Cricket Team Quotes

As far as the World Cup is concerned, it is a process. We don't want to jump to the 50th floor straight away. We must start on the ground floor.

J. M. Barrie founded a celebrity cricket team with Arthur Conan Doyle, H. G. Wells, Jerome K. Jerome, G. K. Chesterton, A. A. Milne, Rudyard Kipling and P. G. Wodehouse.

So I'm over there in England, you know, trying to get news about the [L.A.] riots... and all these Brit people are trying to sympathize with me... 'Oh Bill, crime is horrible. Bill, if it's any consolation crime is horrible here, too.' ...Shutup. This is Hobbitown and I am Bilbo Hicks, Okay? This is a land of fairies and elves. You do not have crime like we have crime, but I appreciate you trying to be, you know, Diplomatic. You gotta see English crime. It's hilarious, you don't know if you're reading the front page or the comic section over there. I swear to God. I read an article - front page of the paper - one day, in England: 'Yesterday, some Hooligans knocked over a dustbin in Shafsbry.' Wooooo... 'The hooligans are loose! The hooligans are loose! What if they become roughians? I would hate to be a dustbin in Shafsbry tonight.

I don't think we choked this time. We never played well enough to choke.

This gentleman here, Michael Hussey, is just an absolute freak.

I guess we speak pretty loosely, don't we, about looking forward to the Ashes and all that—and we are, but it's not with both eyes. We've got one eye on that and one eye on what we need to get in place to make sure we're the best team we can be for November.

There's a lot of good things about England, but I don't want to tell you too many of them.

In cricket- be fit, be alert and be Sachin.

Century was an occasional thing in cricket, Sachin made it frequent.

The Aussies have spent so much time basking in the glory of the last generation that they have forgotten to plan for this one. It's just like the West Indies again; once their great names from the 1970s and 80s retired, the whole thing fell apart. The way things are going, the next Ashes series cannot come too quickly for England. What a shame that we have to wait until 2013 to play this lot again.

Kaneria has competed in more than 50 Test series [sic] for Pakistan during his career.

Rob Green needed to get the long barrier out, didn't he?

Sachin has infinite capacity for taking pains and still making runs.

Yardy doing a good job out there—1-14 off his five overs so far—but Bangla are letting this drift. The bowling is there to attack, but they're as passive as sleeping sloths at the mo.

Indian cricket, and the youngsters themselves, are dealing with issues inconceivable a few summers ago. Riches and all the attendant temptations are thrown at them before they have started shaving regularly. It's not their fault. It's no one's fault. That is the marketplace. Inevitably, though, it can distract attention from the long struggle towards mastery. Cricket does not give itself away; it expects players to apply themselves, to think and study and seek. It plays tricks, too, pretends that sixes and slower balls and the other shortcuts matter. Cricket sets traps, flatters players and calls them kings when they are barely princes.

Sometimes I dream of revolution, a bloody coup d’etat by the second rank—troupes of actors slaughtered by their understudies, magicians sawn in half by indefatigably smiling glamour girls, cricket teams wiped out by marauding bands of twelfth men—I dream of champions chopped down by rabbit-punching sparring partners while eternal bridesmaids turn and rape the bridegrooms over the sausage rolls and parliamentary private secretaries plant bombs in the Minister’s Humber—comedians die on provincial stages, robbed of their feeds by mutely triumphant stooges— —and—march— —an army of assistants and deputies, the seconds-in-command, the runners-up, the right-handmen—storming the palace gates wherein the second son has already mounted the throne having committed regicide with a croquet-mallet—stand-ins of the world stand up!—

But what I liked – indeed, loved – about this man was that he was a passionate supporter of the Somerset county cricket team. Now, to conjure up genuine enthusiasm for the antics of such a comprehensively hopeless bunch of underdogs and ne’er-do-wells was hard enough for someone born and brought up in Somerset; but to choose them voluntarily, when there was absolutely no kind of geographical loyalty involved, was an act of such utter pointlessness that I felt rather in awe of Nick. I had been reading about existentialism; here was someone living it, someone who accepted the concept of an act of Free Will in a Meaningless Universe, and was taking it to a new level.

Experience counts but Greg, even at the cost of the team’s larger interests, was hell-bent on not giving any importance to Ganguly.

A game teaches you patience, discipline and team work.

He has played some outstanding innings in the past, and I've got no [sic] confidence whatsoever that he'll come back and play very well in the near future.

Glenn McGrath had a reasonable career in Australia.

We're not going to get carried away. Well, we are going to for the next couple of days!

The captains of England and Australia can barely exchange pleasantries these days without a body-language expert immediately declaiming on the angle of their handshakes.

Sachin plays not only to be remembered but also to be repeated.

