I had the chance to listen to Ricky Ponting's press conference yesterday and I was impressed by his combination of honesty and tact. I don't especially like the guy, but it was refreshing to hear one piece of level-headedness in particular.
There was a lot of talk in both Ponting and Strauss' conferences about 'aura', and whether Australia have lost it. Strauss said they had. The Telegraph, and probably numerous other papers as well, splashed this across six pages, most of which were dedicated to calling Strauss a silly boy and telling him to do his talking on the field. Some of these words came from Geoffrey Boycott, who should perhaps heed his own advice and shut the hell up, or at least do the tiniest bit of research before putting his uninformed views to press.
The reason I say this is because Strauss didn't come out with a prepared statement that Australia had lost their aura. He was asked whether he thought they had, and said yes. Which is true. They have. He also made it clear that this was in no way an insult to the Australian team; merely an inevitable consequence of the players being so new to Test cricket. The 'offending' statement can be seen on video here.
The point is that Strauss was only answering a question, not making a statment of his own. That's not arrogant, or foolish. It's honest. And yes, they do differ sometimes.
So where does Ponting come into this? Because he was asked four or five questions about what Strauss said, and after answering straight questions with straight answers - such as saying England didn't have an aura themselves, a statement he only made when asked that specific question - he questioned the context of Strauss' statement.
Was Strauss asked a direct question about Australia's lack of aura, he asked? Yes, he was told. Well, Ponting said, we can't take that out of context then, can we? He was just answering a question. We all have to do that. You have to be careful: the press will blow things out of proportion.
And he was right.
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Don't forget to look for live updates from the Test match on inthenews.co.uk.
So, then, The Observer. National institution or financial dead duck? Ongoing liberal tradition or failing piece of press history? Last hope for decent Sunday newspapers or... well, you get the picture.
The problem is that many people don't. The news - or more appropriately, rumours - that Guardian-owned Sunday staple The Observer may be set to close has been greeted by cries of indignant outrage from the left and centre and cries of ugly derision from the right (i.e. almost every other newspaper).
No surprise there, perhaps, and it's good to see people coming out in force to condemn the proposed closure, oppose the Guardian Media Group's pessimistic murmurings and in some cases, call the whole thing a fascist coup. I'm one of them. I've joined a Facebook group and everything. AND I'm following 'savetheobserver' on Twitter. GMG, feel my web 2.0 wrath.
However, I feel the need to tar the rose-tinted Observer portrait with the brush of realism and bad metaphors. There's no smoke without fire, and in this case the fire is coming from an almost ritualistic burning of money from people bowing to a false idol of unerring tradition.
The Observer has not turned a profit in 16 years, ever since the Guardian bought it in 1993. Let's think about that. No profit in 16 years. And it's thought to have lost £10-£20 million every year in recent times. The Telegraph's business section has some more depressing statistics, although I must add that I don't condone the irrelevant comparison of the newspaper's losses with Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger's salary increase.
On Newsnight a former editor of The Observer, Donald Trelford, said the Sunday newspaper is being made scapegoat for The Guardian's losses. I don't agree. Once again, it hasn't made a profit in 16 years, and it's allegedly losing a million pounds a month.
Now I'm not a Godforsaken pennypincher, and I believe in political ideals ahead of profitable business, but can the GMG really afford for this to continue, and now of all times?
It's time, as ever, for a disclaimer.
I am a Guardian reader and an Observer reader. I detest almost every other newspaper from the Sun to the Mail - especially the Mail - for being irresponsible, reactionary and just a little bit racist. You may have noticed that my news links above took you to a story in the Times and the Torygraph, but only because, in spite of everything, they are at least trustworthy newspapers for getting their facts right. I just don't agree with anything they say, that's all.
So when I say we have to be realistic about The Observer, that doesn't mean I want it to die. I simply recognise that there may be no alternative.
But could it find some other way of saving money? Both The Guardian and The Observer have more staff each than the Chinese when they were building their Great Wall. If you were to walk past everyone who worked for these papers, you'd never reach the last one. There's just too many of them. The wage bill must be absolutely epic.
I don't want people working for The Big G or The Big O(we) to lose their jobs, though, partly because I know some of them. So could The Observer be smaller? It's a weekly so it's huge, naturally, but it could probably halve its page count before it had to halve its staff (uh, the number of staff, that is - I'm not suggesting it literally cuts its staff in half, despite the pleasant rhyming).
But if none of these cost-cutting measures are possible, what should the GMG do?
Shoot me for saying this but in times of dire need for a balanced world view, The Guardian must take precedence over The Observer.
