Have started writing a semi-regular cricket column for talkSPORT.co.uk here. Here is my first offering.
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With the England Test team set to depart for Sri Lanka tomorrow talkSPORT’s cricket reporter and producer of The Keys & Gray Show JON NORMAN looks at a make or break series for one batsman who will approach the tour with a feeling of déjà vu
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Three years ago, on a blazing hot Barbadian afternoon, I watched from the Kensington Oval stands as Ravi Bopara scored his maiden century.
He marked the milestone by mimicking the famous ‘To Di World’ victory pose of the Caribbean’s favourite son, Usain Bolt. Three deliveries later he departed, caught on the hook by Jerome Taylor.
But surely this was the start of a great Test career? Well, no.
Now he will depart again on Saturday as part of England’s 16-man squad bound for Sri Lanka. And this time there is no margin for error and no excuses for failure.
In 2007, as England’s great new hope, he made the same trip. It was a series that would end with him exiled from Test cricket for over a year and sow the first seeds of doubt about his ability to succeed at the highest level.
Back then, Bopara was a brash young Londoner coming through the ranks at Essex. Like the man whose pose he pulled that day in Bridgetown, he’d been quick out of the blocks.
Described by his mentor Graham Gooch as one of the most talented batsman he’d ever worked with, Bopara was called up to the one-day international squad at 21, and now a Test debut later that same year.
Since then, however, his career has been a succession of false starts.
That first Sri Lanka tour ended with three ducks in a row, the last of which typified his increasingly muddled thinking. With England struggling to save the match, Bopara was run out first ball in an over that had already yielded two wickets. After England stuttered to a series defeat on Asian soil (sound familiar?) Ravi was dropped.
When his second chance came in the West Indies in 2009 he knew he needed more than a century on a track flatter than an Ian Abrahams joke to convince the doubters. So he followed it up on home soil with back-to-back hundreds and a man of the series award against the same opponents.
But his second coming was to prove as much of a false dawn as the first. In the most highly pressurised environment in cricket, the Ashes, he buckled; mental fragility and a loose defensive technique saw him average just 15 in four Tests.
Appearances in the pyjamas of ODI and T20 cricket provided some solace over the next two years before the retirement of Paul Collingwood opened the door for another Test return.
It was a straight shoot-out between Bopara and Eoin Morgan, with an England Lions match against Sir Lanka the opportunity for both men to stake their claim. Morgan blasted 193, Bopara failed. Morgan was in and once more there were mutterings about Bopara’s temperament.
He spent most of last summer watching his idol Sachin Tendulkar from the same vantage point I had, before carrying drinks in the UAE as England capitulated to a 3-0 series defeat against Pakistan.
Significantly for Bopara, however, Morgan failed in the recent series, opening the door once again for the Essex man.
It has to be third time lucky for Ravi, because he surely won’t get another chance. A host of young talent is coming through the county scene, while the management is toying with the idea of using Samit Patel as a spinning all-rounder.
So a two-Test series this month may well define his career. He has two weeks to safeguard his international future.
He has been here before. Literally. But his tormentors of 2007, Muralitharan, Jayasariya, Vaas and Malinga, are no longer around.
So Sri Lanka have changed. The question we’re about to have answered is whether Bopara has.
As he flashes his passport at check-in this weekend, he’ll know that if he hasn’t, then he’s on a journey that will start and finish in the same place. This time for good.
About Me
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
The Spider House - A Review!
If you are the type of person who likes being woken in the middle of the night by an upper-middle class 30-something woman in the room next door chastising her partner then the Spider House resort in Boracay is the place for you.
"Oh for fucks sake Simon! Don't climb in that SIDE!!!!!"
If you are the kind of holidaymaker who enjoys listening to Russian couples complaining about their wet luggage after leaving it out in the rain then look no further than the Spider House resort in Boracay.
"This room. Not good. Tomorrow we leave."
But if you are the sort who cannot abide falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing over rocks beneath your room, detests views such as this and who hates sleeping in a treehouse then I would steer well clear.
For our wedding anniversary Fe and I spent four days on an island in the Phillipines called Boracay. Considering I hadn't actually known of its existence three days previously it meant at times I found it slightly surreal to peer out over such wondrous landscape. I'd been expecting to spend two weeks in a typical built up Asian city. Now I was lolling around sipping freshly made mango juice by the Philippine Sea watching clouds roll across the sky. It was at times too much to take in.
