AN OCCASIONAL STEVIEBLOG (Present situation – glass half empty)
At approximately the mid-point of the season, it is fair to say the nascent Judd Street Tigers have not got off to the best of starts; dogged by canine sex scandals, plagued by rogue tourists setting off alarms at 6am, rabid animals running amok in our team selection website, sniped at by former players and having to endure the wettest summer in living memory!
However, despite being unemployed in five of the 11 scheduled Sundays to date, the club has managed to complete (almost) nine matches, of duration varying from 18 to 40 overs per side, winning six of them. The rabbit species has been almost eliminated, and when the team finally settles down it should have a outfit that bats down to No.11, most of which can field adequately and bowl with some degree of efficiency.
Nevertheless, I don’t expect to be stuck at home on a Sunday afternoon in July in front of the telly watching Angus McBlub (a sportsman with less charisma than Dullus McDour – the world’s most humdrum Scotchman) knocking a tennis ball about for three hours, closely followed by yet another re-run on Sky of Arsenal’s Double Year. (Ahh! – Arsenal’s Double Year, I remember it well).
Personally, I blame Tony Blair and Roman Abramovich for all this rain, as I do for everything else, but am reliably informed by scientists in the know that our current climate is caused by the ‘jet stream’ being too far south, thus allowing successive and unrelenting low pressure systems to rattle in from the Atlantic and dump their precipitation on us. This has occured in many previous summers, though perhaps not with such unremitting intensity as this year. It appears that, short of sending in Bruce Willis armed with a nuclear device, nothing is likely to shift it in the foreseeable future, so we will have to make the best of it.
Oddly, and particularly annoyingly, the rain seems to be arriving consistently on Sundays, with Saturdays tending to get away with it. The Middlesex County Cricket League plays its fixtures on Saturdays, and our current landlords Winchmore Hill have managed to complete all their nine matches to date, winning the last eight, and presently sit 20 points clear (two wins) at the head of the Premier League table.
If this was not enough doom and gloom, the new series of Wallander, the melancholy Swedish detective, began on BBC last Sunday. Kenneth Branagh’s character is so world weary and deflated that he makes Inspector Morse look positively dynamic in comparison. I’m beginning to understand how he feels.
Contrary to popular myth, the Swedes do not currently have the highest suicide rate in the world, mainly due, we are led to believe, by the universal use of strong anti-depressant drugs (can we have some please), though it could well go up again if they attempted to play cricket. The current accolade for the highest self-destruction per capita goes to Lithuania, closely followed by the other Baltic states. Sweden are now as low as 30th in the World Health Organisation suicide league table, with the UK 61st and, unsurprisingly, the Caribbean islands bringing up the rear. You heard it here first.
But hey – cheer up! It rained at Waterloo and Woodstock. Speaking of which – if we all tried real hard, maybe we can stop this rain. No rain! no rain! no rain! no rain!…and now please welcome – Jefferson Airplane!