Oh joy of joy, oh dream of dreams. It couldn’t have been scripted better, if I’d scripted it myself. My nightmare has turned into the happiest of realities. My darkest hour has brightened into the most glorious of days. Restoratively, the crack of leather on willow is again the sweetest music my ears have known (well, except for Nickleback.) Thank you God. Thank you Allah. Thank you Zeus. I owe you.
Danelio Bouchard, as you well know, just completed his first Test – surely his only Test. Wondrously, as you also well know, Danelio was dismissed for a king pair. To say it made my week is an understatement so understated its u …….
A king pair!!!!!!!!!!!!! Can you believe it? I laughed so much I ruptured my spleen. And to do it against Bangladesh. A weakened Bangladesh. A Bangladesh that is the laughing stock of world cricket. And to a change bowler. And when we declared at 4 for 600 in the first dig. And when real Test players were making double tons. And in front of an international audience. And your parents. And your girlfriend. And your girlfriends parents. How gut laughingly f@#*^g funny.
I can’t work out which duck is my favorite? I’ve watched them over and over at least a hundred times now. The first duck, as you well know, is the funnier. I mean shouldering arms to a ball that takes middle stump is always hilarious. But the second duck has a lot going for it too. Like playing a reverse sweep on your first ball – and to a medium pacer! – is new territory for a golden duck. And then for the ball to go bat, pad, helmet, wrist, bat again, helmet again, crotch (!) and then silly short leg is genius. Shit, I’m still rolling on the couch about it.
Mick, I reckon, would have gone to ground over all this. I mean to watch all that money slipping through your fingers must have been soul destroying. Still it’s for the best. Like there’s no way an amateur like Mick would have cut it as an international player’s agent. Doubtlessly, he would have made the players agent equivalent of a king pair before long. He should just be thankful Danelio got there before him. It saved him the humiliation.
Looking ahead, there’s the announcement for next weeks Test team and Danelio’s dumping. I’ve already put a bottle of bubbly in the ice bucket for the occasion. It’s a 2013 Spumante … a good year for sparkling wine.
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Phase 1 & 2 of operation “Manufacture Paul Buhugiar’s public disgrace’ has gone nowhere. The kids a monk! I mean if you gave me a dozen free passes to a strip club when I was 16, I’d have been incognito for a month. Damn it, you’d have found me face down in a gutter drowned in my own vomit. But with Paul, it’s still into bed at an early time and rise and shine at dawn. Shit, the kid still has warm milk and cookies before turning in! (I know, I’ve driven past his house several times.) Somewhere in him though is a weakness; somewhere in him is a vice waiting to be tapped into. The trick is finding it.
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If I ever talk to Dave again in this lifetime it’ll be a miracle. I mean to do what he did to me today was unforgivable: un-f@#*^g-forgivable. Like to declare at 3 for 650 on a absolute belter was an act of cruelty. No, an act of bastardry. I mean there he was 240 not out with Dwight on 70, when he calls a declaration. “650 is more than enough,” he then yells. “Get ya f@#*^g pads off.” He’d yelled at me coz I’d glared at him in a mortified way as he’d got back to the rooms. It was a glare that transmitted, ‘Oh great, you and all your top order buddies get to gorge yourself on that deck. I mean you guys all get to nuzzle your snouts in the trough, while I miss out. And now I have to field at silly short leg. Now I have to suffer under that hot f@#*^g sun. Well that’s just f@#*^g great you f@#*: that’s just f@#*^g great.” In also grinding my teeth, I added a salutatory “f@#* you,” but it didn’t seem to cut through like the glare. Anyway, as we’re then going out to field, he comes up to me and says, “Listen Viv, it’s not always about you alright. It’s a fricken team game.” I say “What that’s supposed to mean?” He says, “It means shut the f@#* up and field.” Typical. Mr Erudite, well read, sophisticated new age captain, is resorting to vulgarity and aggression. Mr. Pretentious, I’m a mans man and all round good guy fuck, is standing over me like a thug.’ Pffff, what a crock of shit his persona is. What a crock of shit all his “My captaincy is all about leadership and communication and being approachable,” is. I mean I don’t care how many sick kids he’s visited in hospital, or how many people think the world of him, or how many errant juveniles he’s steered on the right path, when it comes to the crunch, he’s a primal fuck like the rest of us. (And even more so when he’s rutting with me, damn it.) Yep, he’ll be lucky if I ever speak with him again’ He’ll be lucky if he gets another f@#*^g word.