The first I had known about our trip came on my first morning in Macau. Following my 12 hour flight I had been woken in the morning by a distraught Fe who was pointing at strange weather symbols on her laptop.
Confused, I wiped the sleep from my eyes to be told a holiday had been secretly booked. However Fe had just seen the weather forecast where thunder, lightening and rain featured heavily. It was quite a lot to take in. Joy and surprise entwined with disappointment; all delivered seconds after waking up at what was 2am UK time.
I spent the next day studying the weather maps while Fe asked advice from Filipino work mates. They assured her that the weather was so changeable we should risk it. Also, that even when it rains it's still warm. This advice backed up my own findings. The day we were due to land forecast rain, cloud, wind, lightning and sun. Now that I had to see.
The other bit of research I undertook was into the airline we were flying with. I had to get my head around four new flights that I hadn't contended with. A quick scan of Cebu Pacific Air's Wikipedia page allayed my fears that we were flying with a tinpot outfit. A new fleet, decent safety record and the planes were a nice, bright yellow colour. I was starting to relax right up until the last section which told me that no Filipino airline was allowed anywhere near EU airspace due to serious safety deficiencies. Ulp.
I decided there was little point telling Fe about my findings. Nor the fact that four aeroplanes had either under or overshot the runway we were flying into over the past five years. Hell, nobody had died. And what were we going to do. Cancel our holiday? Nah, I figured. It was far better to keep this bit of stress to myself.
And in the end the journey, as it usually is, was without incident. The only annoyance a four hour wait at Manilla airport before a 5.30am flight to Caticlan. Thankfully we neither under or overshot the runway and despite drops of rain greeting us we boarded our next two modes of transport in good spirits.
It was 7am when we arrived at the Spider House and our hosts seemed surprised to see us. Not because we were early rather that we were late. They had expected us the day before. But after a worrying three-way exchange of glances the situation was quickly resolved. And with diazepam still coursing through my veins I chilled out in the communal area as our room was readied. We both sat down and tried to get our heads around the fact we were going to be living in a bamboo tree house for the next few days.
Before we had left Macau we agreed to accept whatever weather was thrown at us. And we proved to be good to our word. We had learned the lesson from our wedding. Indeed it seemed almost poetic that a year after two cyclones descended on our wedding day they should re-emerge for our anniversary. But as it was the worst of the rain was to hit that afternoon while we caught up on our sleep. Then through our last night when two Russians failed to heed the warnings of the Spider House owner about their luggage.
However I couldn't help but be excited when I awoke the next morning to beautiful sunshine and a breathtaking view across the bay to Diniwid Beach. Normally if given the chance I'll happily spend an entire morning in bed. But in these surroundings I woke early. I think in part it was the happiness of being on holiday and wanting to enjoy the day. But mainly it was due to the fact our room didn't have any bloody windows. The sound of Filipino boats zipping around is pleasant but noisy.
Somewhat embarrassingly we then proceeded to both get sunburnt. So relieved to get some sun and fooled by the sporadic cloud cover we failed to put on any suntan cream and were thankful for a cooler afternoon. Which was spent walking up and down the neighbouring White Beach. A beach far busier than the one we were staying near. It even has a Starbucks. The horror of which needs no comment from me. I'm more of a Costa man.
Considering we had both been working six days a week for the past two months we set ourselves the target of doing as little as possible and this was achieved fairly easily. Our only exertions were daily massages (£6 an hour), dips in the sea (free) and happy hour drinks (£3 for two). We were both more than happy to chill out on our balcony, catch up with some reading and pop downstairs every now and again for a drink.
And this is where the Spider House really came into its own. For there was no real reason to have to leave. If we wanted a swim then we used the ladder from the communal area straight down to the sea. It was actually easier to jump in the water than use the shower.
The food was cheap, tasty and prepared by friendly local staff. The owner was on hand to help with any tourist information. Families, couples and experienced travelers mixed happily. The sound system played a mixture of reggae, dance and 60's music to create a pleasant ambience. Then every now and again a flushed in the face tourist would just turn up unannounced, sit down and have a drink before disappearing off again.
Amusing exchanges would also crop up every now and again to keep me entertained. Like the middle-aged couple who turned up one morning with their awkward teenage daughter. The two women sat down, red in the face after an early morning walk. The overweight man approached the bar.
Man: You are serving?
Owner: Yes. What are you having?
Man: Two cokes and a beer.
Owner: A beer? It's nine thirty in the morning! (PAUSE) You must be Russian, right?
Man: (PROUDLY) Yes!