Two examples of true love are love between mother and child and love between Sachin and cricket.

Sachin is a genius in the world of cricket leaving behind all those who are only talented and intelligent.

Shafiul's English, it must be said, is limited (although as one wag pointed out, not as limited as his interrogators' Bengali). So when he was asked whether he had deliberately tried to disrupt Trott's elongated guard-taking procedure by aborting his own run-up, he insisted there had been no plan. Pushed moments later on whether [Jamie] Siddons had spoken to the team about the need to disrupt Trott's elongated guard-taking process, Shafiul nodded jubilantly. We were left none the wiser.

Despite their insecurity and despair in an India witnessing the rise of Hindu nationalism, most of my Indian Muslim friends were Indian nationalists. They disagreed with me and other Kashmiri students about our ideas of an independent Kashmir. They were afraid that the secession of a Muslim-majority Kashmir from India would make life worse for India's Muslims. Whenever a cricket match was screened on the television room of our hostel, my Indian Muslim friends cheered, sang and rooted for the Indian cricket team. Kashmiris cheered for Sri Lanka or Pakistan, or whichever team played against India.

I had a lot of adventures as a child, but one that stands out is when I was cut under my eye while playing at Shivaji Park, the breeding ground of cricketers in Mumbai, and had to return home covered in blood. I was captaining my team in a match at Shivaji Park when I was twelve and after our wicketkeeper got injured I asked my team-mates if anyone could keep wicket. No one volunteered and somewhat reluctantly I stepped up to the challenge, even though I’d never tried it before. I was uncomfortable standing in the unfamiliar position behind the stumps and soon missed a nick. The ball came at me fast and, even before I could react, it hit me smack in the face, just missing my eye.

This business with Sir Magnus Pye had got off to an inauspicious start. It was one thing to be stabbed in your own home—but to be decapitated with a medieval sword the moment darkness fell was quite simply outrageous. Saxby-on-Avon was such a quiet place! Yes, there had been that business with the cleaner, the woman who had tripped up and fallen down the stairs, but this was something else again. Could it really be true that one of the villagers, living in a Georgian house perhaps, going to church and playing for the local cricket team, mowing their lawn on Sunday mornings and selling home-made marmalade at the village fête, was a homicidal maniac? The answer was yes—quite possibly.

Yet cricket was never the problem. In some ways, challenging as it often was, it was the simplest part of my life. Bowling to Viv Richards, Sachin Tendulkar and Brian Lara or batting against Shane Warne, Malcolm Marshall or Muttiah Muralitharan was child’s play compared to handling the expectations of my nation, the turmoil of my team and the machinations of my administration.

Sometimes I dream of revolution, a bloody coup d’etat by the second rank—troupes of actors slaughtered by their understudies, magicians sawn in half by indefatigably smiling glamour girls, cricket teams wiped out by marauding bands of twelfth men—I dream of champions chopped down by rabbit-punching sparring partners while eternal bridesmaids turn and rape the bridegrooms over the sausage rolls and parliamentary private secretaries plant bombs in the Minister’s Humber—comedians die on provincial stages, robbed of their feeds by mutely triumphant stooges— —and—march— —an army of assistants and deputies, the seconds-in-command, the runners-up, the right-handmen—storming the palace gates wherein the second son has already mounted the throne having committed regicide with a croquet-mallet—stand-ins

It had been unusually hot all summer. Ben Cresswell could feel the sun scorching his thighs through his cricket whites as he sat on the clubhouse veranda, waiting for his turn at bat. Colonel Huntley sat beside him, mopping his red and sweaty face. He was wearing pads because he was next up at bat. He wasn’t as good a batsman as Ben, but he was team captain, and in village cricket, seniority often took precedence over ability. Only

16 November 2013, my cricketing journey finally came to an end at the Wankhede Stadium. After somehow managing to complete my farewell speech, I was having a conversation with my family, trying to soak in every moment, when my team-mate Virat Kohli walked up to me. He said, ‘Paaji aapne kaha tha aap ko yaad dilane ke liye ki aapko pitch pe jana hain.’ (You asked me to remind you that you had to go to the pitch one final time.) To be honest, I hadn’t forgotten; I was just trying to put the moment off for a little longer. It was to be my final visit to

Despite their insecurity and despair in an India witnessing the rise of Hindu nationalism, most of my Indian Muslim friends were Indian nationalists. They disagreed with me and other Kashmiri students about our ideas of an independent Kashmir. They were afraid that the secession of a Muslim-majority Kashmir from India would make log worse for India's Muslims. Whenever a cricket match was screened on the television room of our hostel, my Indian Muslim friends cheered, sang and rooted for the Indian Fri let team. Kashmiris cheered for Sri Lanka or Pakistan, or whichever team played against India.

