson Mandela have an empathy with me on this one.
Hmm, DRS? Test batsmen don’t know how good they’ve got it.
To be continued … or maybe not.