Concerns the Spider House was so called because it was overrun by huge and hairy arachnids also turned out to be inaccurate. While mosquitos were a problem at sunset the only creatures we encountered were bats snapping away at the insects at dusk. And the sound of the geckos scampering around the walls. It turned out that the only real drawback was the close proximity to guests with loud voices.
The only dangerous thing about our stay was the lift to the restaurant next door. It was ridiculous. Apart from the extreme juddering it wasn't so bad on the way up. But on the way down we soon found out why the lift operator warned us before we began our descent. We had feared the ride was going to be bad when during our meal we heard a woman let out a blood curdling scream. Thankfully by the time our turn came round we'd shared a bottle of wine to fortify our courage.. Okay, my courage.
Ultimately our Spider House experience was one worth writing about. After a hiatus of nearly a year it gave me the inspiration to get this 'blog up and running again. I'm not sure if this is anything to celebrate. But it does feel good to be writing. And with a few ideas in the pipeline for 2012 it could be a good time to start up again. Relaxed and rejuvenated thanks to a few days in a tree house. Who'd have thought that two weeks ago?
"Oh for fucks sake Simon! Don't climb in that SIDE!!!!!"
If you are the kind of holidaymaker who enjoys listening to Russian couples complaining about their wet luggage after leaving it out in the rain then look no further than the Spider House resort in Boracay.
"This room. Not good. Tomorrow we leave."
But if you are the sort who cannot abide falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing over rocks beneath your room, detests views such as this and who hates sleeping in a treehouse then I would steer well clear.
For our wedding anniversary Fe and I spent four days on an island in the Phillipines called Boracay. Considering I hadn't actually known of its existence three days previously it meant at times I found it slightly surreal to peer out over such wondrous landscape. I'd been expecting to spend two weeks in a typical built up Asian city. Now I was lolling around sipping freshly made mango juice by the Philippine Sea watching clouds roll across the sky. It was at times too much to take in.
The first I had known about our trip came on my first morning in Macau. Following my 12 hour flight I had been woken in the morning by a distraught Fe who was pointing at strange weather symbols on her laptop.
Confused, I wiped the sleep from my eyes to be told a holiday had been secretly booked. However Fe had just seen the weather forecast where thunder, lightening and rain featured heavily. It was quite a lot to take in. Joy and surprise entwined with disappointment; all delivered seconds after waking up at what was 2am UK time.
I spent the next day studying the weather maps while Fe asked advice from Filipino work mates. They assured her that the weather was so changeable we should risk it. Also, that even when it rains it's still warm. This advice backed up my own findings. The day we were due to land forecast rain, cloud, wind, lightning and sun. Now that I had to see.
The other bit of research I undertook was into the airline we were flying with. I had to get my head around four new flights that I hadn't contended with. A quick scan of Cebu Pacific Air's Wikipedia page allayed my fears that we were flying with a tinpot outfit. A new fleet, decent safety record and the planes were a nice, bright yellow colour. I was starting to relax right up until the last section which told me that no Filipino airline was allowed anywhere near EU airspace due to serious safety deficiencies. Ulp.
I decided there was little point telling Fe about my findings. Nor the fact that four aeroplanes had either under or overshot the runway we were flying into over the past five years. Hell, nobody had died. And what were we going to do. Cancel our holiday? Nah, I figured. It was far better to keep this bit of stress to myself.
And in the end the journey, as it usually is, was without incident. The only annoyance a four hour wait at Manilla airport before a 5.30am flight to Caticlan. Thankfully we neither under or overshot the runway and despite drops of rain greeting us we boarded our next two modes of transport in good spirits.
It was 7am when we arrived at the Spider House and our hosts seemed surprised to see us. Not because we were early rather that we were late. They had expected us the day before. But after a worrying three-way exchange of glances the situation was quickly resolved. And with diazepam still coursing through my veins I chilled out in the communal area as our room was readied. We both sat down and tried to get our heads around the fact we were going to be living in a bamboo tree house for the next few days.
Before we had left Macau we agreed to accept whatever weather was thrown at us. And we proved to be good to our word. We had learned the lesson from our wedding. Indeed it seemed almost poetic that a year after two cyclones descended on our wedding day they should re-emerge for our anniversary. But as it was the worst of the rain was to hit that afternoon while we caught up on our sleep. Then through our last night when two Russians failed to heed the warnings of the Spider House owner about their luggage.