Tavaré played 30 Tests for England between 1980 and 1984, adding a final cap five years later. He filled for much of that period the role of opening batsman, even though the bulk of his first-class career was spent at Nos. 3 and 4. He was, in that sense, a typical selection in a period of chronic English indecision and improvisation, filling a hole rather than commanding a place. But he tried—how he tried. Ranji once spoke of players who 'went grey in the service of the game'; Tavaré, slim, round-shouldered, with a feint moustache, looked careworn and world-weary from the moment he graduated to international cricket.

History generally records that Michael Vaughan quit the England captaincy in tearful circumstances following the Test-series defeat to South Africa in 2008. But the Top Spin can reveal this version of events is little more than a smokescreen. For it appears that what actually tipped Vaughan over the edge was a phonecall from a stricken team-mate - a call so harrowing Vaughan decided he could cope no longer. The ex-skipper was enjoying a barbecue at home with friends two summers ago when he took a rare call from Monty Panesar. 'Hello, Monty.' 'Hello Vaughany. I've got some bad news for you.' 'Oh?' 'Yes, you know I was telling you about my parrot Gary last week?' 'Er...' 'Well, he's gone missing. Just thought you'd like to know.' 'Sorry to hear that Monty.' 'Bye.' 'Bye.' So aghast was Vaughan that captaincy duty now extended to fielding calls from team-mates about escaped pets that he knew his time was up. Sure, the tears at the farewell press conference left an impression on us all. But it was Monty's ex-parrot that sealed the deal.

I remember, for example, the time at prep school when I was chosen for the under nines’ rugby team. Well, to be more accurate, I was chosen to be linesman, as I wasn’t good enough for the actual team. Anyway, it was a cold, miserable winter’s day, and there were no spectators out watching, which was uncommon. (Normally, at least a few boys or teachers would come out to watch the school matches.) But on this cold, blustery day the touchlines were deserted, except for one lone figure. It was my dad, standing in the rain, watching me, his son, perform my linesman duties. I felt so happy to see him, but also felt guilty. I mean, I hadn’t even made the team and here he was to watch me run up and down waving a silly flag. Yet it meant the world to me. When the halftime whistle blew it was my big moment. On I ran to the pitch, the plate of oranges in my hands, with Dad applauding from the touchline. Lives are made in such moments. Likewise, I remember Dad playing in the fathers-and-sons cricket match. All the other fathers were taking it very seriously, and then there was Dad in an old African safari hat, coming in to bat and tripping over his wicked--out for a duck. I loved that fun side of Dad, and everyone else seemed to love him for it as well. To be a part of that always made me smile.

De Villiers was shortlisted for the South African national hockey squad,’ the article says. True or false? False. In truth, I played hockey for one year at high school and was a member of the Afrikaanse Hoër Seunskool Under-16A team that beat our near neighbours and rivals at Pretoria Boys’ High for the first time, but I was never shortlisted for the national hockey squad, or ever came remotely close to that level. ‘De Villiers was shortlisted for the South African national football squad,’ the article says. True or false? False. I have never played any organised football (soccer). We used to kick a ball around during break at school and the game has become part of the Proteas’ warm-up routine. That is all. ‘De Villiers was the captain of South Africa junior rugby,’ the article says. True or false? False. I played rugby at primary school and high school, and enjoyed every minute, but I never represented South Africa at any level, either at SA Schools or SA Under-20, and was never captain. ‘De Villiers is still the holder of six national school swimming records,’ the article says. True or false? False. As far as I recall, I did set an Under-9 breaststroke record at Warmbaths Primary School but I have never held any national school swimming records, not even for a day. ‘De Villiers has the record fastest 100 metres time among South African junior sprinters,’ the article says. True or false? False. I did not sprint at all at school. Elsewhere on the Internet, to my embarrassment, there are articles in which the great sprinter Usain Bolt is asked which cricketer could beat him in a sprint and he replies ‘AB de Villiers’. Maybe, just maybe, I would beat him if I were riding a motorbike. ‘De Villiers was a member of the national junior Davis Cup tennis team,’ the article says. True or false? Almost true. As far as I know, there was no such entity as the national junior Davis Cup team, but I did play tennis as a youngster, loved the game and was occasionally ranked as the national No. 1 in my age group. ‘De Villiers was a national Under-19 badminton