The Tories are almost certain to win the next General Election (God help the delusioned sinners that vote for them), and we need The Guardian at its strongest to repel every right-wing newspaper out there. It's the guardian of liberal thinking and good journalism; it is not guardian of The Observer. And it can't afford to keep losing money.
Yes, I'm a bastard. But I do recognise The Observer's proud reputation and prouder history, which is why I think the proposal for it to become a midweek magazine is almost insulting. THAT would be the death of it. It's a 200-year-old newspaper, for goodness' sake. When World War One veterans are on their deathbed, do you cake them in gaudy make-up and call them Ruby? No. You let them die with dignity. I'd rather see The Observer close than see it become a midweek mag.
But just to make things clear, I don't want The Observer to close. If alternatives are lacking, however, we can't let blind brand loyalty get in the way of responsibility. Because if The Observer continues to print and continues to lose money, it could just bring The Guardian down with it.
England's Test and one-day squads to tour South Africa clearly show the selectors taking everything into account. They have one eye firmly on the future, looking to develop younger players. They have one eye on the past, looking at previous tourists ready for an England recall. And they have one eye on the present, glued to this season's performances in the County Championship. We're talking three eyes here, all looking in different directions.
Which may explain why the selectors seem to have lost sight of their objectives. There's no doubting that the Test squad for this tour represents a monumental shake-up, with new players being brought in and what is perceived as chaff being ruthlessly chucked away. Oh yes, you won't see any aging Test match failures in this squad. You won't see any Ian Bells, any Paul Collingwoods, any... oh.
Yes, the under- and overachiever, the gruesome twosome, the most painful partnership you'll ever have to watch, continue to hold down Test places in spite of their increasing years and decreasing contributions. Hold on, you might say – Bell scored two 50s in the Ashes. Yes, but he's still a top-level bottler of the same ilk as Hick and Ramprakash who is terrified of taking responsibility in a batting order. Well, hold on yet further, you might add – Collingwood saved our skin in Cardiff and was one of the highest run-scorers in the recent ICC Champions Trophy. He also did nothing for the rest of the Ashes, and one-day form is no indicator of Test match ability.
Which brings me onto Luke Wright. The Sussex slogger is by far and away the most baffling, absurd and ire-inducing inclusion in the 16-man Test squad. I almost feel sorry for him, because I think the whole thing is a joke that's gone on for too long and one day he'll realise he's been played for a sap.
The simple fact of the matter is that Luke Wright is not an international cricketer, and certainly isn't anywhere near good enough to play at Test level. He can slog the ball, but no better than your average blacksmith (Ian Blackwell ahoy), and he can – apparently – bowl, although all evidence to the contrary suggests it's a miracle he makes it to the crease without falling over. But he is, to all extents and purposes, a club cricketer with big arms. National selector Geoff Miller said they don't see Wright as "a like-for-like replacement" for Andrew Flintoff. Damn right he isn't. Flintoff could play cricket.
Coming to a Test match near you
Ravi Bopara, meanwhile, has been given the boot after one poor series, in which he arguably batted in the wrong position (he's a middle-order Test batsman, not a number three). His immediate omission from both the Test and one-day squads is a travesty. Still, he's young and highly talented, so I have faith he'll bounce back.
The same, sadly, can't be said of Owais Shah, one of the great talents of late never to fill his boots. Told he had four games in the Champions Trophy to save his place, Shah duly hit 44 and 98 against the two best bowling line-ups in the world, including a matchwinning knock against South Africa. It was too late. He was always going to be dropped. He's been lied to.
He's not the only one. Steve Harmison's omission is understandable, but the selectors haven't been straight with him. They at least owe him an explanation. You're past it. You're no good away from home. Hearing you crying into your pillow about how much you miss Freddie might disturb the younger players. But instead of an excuse Geoff Miller provided a lie – that he's not been consistent this season. Harmison took 51 Championship wickets at 22 runs apiece (Liam Plunkett took 49 at 24).
Ah yes, Plunkett: the man on form. The selectors' one eye on this year's County Championship averages fittingly lacks depth perception, failing to see that Plunkett doesn't have the tactical nouse to think out a world-class batsman on a flat wicket. As for Sajid Mahmood coming back into the frame, well – we've slipped back in time. Mahmood and Plunkett last played for England in 2007, alongside Hoggard, Harmy and a plucky Chris Tremlett, not to mention Monty Panesar, then being hailed as a future world-beater (interesting to see how that turned out).
Undoubtedly, the squads could be worse. It's encouraging to see Adil Rashid picked over Panesar, and Jonathan Trott's inclusion in the one-day squad is a long overdue one, even if it does represent a cost-cutting measure whereby players stay at their parents' houses (a quarter of England's squad was born in South Africa).