However I couldn't help but be excited when I awoke the next morning to beautiful sunshine and a breathtaking view across the bay to Diniwid Beach. Normally if given the chance I'll happily spend an entire morning in bed. But in these surroundings I woke early. I think in part it was the happiness of being on holiday and wanting to enjoy the day. But mainly it was due to the fact our room didn't have any bloody windows. The sound of Filipino boats zipping around is pleasant but noisy.
Somewhat embarrassingly we then proceeded to both get sunburnt. So relieved to get some sun and fooled by the sporadic cloud cover we failed to put on any suntan cream and were thankful for a cooler afternoon. Which was spent walking up and down the neighbouring White Beach. A beach far busier than the one we were staying near. It even has a Starbucks. The horror of which needs no comment from me. I'm more of a Costa man.
Considering we had both been working six days a week for the past two months we set ourselves the target of doing as little as possible and this was achieved fairly easily. Our only exertions were daily massages (£6 an hour), dips in the sea (free) and happy hour drinks (£3 for two). We were both more than happy to chill out on our balcony, catch up with some reading and pop downstairs every now and again for a drink.
And this is where the Spider House really came into its own. For there was no real reason to have to leave. If we wanted a swim then we used the ladder from the communal area straight down to the sea. It was actually easier to jump in the water than use the shower.
The food was cheap, tasty and prepared by friendly local staff. The owner was on hand to help with any tourist information. Families, couples and experienced travelers mixed happily. The sound system played a mixture of reggae, dance and 60's music to create a pleasant ambience. Then every now and again a flushed in the face tourist would just turn up unannounced, sit down and have a drink before disappearing off again.
Amusing exchanges would also crop up every now and again to keep me entertained. Like the middle-aged couple who turned up one morning with their awkward teenage daughter. The two women sat down, red in the face after an early morning walk. The overweight man approached the bar.
Man: You are serving?
Owner: Yes. What are you having?
Man: Two cokes and a beer.
Owner: A beer? It's nine thirty in the morning! (PAUSE) You must be Russian, right?
Man: (PROUDLY) Yes!
Concerns the Spider House was so called because it was overrun by huge and hairy arachnids also turned out to be inaccurate. While mosquitos were a problem at sunset the only creatures we encountered were bats snapping away at the insects at dusk. And the sound of the geckos scampering around the walls. It turned out that the only real drawback was the close proximity to guests with loud voices.
The only dangerous thing about our stay was the lift to the restaurant next door. It was ridiculous. Apart from the extreme juddering it wasn't so bad on the way up. But on the way down we soon found out why the lift operator warned us before we began our descent. We had feared the ride was going to be bad when during our meal we heard a woman let out a blood curdling scream. Thankfully by the time our turn came round we'd shared a bottle of wine to fortify our courage.. Okay, my courage.
Ultimately our Spider House experience was one worth writing about. After a hiatus of nearly a year it gave me the inspiration to get this 'blog up and running again. I'm not sure if this is anything to celebrate. But it does feel good to be writing. And with a few ideas in the pipeline for 2012 it could be a good time to start up again. Relaxed and rejuvenated thanks to a few days in a tree house. Who'd have thought that two weeks ago?
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Rock and rules
I hate it when I hear people going on about how things were better in their day. "Oh, kids today have no respect", "you don't get comedy on TV like that anymore", "music isn't what it was when I was growing up". What a load of boring and inaccurate tosh, it really is. Generalisation was certainly more insightful when I were a lad.
People believe such tripe because a) they have short memories, b) unlike when they were growing up their identity is now no longer defined by music, comedy & TV, and c) they are now adults being shown little respect from kids rather than the other way around.
It's rare that you get the chance to do something you used to do as a kid that you haven't done for years. But this happened the Friday before last when I was at a rock club in Derby celebrating my oldest mate Andy Larkum's stag do. By oldest mate I don't mean he's approaching eighty I just mean I've known him longer than I've known anyone else. Thirty years and counting to be precise. Here, look, it's a picture of the back of Andy's head in the moshpit.
There once was a day when I would have been in there with him singing along, throwing my elbows about & avoiding the large, aged, skinhead nutter in the middle. Like many who grew up in London during the early 90's I crowd surfed my teenage years away at Brixton Academy, raided Army Surplus stores the length and breadth of Croydon and broke my arm stage diving off my parents sofa to 'Love Your Money' by Daisy Chainsaw after they went away for the weekend. I told them I fell down the stairs.
But due to suffering the after effects of being elbowed in the ribs during footy the week earlier (and the fact I unwittingly chose the start of 'Teen Spirit' to go to the gents) I settled for an armchair view where I soon realised Andy had turned into that token, aged skinhead nutter.