Chapter One Vivek Ranadivé “IT WAS REALLY RANDOM. I MEAN, MY FATHER HAD NEVER PLAYED BASKETBALL BEFORE.” 1. When Vivek Ranadivé decided to coach his daughter Anjali’s basketball team, he settled on two principles. The first was that he would never raise his voice. This was National Junior Basketball—the Little League of basketball. The team was made up mostly of twelve-year-olds, and twelve-year-olds, he knew from experience, did not respond well to shouting. He would conduct business on the basketball court, he decided, the same way he conducted business at his software firm. He would speak calmly and softly, and he would persuade the girls of the wisdom of his approach with appeals to reason and common sense. The second principle was more important. Ranadivé was puzzled by the way Americans play basketball. He is from Mumbai. He grew up with cricket and soccer. He would never forget the first time he saw a basketball game. He thought it was mindless. Team A would score and then immediately retreat to its own end of the court. Team B would pass the ball in from the sidelines and dribble it into Team A’s end, where Team A was patiently waiting. Then the process would reverse itself. A regulation basketball court is ninety-four feet long. Most of the time, a team would defend only about twenty-four feet of that, conceding the other seventy feet. Occasionally teams played a full-court press—that is, they contested their opponent’s attempt to advance the ball up the court. But they did it for only a few minutes at a time. It was as if there were a kind of conspiracy in the basketball world about the way the game ought to be played, Ranadivé thought, and that conspiracy had the effect of widening the gap between good teams and weak teams. Good teams, after all, had players who were tall and could dribble and shoot well; they could crisply execute their carefully prepared plays in their opponent’s end. Why, then, did weak teams play in a way that made it easy for good teams to do the very things that they were so good at? Ranadivé looked at his girls. Morgan and Julia were serious basketball players. But Nicky, Angela, Dani, Holly, Annika, and his own daughter, Anjali, had never played the game before. They weren’t all that tall. They couldn’t shoot. They weren’t particularly adept at dribbling. They were not the sort who played pickup games at the playground every evening. Ranadivé lives in Menlo Park, in the heart of California’s Silicon Valley. His team was made up of, as Ranadivé put it, “little blond girls.” These were the daughters of nerds and computer programmers. They worked on science projects and read long and complicated books and dreamed about growing up to be marine biologists. Ranadivé knew that if they played the conventional way—if they let their opponents dribble the ball up the court without opposition—they would almost certainly lose to the girls for whom basketball was a passion. Ranadivé had come to America as a seventeen-year-old with fifty dollars in his pocket. He was not one to accept losing easily. His second principle, then, was that his team would play a real full-court press—every game, all the time. The team ended up at the national championships. “It was really random,” Anjali Ranadivé said. “I mean, my father had never played basketball before.” 2. Suppose you were to total up all the wars over the past two hundred years that occurred between very large and very small countries. Let’s say that one side has to be at least ten times larger in population and armed might

Front-line Initial Assault Teams are the soldiers who are parachuted down to the battlefield first and it’s their job to hold the fort against ridiculous odds so that the rest of the army can sort itself out and get into fighting formation without being bothered by the enemy. I should hate to be in a front-line team, dropped from low orbit with nothing but a rifle, a cricket cup and a packet of Wurther’s Originals for energy.

We finished our warm up and went into the sheds, with just five minutes left before the start of play. I knew that I was obliged to say a few words to the team, but what would they be? I was not a natural orator. I lacked the physical presence and polish of a Barack Obama. Was there any point, though? Looking around, I saw a bunch of disorganised adults frantically trying to get their shit together in time for the session. ‘Got any sunscreen, Damo?’ Can you spot me some zinc, Trav?’ ‘Has anybody got a hat?’ I could have recited Lincoln’s Gettysburg address in full — ‘four score and seven years ago …’ — and these blokes wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. As such, I fell back on the versatile, tried and true maxim that all grade captains are well familiar with. ‘Let’s just fucking work hard and get these cunts out!’ I screamed at the top of my voice, just as the old umpire poked his head into the room.

Back home, there was always one bloke in the team who smelled suspiciously like coconut, having surreptitiously applied Reef Oil instead of actual sunscreen to get that golden glow for the Saturday night circuit.

Yes, I know this narrative is crowded with beautiful women - Mrs. Pearson, Mrs. Maycott, Mrs. Lavien, Mrs. Bingham. We might form a cricket team of beautiful women. I cannot help it if they are the ones who excite my notice and so trouble myself to describe.

Never hire a team of cricketers to play football.

In addition they travelled maddening distances between games with very few rest days, in a schedule to suit the counties they played rather than logic. Though no Test matches, the tour finished in Bristol with a game against a Gloucestershire team including WG and Gilbert Jessop. The captain of England at the time was Pelham 'Plum' Warner, who wrote.. There is a case in point of the extraordinary power the game has over its votaries in this matter of sinking all prejudices and dislike, real or imaginary, in the tour in the United Kingdom of a team from India composed of men of all castes and creeds. I make so bold as to say that this travelling and living together of natives of various castes and creeds will have far-reaching effect in India.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Virat Kohli has risen.