But the inclusion of previous disappointments Mahmood and Plunkett suggests we've gone one step forward, but two years back in time.
After two albums with good singles but on the whole worthy of the description 'not bad', a pretty decent but by no means special rock band suddenly delved deep into their hearts, found their inner blues, which I don't think anyone thought existed in them, and pulled out a bloody stunner of a record. As I said: where the hell did this come from?
The title says it all. Howl is raw to the core. It's a cry of justice, injustice and misery. It's, well, a howl.
I'm born and weary but life's just begun And I've run from the reasons and roamed to the gun They say I'm the killer and thy will be done And the doors won't be open when I finally become And I've seen the battle and I've seen the war And the life out here is the life I've been sold
The best moments come in the number of acoustic tracks that simply bleed soul. These are not just quiet remedies for those bored of the relentlessly happy, but whole tragic worlds created in a three-minute guitar lick (the drummer and bassist have very much been given leave for this album). Restless Sinner is particularly good, while Devil's Waitin', quoted above, is no less than haunting.
It could be said there's a lack of invested feeling in observant third-person ballads such as Restless Sinner - though I don't agree; it's a brilliant song with wonderful guitar work - but that never hurt Dylan, and if it's personal emotion you want, look no further than Fault Line. With copious amounts of harmonica, that most underrated of instruments, and a refrain of "Racing with the rising tide to my father's door", it's really quite moving.
But it's not all one-paced: Shuffle Your Feet, all handclaps and bottleneck guitar, and Ain't No Easy Way, one of the few indie singles of late to feature an instrumental mouth organ chorus, raise the tempo and are both absolute stompers in their own right. They provide a perfectly judged antidote to the bittersweet laments of the rest of the album's noose-fearing gospel.
It is, quite literally given their previous guitar anthem dreams, an incredible modern blues album.
And yet no one else seems to think so. From the universally acclaimed Since I Left You yesterday to the largely deplored Howl today, it's a bit of a fall. But I don't care.
This is gem of an album. What a shame that as soon as they could, BRMC went back to their old rocky road. But at least we are left with this - Howl.
No Spotify link because Spotify doesn't have this album. It's all on YouTube, though - give it a listen.
Some pics from one of of my favorite trails, Los Penasquitos Canyon Preserve. I'm lucky... the trailhead is about 10 minutes from my office. After the time change and as the days get longer, this is where I like to run for a post-work stress relief.
Another two weeks have passed since my last post... dang, time is flying by. My first big race of the year, Oceanside 70.3, is this Saturday. I'm ready to have a good day... I've put a lot of work in... certainly more cycling than I've ever done along with a good amount of running. Hopefully, those miles will serve me well.
Last week I was in New York City on a business trip. I was fortunate enough to stay in midtown, only about 1/2 mile from Central Park. So, I availed myself of the opportunity to run the outer loop. It's a perfect 10K circuit, very scenic and quite rolling. It's a beautiful place to run, the juxtaposition of the hills and trees with the skyscrapers in the background is quite striking, especially in the early morning light.
Here are some pics from one of the days I was out there. That's it for now... I'll have a lot to report after this weekend.
The Daily Mail leads today with the front page headline 'THIS COUNTRY OF ANGER AND FEAR'. And whose fault is that? Could it be the most influential paper in the UK, which constantly preaches anger, fear and hate towards anything it doesn't understand? I can't tell if, with this headline, they're proudly boasting of their legacy or if they've succumbed to their own propaganda. Most likely, the latter.
It sickens me. If I had one altruistic wish, right up there with world peace and an end to global hunger would be the abolition of The Mail, The Express and their ilk. They are systematically ruining this country, and gleefully smiling at the ashes that remain.
Someone, somewhere, needs to work out the Duckworth-Lewis rule and explain it to people before using it.
The West Indies are the latest team to lose out as a result of confusion, having accepted the offer to go off for bad light, thinking they were ahead of the rate. It turned out they weren't, and England won by one run. Completely unfair on the Windies, of course, who weren't even being naïve but were operating under a different set of rules.
Another game ruined.
The bigger question for me, though, is why they went off in the first place. 27 needed to win from 22 balls? 3 wickets left? Game on. It'd have to be pitch black to call that one off in my mind. And for the sake of 3 1/2 overs, you really do think they could have played on in the supposed gloom.
Officials need to either think up a simpler alternative to the Duckworth-Lewis system or explain it to teams more clearly, and umpires really need to think about what constitutes sufficient bad light to end a day's play. A cricket match shouldn't end abruptly because it's a little murky.