Whilst spending an enjoyable evening listening to old tunes and new & watching the different characters interact & the action unfold I realised that a few things had changed from my day. Not got worse, not got better, just changed. These are as follows.
1. It's now acceptable to strum the air guitar whilst moshing. I would suggest that this is a bad thing.
2. Where Anthrax v Public Enemy was once a celebrated one off collaboration, rap entwined with rock is now standard fare. I would also suggest that this is a bad thing.
3. Iron Maiden are cool again. Definitely a bad thing although 'Aces High' was a good tune.
4. Very little army surplus on show. This does not concern me.
5. Blokes standing in a circle singing every word to every song. When I was at school it was only the girls who knew the words to every song. That is a fact.
These things are the same
1. Long hair
2. Large men
3. Black t-shirts
4. Infected piercings
5. Crap tattoos
6. Acne
7. Shouting
8. Sweaty group hugs between blokes that make the women present feel awkward and unsure about what to do with themselves
I also noticed that the newer music seemed overly produced and synthetic when put up against the old classics 'Welcome to the Jungle', 'Smells like Teen Spirit' and 'Killing in the Name of'. I'd like to think that maybe this was reflected in the reaction when these songs came on. Songs written by truly angry, dysfunctional scoundrels with pain to express.
For when these three songs came on people immediately stopped hugging each other, ceased singing along and the air guitars were put firmly to the side. Instead I watched with a smile on my face as the frenzy took hold and those present began throwing themselves around like madmen during a full moon, beer glasses starting crashing against the wall and only the most sturdy of female remained. Now all of that certainly would have happened in my day.
People believe such tripe because a) they have short memories, b) unlike when they were growing up their identity is now no longer defined by music, comedy & TV, and c) they are now adults being shown little respect from kids rather than the other way around.
It's rare that you get the chance to do something you used to do as a kid that you haven't done for years. But this happened the Friday before last when I was at a rock club in Derby celebrating my oldest mate Andy Larkum's stag do. By oldest mate I don't mean he's approaching eighty I just mean I've known him longer than I've known anyone else. Thirty years and counting to be precise. Here, look, it's a picture of the back of Andy's head in the moshpit.
There once was a day when I would have been in there with him singing along, throwing my elbows about & avoiding the large, aged, skinhead nutter in the middle. Like many who grew up in London during the early 90's I crowd surfed my teenage years away at Brixton Academy, raided Army Surplus stores the length and breadth of Croydon and broke my arm stage diving off my parents sofa to 'Love Your Money' by Daisy Chainsaw after they went away for the weekend. I told them I fell down the stairs.
But due to suffering the after effects of being elbowed in the ribs during footy the week earlier (and the fact I unwittingly chose the start of 'Teen Spirit' to go to the gents) I settled for an armchair view where I soon realised Andy had turned into that token, aged skinhead nutter.
Whilst spending an enjoyable evening listening to old tunes and new & watching the different characters interact & the action unfold I realised that a few things had changed from my day. Not got worse, not got better, just changed. These are as follows.
1. It's now acceptable to strum the air guitar whilst moshing. I would suggest that this is a bad thing.
2. Where Anthrax v Public Enemy was once a celebrated one off collaboration, rap entwined with rock is now standard fare. I would also suggest that this is a bad thing.
3. Iron Maiden are cool again. Definitely a bad thing although 'Aces High' was a good tune.
4. Very little army surplus on show. This does not concern me.
5. Blokes standing in a circle singing every word to every song. When I was at school it was only the girls who knew the words to every song. That is a fact.
These things are the same
1. Long hair
2. Large men
3. Black t-shirts
4. Infected piercings
5. Crap tattoos
6. Acne
7. Shouting
8. Sweaty group hugs between blokes that make the women present feel awkward and unsure about what to do with themselves
I also noticed that the newer music seemed overly produced and synthetic when put up against the old classics 'Welcome to the Jungle', 'Smells like Teen Spirit' and 'Killing in the Name of'. I'd like to think that maybe this was reflected in the reaction when these songs came on. Songs written by truly angry, dysfunctional scoundrels with pain to express.
For when these three songs came on people immediately stopped hugging each other, ceased singing along and the air guitars were put firmly to the side. Instead I watched with a smile on my face as the frenzy took hold and those present began throwing themselves around like madmen during a full moon, beer glasses starting crashing against the wall and only the most sturdy of female remained. Now all of that certainly would have happened in my day.
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