It could produce the most extraordinary consequences, as the life of C. B. Fry demonstrates. The son of a chief accountant at Scotland Yard, he had played in the FA Cup before he left Repton School in 1890 and appeared for Surrey county cricket team in the time between school and university (Oxford, inevitably, and the top scholarship at Wadham College). By the time of his graduation, he had represented the university at cricket, soccer and athletics, tied the world long-jump record at 23 feet 6½ inches, and only missed playing wing three-quarter for the Oxford rugby team because of injury. He managed, in passing, to win a first in classics.

If you are Pakistani or Indian you might just as well commit suicide when the team is humiliated; if you’re West Indian, you might feel the world has fallen apart when things go wrong at the Oval. But these are countries where cricket is one of the leading suppliers of national pride. In England, you don’t support cricket teams, you follow them. It’s the game you support, not the team.

জীবনে সবারই একটা দ্বিতীয় সুযোগ পাওয়া উচিত, এই দাবি যেমন যৌক্তিক; আবার জীবনে এমন কিছুও থাকে, যেটি একবার হারিয়ে ফেলার পর হাজার চাইলেও আর ফিরে পাওয়া যায় না। তুমি ভালো থেকো, দুঃখ যেমন দিয়েছ, আনন্দও তো কম দাওনি। আমি না হয় সেসবই মনে রাখার চেষ্টা করব।

কেউ যখন বলে, তোমার জন্য জীবন দিয়ে দিতে পারি, সেটিও যেমন আক্ষরিক অর্থে নিতে নেই। তবে বাংলাদেশ দলে তরুণ অনেক খেলোয়াড়ের কথা শুনে এমন তো মনে হয়ই, 'মাশরাফি ভাই' বললে তারা আগুনে ঝাঁপ দিতেও একমূহুর্ত ভাববেন না।

বিপুল ভোটে সংসদ সদস্য নির্বাচিত হওয়ার পর ফোনে অভিনন্দন জানিয়ে বললাম, 'এখন থেকে কি ম্যাশ বলে ডাকব, নাকি মাননীয় সংসদ সদস্য বলতে হবে?' ওপ্রান্ত থেকে হাসির শব্দ, 'দাদা, আমি হলাম পানির মতো। যে পাত্রে রাখবেন, সেই পাত্রের আকারই ধারণ করব।' মজা করেই বলা। তবে মাশরাফিকে বোঝাতে উপমাটা আসলেই খুব জুতসই। মাশরাফি কখনো 'পাগলা' রূপে দেখা দেবেন, কখনো 'ক্যাপ্টেন কুল', কখনো-বা 'মাননীয় সংসদ সদস্য'। মাশরাফি বদলাবেন না। খঁটি জিনিস কখনো বদলায় না।

The Duckworth-Lewis method of resolving rain-affected games has divided the cricketing fraternity into those who do not understand it and those who pretend they do. Rumour has it that it involves calculus, astrology, quantum mechanics and the use of dice. Either way teams get screwed.

The Nepal Cricket Team is going to rise higher and higher in World Cricket.

True friends may lift you up and make you feel on top of the world, but their true worth is revealed during your darkest moments. The current situation of Pakistan cricket team under Babar's captaincy serves as a recent example of this truth.

Practice so hard, that you prove the haters wrong and win the tournament.

Cricket is unique among sports in its psychological aspect. It's a team game, but there is no other team game so dependent on individual performance: indeed, at any moment, almost 90% of one side is not taking part.

Cricket World Cup 2024 … When both Teams are Competitive, both Losing & Winning Teams CRY. What a Finale

I believe men like Virat Kohli, Rohit Sharma,  Jasprit Bumrah, and Hardik Pandya prove it again and again that the real men deliver when it matters the most! When I say real men, I mean men who have a family, face the challenges of leading a family, and still perform when it matters the most.  And I remember that scene of Russell Crowe from the movie 'Gladiator' and it reminds me of real men where he says, “My name is Maximus Decimus Meridias, commander of the armies of the north, general of the Felix legions..." and the other amazing line from Maximus where he says, "What we do in life echoes in eternity.

