You’ve Got To…

I’m not sure how well it works all the way through, but the plan was to put this to the rhythm of the verses of Hope by R.E.M.

You want to blame the players, but you have to blame the schedule,
Because they sent you off to Pakistan, to test your team’s credentials,
And they failed a third time in Lahore, because your batsmen can’t score runs,
And its fast becoming torturous instead of being fun.

You’ve got to take your medicine, because you won none of your matches,
And you’ve got to watch Miandad bat, because you can’t take catches,
You’ve got to bowl coherent spells instead of well in patches,
And you’ve got to hope that you bounce back, in the month before the Ashes

You’ve got to play much better to compete in Pakistan,
And you’ve got to find an answer to the threat of Imran Khan,
Cause he took another eight this game, and a quick fire thirty-nine,
The only thing that looked like beating Pakistan was time.

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Posted in 1980s, 1982, Australia, Cricket, Pakistan, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Qadir and the Hero’s Turn

The very name ‘Faisalabad’ must be whispered in certain shores,
Lest hearing it brings memories back, of monstrous Pakistan scores,

Lest hearing it brings memories back and haunts poor Peter Sleep,
Who will count Zaheer Abbas runs, instead of counting sheep.

For Australia were pounded, fairly ground into the dust,
As the Pakistani’s kept their form, and the Aussies kept their rust.

Which meant that Abdul Qadir had the master of them all,
He may as well have bowled a wand and not a cricket ball.

Greg Ritchie earned some credit, with his second innings ton,
He didn’t lose his wicket, though the game’d already gone.

An innings and three runs, it was, the margin of the win,
Impossible to not conclude it came about through spin.

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Unlikely Twins?

Qadir and Imran, though not obvious twins,
Caused Australian’s bats to see stars,
As a test that begun with both teams looking strong,
Descended to something like farce.

Imran’s well established, his bowling top drawer,
While Qadir took his time to make hay,
After Pakistan had made a comfortable lead,
Then Australia lost the fourth day.

He spun the ball one way, the other the next,
None of Wood, Border, Hughes, had an answer,
A far cry from Pakistan’s tour to England,
When the home press decried him a chancer.

Qadir finished with five for, and Pakistan won,
Dominant from the first to the last,
And Australia crumbled to heavy defeat,
Which had not happened much in the past.

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So Many Drawn

Betwixt one day internationals,
Squeezed a first test on Indian soil,
Sri Lanka showed something the best of themselves,
But the match never came to the boil.

There was runs scored, as ever in India so,
Mendis’ hundred a feat to admire,
Reaching three figures with a six that was smashed to long on,
Then a few moments later expired.

We saw hundreds from Patil, Gavaskar as well,
And Mendis again, next time round,
But the bowlers went hungry and wickets were scarce,
With encouragement hard to be found.

So it ended a draw, as so many tests do,
India started, then gave up the chase,
When Patil and Kapil went in fairly short order,
Their innings lost all of its pace.

You maybe can learn things from one test,
Be it win, be it draw or defeat,
So what do we know after Chennai this week?
Well, Sri Lanka are here to compete.

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Imran Is The Tide

The waves rushed onto the beach,
The tide came, then ebbed away,
It rattled the stones on its recess,
And ‘Imran Khan’ it seemed to say.

‘Imran Khan’ as the water seeped,
Into every grain of England’s play,
‘Imran Khan’ the name, the face,
Of every session, every day.

Gower’s resistance graceful,
Botham’s was more in his way,
As Headingley was Imran Khan’s
To Headingley’s dismay.

Then England won a classic match,
That trickled to a final day,
And all who witnessed Imran Khan,
Had seen a modern master play.

The waves rushed onto the beach,
The tide came, then ebbed away,
It rattled the stones on its recess,
And ‘Imran Khan’ it seemed to say.

Posted in 1980s, 1982, Cricket, England, Pakistan, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Mohsin Is Etched

A score at Lord’s can make a career,
Your name etched forever in gold,
Mohsin was the honours board’s latest recruit,
His story the latest it told.

For Mohsin it was who took Pakistan up,
With a mixture of stroke play and power,
And Mohsin it was who resisted the English,
To the chagrin of new captain Gower.

Two hundred he made, two hundred exact,
Having been just one shy for an age,
His innings enough to give his side a lead,
On that venerable English old stage.

So England were rattled, then shocked by spin,
No novel experience that,
In both of their innings they dragged themselves through,
And at least Pakistan had to bat.

But bat they did, and win with ease,
When Miandad cracked Hemmings for four,
A win at a canter, a ten wicket win,
Against an England they’d beat once before.

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What They See

Its been a long break, I know, but I’ve been using my other blog, and focussing on contemporary county cricket amongst other things. Thought it was time to do some more here, though I’m making no promise of the rate.

They come to see Botham,
They come to see Imran,
They come in their thousands each day.

They see Botham bowling,
They see Imran hooking,
They see more of Chris Tavaré

They see Pakistan strong,
England struggle along,
Then see wickets arrive in their bunches,

They see innings collapse,
Irresponsible bats,
And the visitors rocked by those punches.

They see Gower sublime,
The blonde master of time,
They see Randall unique with the bat,

They see Willis steam in,
England cruise to a win,
But at Birmingham one expects that.

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