Biggles of 266
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Apr 26, 2001
- Messages
- 1,126
- Points
- 36
ok ok, the last time I mock England publicly, I promise. I read this on the net and thought it was funny.
No wonder English cricket fans are called the Barmy Army, says compatriot Rob King. The England team would drive anyone mad.
Dear Sir,
AARRRRRRRGHHH!!
Having got that off my chest, I can now write reasonably rationally regarding the current England cricket team and their ongoing agonising tour of Australia. I was one of 8162 miserable souls exposed to another pathetic Pommy performance on Sunday afternoon at the Sydney Cricket Ground when the "Mighty Mighty England" - and I quote the Barmy Army - succumbed to Australia's reserve team.
This team is simply rubbish and it's pissing me off. I'm a Pom Godammit and we are better than Aussies. We had an empire, for Christ's sake. Now when a British warship comes steaming over the horizon, it ends up limping back home, piggy-backing on a foreign transport ship like some lame duck.
Having lived in Australia for 10 years, I have a tremendous respect for Australian sport but it still breaks my heart to see yet another gutless England team visit these shores. Every two years a huge optimism wells up inside my chest as I savour the prospect that perhaps, just perhaps, we'll give those gloating, arrogant Aussie cricketers a walloping this time. After all, if the Kiwis can (almost) do it, so can we.
But no. The Ashes was over in 10 deflating days. Bring back Botham! I was at school in England in 1981 during that glorious summer. It seemed, with the distorted truth of time past, that every time we rushed back from class Beefy had scored another 50, or a ton, or taken five more wickets. Statistically speaking, I'm due to live another 37 years. Will I ever see such deeds from an Englishman again in my lifetime? Perhaps, but only when Hayden, Ponting, Gilchrist, McGrath, Warne and co. are finally put out to pasture, almost certainly with an indelicate touch, by the Australian Cricket Board.
Not that we are short of Englishmen. Out of 30 odd million of the finest from Britain, India, Pakistan, the Caribbean, South Africa and, occasionally, Australia to whom we can lay claim, why, oh why can't we find 11 that can bat, bowl or - is it really too much to hope - both, to match it with these locals?
Sunday afternoon's tragedy was at least brightened by the loveable lads in the Barmy Army who brought some light relief on a very dull day. How these blokes can maintain their spirits after watching spineless capitulation from their boys day in, day out, is beyond me. I'm ashamed to admit my frail spirit was finally broken by Glenn McGrath's outfield catch a couple of weeks ago. Barmy? If you ask me, they're Barking Mad.
But at least we've still got soccer. It's my last hope. I guess over the past 20 years I've become used to the Aussies winning at other sports, but the day Australia beats England at soccer, the Union Jack will be lowered forever on my front lawn and the picture of the Queen will be removed from above the fireplace. Fortunately, the current Australian Soccer Federation, or whatever they are called, make the English Cricket Board look like a well-drilled unit.
I love soccer. Ironing my shirts on a Monday night in front of the English Premier League on telly is a real pleasure. I've started calling it "soccer too".
It's not bloody soccer, it's Association Football, the world game. Not one of the 16 codes of football you Aussies play.
Sure you can swim too, I'll give you that. But what's the point? It's too bloody cold in England and all three Olympic-sized pools we've got are too crowded at weekends to train.
Tennis? The only real Pom we've got, Tim Henman, is too bloody nice. Tea and cup cakes don't cut it in the 21st century, Timmy boy. Your Lleyton goes around acting like a pork chop most of the time but I will concede he's got more guts than Homer Simpson. I wonder if he can play cricket?
Golf? Greg Norman sure whinges like a Pom but apparently he's from Queensland. Who have we got competing on the world scene? Nick bloody Faldo. I think he's older than my dad.
The Australian team that toured England in 1948 became known as The Invincibles after winning every match.
It's quite possible that this England team could go through the entire tour without tasting victory. The Incompetents? The Incapables?
And another thing. I've got tickets for the Sydney Cricket Test, Day 4. Bugger.