T20 World Cup Betting: A Quick Guide The T20 World Cup is one of the most exciting events in the cricketing calendar, bringing together top teams from around the world for a fast-paced, action-packed tournament. For many fans, placing a bet can add even more excitement to the games. Here’s a brief guide to get you started with T20 World Cup betting. What is T20 World Cup Betting? T20 World Cup betting involves wagering on various outcomes related to the tournament. This can range from predicting the overall winner of the World Cup to specific match outcomes or player performances. Types of Bets Match Bets: Wager on the outcome of individual matches. Outright Bets: Bet on which team will win the entire tournament. Prop Bets: Bet on specific events, like the top run-scorer in a match. How to Bet Choose a Platform: Select a reputable betting site like Bet365 or Betway. Create an Account: Sign up and verify your details. Deposit Funds: Add money to your account using a secure payment method. Place Bets: Choose your bets based on your research and predictions. Tips for Successful Betting Research: Study team form, player statistics, and match conditions. Set a Budget: Only bet what you can afford to lose. Stay Informed: Keep up with the latest news and updates. Responsible Betting Betting should always be fun and done responsibly. Set limits for yourself and seek help if betting becomes a problem. Betting on the T20 World Cup can enhance your enjoyment of the game, but always remember to bet wisely and responsibly.

Sunil Gavaskar, made his debut in the series against the West Indies in 1971. Sunny, as he was popularly known, had amassed 774 runs in just the four tests he played in the series that also included 124 and 220 in both the innings of the same test match in Port of Spain. Just imagine such a performance, from a batsman making his debut, and playing against the then mightiest cricket team that was known for its fearsome fast bowlers. Also, playing for a team that was known for winning, gives a different confidence altogether to a debutant.

The game created a parallel world, Sidney thought. It was drama; it was excitement; it was a metaphor for the vicissitudes of life. It was also quintessentially English: democratic (there were teams with all levels of ability), communal (the cricket ‘square’ was often at the centre of the village green), and convivial (the game was full of eccentric characters.) It was the representation of a nation’s cuisine, with its milky tea, cucumber sandwiches, Victoria sponge and lashings of beer. It was also beautiful to watch, with fifteen men, dressed in white and moving on green, creating geometrical patterns that looked as if they had been choreographed by a divine choreographer. As

I was wondering about the origin of the word hat trick. Where does it come from? Cricket doesn’t have much to do with hats, does it?’ ‘I think it was at Sheffield’s Hyde Park ground in 1858. An All-England cricket team was engaged in a cricket match against the Hallam XI. During the match, H.H. Stephenson of the All-England XI took three wickets in three balls. As was customary at the time for rewarding outstanding sporting feats, a collection was made. The proceeds were used to buy a white hat, which was duly presented to the bowler.’ ‘And was Stephenson grateful?’ ‘History is, I fear, silent on this important subject, Geordie. But Mr Ali’s hat trick certainly made our own little contribution to cricketing statistics.’ ‘Although

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The doors had a peephole, and periodically an Iranian guard would look through and choose who he would let in. It was a bit like waiting to be picked for a sports team at school. You stand there trying to look as useful as possible to the two kids lucky enough to have been chosen as captains. If they were picking you for footy you tried to look as tough as possible. For basketball, you tried to look as tall as possible. For cricket, as long-suffering and patient as possible. That day, every time the guard looked through the peephole, I tried to look as un-Great Satan-like as I could.

In the Summer of '48, Don Bradman, at the age of 40, led a team of players across the oceans with intent, with resolve, with enormous talent in their ranks, and with the dogged will to win all they could. They showed the world that, at least for that wonderful post-war summer, they were truly Invincible.

Perhaps it is the fate of all great sporting performances to be forgotten somewhat if the team eventually loses. Would we care overly about VVS Laxman’s 281 or Ian Botham’s 149 without the efforts of Harbhajan Singh and Bob Willis who turned these great feats from potentially heroic failures to match-winning epics?

Cricket is a team game where individuals inspire each other to achieve performances which surpass what might otherwise be beyond them.

In 2011 India’s Test team was crowned as world cricket’s leading side for the first time in its history. The foundations for this global domination can be traced to a decade earlier, when a career-defining performance by VVS Laxman helped to turn a whole series on its head as India, in the face of a seemingly unassailable deficit, staged an unbelievable recovery to go on and overpower what many considered to be the finest cricket team ever assembled.

Are you alone?” “No, I’ve got the local cricket team with me ready to have hot sex on your kitchen table.

It seems perfectly reasonable to give the greatest weight to the longest series. South Africa were only offered a five-Test series in Australia and England when they were considered worthy opponents and when the authorities considered that sufficient crowds would allow such a series to be a viable financial option. This link between the duration of a Test series and the money it is likely to generate is a constant throughout the history of the game and has been made more complex over the last three decades by the introduction of the various one-day formats. The constant also remains that a five-Test series (six being a thing of the past) is the ultimate examination of the relative strength of two teams and the current fashion for a quick two-match ‘shoot-out’ can only harm the standing of Test cricket whatever the short-term financial rewards.

Cricket must be proud, "I played by Sachin Tendulkar".

I would like to be an umpire when Sachin is batting, so to get the best possible view of his shots.

Football said,"Why I am not a cricket ball to get a shot from Sachin".