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After missing out in today’s run orgy, I wondered how many other times I’ve missed out. The minute I got home, I thumbed through my almanacs and found 8 clear occasions that I’ve been denied. On 8 clear occasions, batting at number 6 meant I didn’t get to gorge myself like my batting brethren up the order. That’s never touched upon, is it? Like every time we play on a green top, I have to bat, don’t I? On these pitches the seamers scythe through our top order like a slingblade through bamboo. Like I’m always coming in with us 4 for not many, aren’t I? But on belters, it’s a whole different story, isn’t it? On belters – on 8 clear occasions of favourable batting conditions – I’ve missed out. And to add insult to injury, these 8 times are quantifiably the best bating conditions I never batted under! (Like the better the pitch, the less chance I get of batting, do I?) You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking about broaching this with Mr Shieldstats.com.au. I’m thinking about questioning why this hasn’t been recognized in a table. Why he hasn’t got a table called: ‘Most disadvantaged batsmen in shield cricket,’ or “Most forsaken batsmen on shield circuit.’ Or better still: “Batsmen who never get to bat in the best conditions … never f@#*^g ever!”
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I’m thinking about taking legal action against Dave. I mean today’s declaration was a clear case of restraint of trade. Like there I was with my tools all ready to go, wasn’t I? There I was all right to go when he stands me down. Oh and I can just hear his legal team’s response to that; I can hear them snicker, “You fielded, didn’t you? How’s that being stood down?” Well I’ll be cannoning back, “Hey, I’m not hired as a fielder, OK. I’m hired as a batsmen. Your client had me doing unskilled labor instead of my chosen profession. Your client denied me my right to advance my career prospects in what was clearly a lucrative opportunity for me. A triple ton awaited me out there – a triple ton that would have clearly been beneficial to my prospects. Had I had that in my CV going forward, I could have used it to leverage negotiations. Damn, when the ACB came knocking on my door, I could have used that triple ton to talk up my contact. And then there’s all the ancillary opportunities I’ve missed out on: sporting goods endorsements, speaking engagements, a signature range of leisurewear with Slazenger. And then there’s the memorabilia? ‘Tufnells triple:’ a limited edition celebration of my record-breaking innings. Or ‘Viv’s knock.’ Also limited to 40,000 units for savvy memorabilia collectors. I mean the missed opportunities just go on and on (and on!). And you have the temerity to snicker, ‘You fielded, didn’t you?’ You have the flippancy to intimate that I could have distinguished myself at silly short leg? Well let me remind you that the only place to distinguish one’s self on that oval that day was on that belter of a wicket. The only place my skill set was best suited was batting on that run fest of a pitch. But no thanks to your client I never got to do so, did I? Yes, no thanks to your client’s unlawfulness, I was unable to ply my trade. And now where does it leave me? Out of pocket: out of pocket, out of the national selectors sights and out of innumerable opportunities. Out of pocket to the tune of say 3 to 4 mill … annually. Yes, that’s the numbers my people have crunched; yes, that’s the damages I’ll be seeking. Come my day in court.”
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To be continued … or maybe not.
About Peter Zitterschlager
It's all about Test cricket and Footscray for me. Away from the almanac site, it's all about novels and songs. Written 2 manuscripts and post music on Triple J. All not much chop, I'm afraid. But I live in hope of what's round the corner. ( If you want to suffer a listen, click the web link below)
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Coming up in ‘Viv Tufnell: shield cricketer and complete arsehole.’
In next week’s installment, Viv awaits Danelio’s axing from the national team. He also deals with the fallout of Dave’s declaration as it proves an inspired one. Further, there will also reminiscences of his time in a boot camp, of following Nickleback around Australia, and of the many instances where he has been shabbily treated by the Mercury. Yep, it’ll be more lies, excuses and aresholenessness from Viv, with a good dash of malevolence thrown in to boot. You know, al the poisonous ingredients of Viv’s losing formula. Anyway, hope you can all tune in.
PS: Boony is now a hairs whisker away …
Pete, this Viv of yours is getting worse by the chapter
I’d like to see Viv Tufnell run into Phil Richards at some point.
That’s a Seinfeld bizzaro world thing Gigz. With Viv Tufnell everything that he is, Phil Richards would have to be a Fred Hollows like do-gooder, who’d work a soup kitchen when he wasn’t fixing third world kiddies eyesight. Don’t reckon they’d mix in the same circles.
Jessie, by worse, I hope you mean more arseholish, not poorly constructed. I, of course, fear that you mean the latter (and my hunch is that the series is going so poorly that it won’t make its Part 10 finale!)
That last comment came from me not Jessie. (Workmate of mine – borrowed his computer for a second.)
Hey Pete’s been busted here. I don’t exist. He’s been using a fictitious me to ramp up his comment numbers. Someone should challenge him to be seen with me somewhere at the same time.
Ahh, but Jessie, if the challenge was made, you would foil me by not turning up, wouldn’t you? Perhaps it’s better that people hunt you down at your place of work: ANZ Bank, Melbourne head office, ask for Jessie St Johns. It’ll be a bit hard not existing when your on a companies phone directory, won’t it?
Brilliant again T-Bone. Of course Viv is a Nickleback fan. Right up his alley. Bring on Boonie!