Yours faithfully,
Rob King, BSc, MBA, POM.
No wonder English cricket fans are called the Barmy Army, says compatriot Rob King. The England team would drive anyone mad.
Dear Sir,
AARRRRRRRGHHH!!
Having got that off my chest, I can now write reasonably rationally regarding the current England cricket team and their ongoing agonising tour of Australia. I was one of 8162 miserable souls exposed to another pathetic Pommy performance on Sunday afternoon at the Sydney Cricket Ground when the "Mighty Mighty England" - and I quote the Barmy Army - succumbed to Australia's reserve team.
This team is simply rubbish and it's pissing me off. I'm a Pom Godammit and we are better than Aussies. We had an empire, for Christ's sake. Now when a British warship comes steaming over the horizon, it ends up limping back home, piggy-backing on a foreign transport ship like some lame duck.
Having lived in Australia for 10 years, I have a tremendous respect for Australian sport but it still breaks my heart to see yet another gutless England team visit these shores. Every two years a huge optimism wells up inside my chest as I savour the prospect that perhaps, just perhaps, we'll give those gloating, arrogant Aussie cricketers a walloping this time. After all, if the Kiwis can (almost) do it, so can we.
But no. The Ashes was over in 10 deflating days. Bring back Botham! I was at school in England in 1981 during that glorious summer. It seemed, with the distorted truth of time past, that every time we rushed back from class Beefy had scored another 50, or a ton, or taken five more wickets. Statistically speaking, I'm due to live another 37 years. Will I ever see such deeds from an Englishman again in my lifetime? Perhaps, but only when Hayden, Ponting, Gilchrist, McGrath, Warne and co. are finally put out to pasture, almost certainly with an indelicate touch, by the Australian Cricket Board.
Not that we are short of Englishmen. Out of 30 odd million of the finest from Britain, India, Pakistan, the Caribbean, South Africa and, occasionally, Australia to whom we can lay claim, why, oh why can't we find 11 that can bat, bowl or - is it really too much to hope - both, to match it with these locals?
Sunday afternoon's tragedy was at least brightened by the loveable lads in the Barmy Army who brought some light relief on a very dull day. How these blokes can maintain their spirits after watching spineless capitulation from their boys day in, day out, is beyond me. I'm ashamed to admit my frail spirit was finally broken by Glenn McGrath's outfield catch a couple of weeks ago. Barmy? If you ask me, they're Barking Mad.
But at least we've still got soccer. It's my last hope. I guess over the past 20 years I've become used to the Aussies winning at other sports, but the day Australia beats England at soccer, the Union Jack will be lowered forever on my front lawn and the picture of the Queen will be removed from above the fireplace. Fortunately, the current Australian Soccer Federation, or whatever they are called, make the English Cricket Board look like a well-drilled unit.
I love soccer. Ironing my shirts on a Monday night in front of the English Premier League on telly is a real pleasure. I've started calling it "soccer too".
It's not bloody soccer, it's Association Football, the world game. Not one of the 16 codes of football you Aussies play.
Sure you can swim too, I'll give you that. But what's the point? It's too bloody cold in England and all three Olympic-sized pools we've got are too crowded at weekends to train.
Tennis? The only real Pom we've got, Tim Henman, is too bloody nice. Tea and cup cakes don't cut it in the 21st century, Timmy boy. Your Lleyton goes around acting like a pork chop most of the time but I will concede he's got more guts than Homer Simpson. I wonder if he can play cricket?
Golf? Greg Norman sure whinges like a Pom but apparently he's from Queensland. Who have we got competing on the world scene? Nick bloody Faldo. I think he's older than my dad.
The Australian team that toured England in 1948 became known as The Invincibles after winning every match.
It's quite possible that this England team could go through the entire tour without tasting victory. The Incompetents? The Incapables?
And another thing. I've got tickets for the Sydney Cricket Test, Day 4. Bugger.
Yours faithfully,
Rob King, BSc, MBA, POM.