Batting is like another language for Sachin, he always answers his critics by this language.

Behind an able Indian Cricket Team there is always able Sachin Tendulkar.

Sachin's straight drive is like fired bullet from most efficient gun.

Sachin's pedal sweep confirmed that physical conditions and age cannot stop you from hitting boundaries.

Sachin is passionate for cricket and fame is passionate for Sachin.

Thanks to technology, the future generation will be able to see Sachin's recorded innings and will accept that our generation was most lucky.

Every few years, in the world of sport, someone ascends to the most rarefied of all levels—the one at which it becomes news not when they win, but when they lose. It must have been like that in the early Fifties, when a tubby Italian called Alberto Ascari was stitching together nine Grand Prix wins in a row, a record not even Fangio, Clark or Senna could match. Or when the great Real Madrid side of Alfredo Di Stefano and Ferenc Puskas won the first five European Cup finals, between 1956 and 1960. Or when Martina Navratilova dominated Wimbledon's Centre Court, winning nine ladies' singles titles in thirteen years. The current Australian cricket team is in just such a run at present, having just completed nine consecutive victories, putting them four wins away from establishing an all-time record. And then there is Tiger Woods.

Pakistanis love cricket as fervently as Indians – maybe even more. Geoff Lawson, the former Australia fast bowler and Pakistan national team coach, told me he thought Pakistanis cared more about cricket ‘because there’s not a whole lot else for them to do. It’s either cricket or the mosque’.

The uplifting 1952 Test series was won by India 2-1. The next two series, in 1954 and 1960, were held against a backdrop of rising tensions over Kashmir, and this was sadly reflected in the cricket. Terrified of losing, both teams played very defensively, producing ten consecutive and extremely boring draws.

Salim looked surprised. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘The upper levels do the match-fixing and we have no involvement. Also not all teams are manageable. But we know which team will win. Pakistan is the best team for match-fixing.’ ‘We hate Pakistanis!’ Salim’s accomplice chipped in. He looked and sounded very angry. ‘Why?’ ‘Because they say we are not good Muslims. It’s like you are Christian and some Christian country-wallah says you are not good.

Sadly, I found that many Pakistanis viewed these cricket matches not as between two national teams, but between Muslims and Hindus.

As a country that had a cricket team before it had a government, Australia has always rejoiced in the magic of sporting success and its ability to make a person forget that genuinely important things exist. If there’s one thing that Australians pride themselves on living vicariously through, it’s sport: some consider it an even better expression of Australian identity than warfare.

What would happen if the parasites were removed from this picture? Would there be fewer birds in the sky, more fish in the sea? Lafferty doesn’t know, but the change would almost certainly have a domino-like effect on the food chain. In some fragile ecosystems where animals struggle to get by on scarce resources, manipulative parasites might even tip the balance toward the survival or extinction of a species. Lafferty recounted joining Japanese biologists who were studying a type of endangered trout in hopes of increasing its numbers. In the fall, the team noticed, the fish were unusually well nourished; their bellies were packed full of crickets. What had made this source of nutrients suddenly so plentiful? A hairworm closely related to the species Thomas has long been studying was sending droves of the crickets into the water in late summer. If it weren’t for the parasite, said Lafferty, it’s possible the trout might already be extinct.

One of the optional subjects that we could study at Eton was motor mechanics, roughly translated as “find an old banger, pimp it up, remove the exhaust, and rag it around the fields until it dies.” Perfect. I found an exhausted-looking, old brown Ford Cortina station wagon that I bought for thirty pounds, and, with some friends, we geared it up big-time. As we were only sixteen we weren’t allowed to take it on the road, but I reckoned with my seventeenth birthday looming that it would be perfect as my first, road-legal car. The only problem was that I needed to have it pass inspection, and to do that I had to get it to a garage. This involved having an adult drive with me. I persuaded Mr. Quibell that there was no better way that he could possibly spend a Saturday afternoon than drive me to a repair garage (in his beloved Slough). I had managed to take a lucky diving catch for the house cricket team the day before, so was in Mr. Quibell’s good books--and he relented. As soon as we got to the outskirts of Slough, though, the engine started to smoke--big-time. Soon, Mr. Quibell had to have the windshield wipers on full power, acting as a fan just to clear the smoke that was pouring out of the hood. By the time we made it to the garage the engine was red-hot and it came as no surprise that my car failed its inspection--on more counts than any car the garage had seen for a long time, they told me. It was back to the drawing board, but it was a great example of what a good father figure Mr. Quibell was to all those in his charge--especially to those boys who really tried, in whatever field it was. And I have always been, above all, a trier. I haven’t always succeeded, and I haven’t always had the most talent, but I have always given of myself with great enthusiasm--and that counts for a lot. In fact my dad had always told me that if I could be the most enthusiastic person I knew then I would do well. I never forgot that. And he was right. I mean, who doesn’t like to work with enthusiastic folk?

I recalled Ian Chappell’s comment that of all cricketing nations, Pakistan was the only team that he and his players found impossible to interact with socially after a day’s play.

The relationship between cricket (that most English of sports) and spying (at which the British have always excelled) is deep rooted and unique. Something about the game attracts the sort of mind also drawn to the secret worlds of intelligence and counterintelligence—a complex test of brain and brawn, a game of honor interwoven with trickery, played with ruthless good manners and dependent on minute gradations of physics and psychology, with tea breaks. Some of the most notable British spies have been cricketers or cricket enthusiasts. Hitler played cricket, but only once. In 1930 it was claimed that, having seen British POWs playing in southern Germany during the First World War, the Nazi party leader asked to be “initiated into the mysteries of our national game.” A match was played against Hitler’s team, after which he declared that the rules should be altered by the “withdrawal of the use of pads” and using a “bigger and harder ball.” Hitler could not understand the subtlety of a game like cricket; he thought only in terms of speed, spectacle, violence. Cricket was the ideal sport on which to model an organization bent on stumping the Führer.

Everyone knows that Brearley the player could barely qualify for a place in the side for his batting. In fact but for England’s tradition of selecting its captain first and then the rest of the team, Brearley may not have played much for England at all. In contrast, Australia selects its best players and chooses the captain from that pool. England got it right with Brearley for without doubt he is among the best captains cricket has ever known. To be able to captain with such command, for players to look up to him and do his bidding, when he was himself a mediocre contributor must imply that Brearley must have been a magician of a leader. He was quite simply outstanding. Unruffled, technically very sound, able to move swiftly between attack and defense and above all the ability to get everyone together as a team to perform to their potential.

Finally, captaincy is something that can be experienced and felt, for the more one tries to describe it the harder it gets. Brearley tries to simplify it by saying that cricket captaincy is a combination of good man management and technical competence. Surely within those few words there is the wisdom of a lifetime. Worrell, Benaud, Brearley and those other great captains, they had all this in great measure. Somewhere ultimately we would like to believe that above all, the really great captains are also good human beings. In this hardnosed business of leading the country’s cricket teams we sometimes forget that.

MS didn’t come across as someone who was too ambitious. He seemed to enjoy every minute of being part of the team. We knew little about where he came from, or what hardships he had endured to get to where he had. Most youngsters breaking into the team are so busy trying to establish themselves that the fun element goes out of their cricket, and I say this from experience. MS was different. Whether he was batting, keeping wicket or at training, he had a ball. His room was an open house, the door open till past midnight. He was a big PlayStation freak, with a special liking for war games. He was understandably shy when he broke into the team, but we got to know each other well because I stood in the slips and we had lots of conversations. What stood out was his balance and maturity as a human being. He understood the game really well, and his situational awareness was excellent. And he had plenty of self-belief. He was unorthodox as a wicketkeeper and batsman, but he didn’t succumb to pressure and try to be classical. He had a unique batting technique, and because he knew his game so well, he knew how to use it to score runs. At the end of the day, the most important thing was runs on the board. MS didn’t care if people thought he scored those runs prettily or otherwise.

The years between 2004 and 2008 were troubled years, as Tendulkar battled injuries and form, coinciding also with the ill-fated years of Greg Chappell’s tenure as the coach of the Indian team. All the arm-chair critics said he must go. Somehow, somewhere, Tendulkar found the composure and sagacity to ignore all this and concentrated on getting healthier, fitter and back to his best. He rediscovered himself and everyone knows how incandescent this second coming of Tendulkar was, for he blazed away in Bradmanesque fashion culminating in the 2011 World Cup victory. Back to his attacking best, he scored quickly, attacked the bowling and it was clear that he was enjoying his cricket more than ever before. We did not ask Dravid—actually we forgot to ask him—but Arun Lal or Gavaskar or Ravi Shastri are quite sure that Sachin was batting as well if not better than he had ever batted in his life.

The novel is set in Germany and the main characters are German. There is nothing of significance to say about England twenty years after its surrender. Except, that is, that it is part of a European Union: In the West, twelve nations – Portugal, Spain, France, Ireland, Great Britain, Belgium, Holland, Italy, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Finland – had been corralled by Germany, under the Treaty of Rome, into a European trading bloc. German was the official second language in all schools. People drove German cars, listened to German radios, watched German televisions, worked in German-owned factories, moaned about the behaviour of German tourists in German-dominated holiday resorts, while German teams won every international sporting competition except cricket, which only the English played.8