Hasn’t called, hasn’t written © Getty Images

Wednesday, 6th April
Graeme Smith hasn’t Tweeted since March 16th. This has upset some in the cyber wilderness who feel that they have been abandoned, Twitter-jilted, and can’t get closure without 140 characters from the man who used to be South Africa captain. It is true that he gave a press conference that was reported on by every sports news outlet in South Africa. But this isn’t enough for the Twitterati.

So to help him out I’ve come up with a tweet that will resolve this little unpleasantness and satisfy his disgruntled fans. He is welcome to cut and paste:

“Hello Losers. World Cup over. We didn’t win. Not captain anymore. Move on.”

That should do the trick

Thursday, 7th April
The next World Cup will be limited to the 10 Test-playing nations, or more precisely, the nine Test-playing nations and the one that is still sitting on the naughty step, or even more precisely, the eight Test-playing nations and the two that are only ever likely to win a Test match if their opponents are on strike, abducted by aliens, or get driven to the wrong ground. Or if they play each other.

The purpose of this piece of tournament butchery is to remove one-sided, boring games from the World Cup. An admirable aim, but surely doomed to fail. Can we really predict dull games in advance? Take England versus Ireland. Expected to be dull; turned out to be hilarious. What about West Indies v Pakistan? Could have been exhilarating, instead it was excruciating. Boring cricket matches are like Monday afternoons or stubbing your toe against a table leg: an inevitable part of life.

Friday, 8th April
Its IPL time again! The players are the same, but they have been shuffled around. It’s a bit like a game of musical chairs in which the chairs have been replaced with huge piles of money and the music doesn’t stop. Hopefully most of the players have worked out who they’re playing for by now and the rest will figure out they’re in the wrong city when they find someone else’s underpants on their dressing-room peg.

We also welcome back our old friend, the incongruous advert. I feel that some of these companies are missing a trick by only focusing on the successful and praiseworthy. Surely there is just as much exposure in associating your name with the mundane and the inept? The three-times-fumbled lob with which Yusuf Pathan entertained us today was a Caramel Crème Dropped Sitter if ever I saw one, and there was at least one Laxx Mobile Come On Surely That Was A Wide Call.

In his inimitable fashion Malinga asks for permission to be excused go to the bathroom © AFP

Friday, 1st April
April is here and it won’t be too long before we hear those familiar, gentle sounds of sploshing tea, sporadic clapping and elderly men snoring under the business supplement of the Daily Telegraph. Yes, it’s nearly county cricket time and to get us in the mood, here is a selection of today’s county news, only parts of which are true:

In order to give members a chance of seeing their latest signing, Surrey have announced that during the lunch intervals of Championship matches they will be using the Oval’s big screen to show highlights of KP’s recent hernia operation.

Leicestershire and Lancashire will be making history this season as they become the first county teams to merge. The new Super-County will be called Bankruptshire and they hope to play their home games on a patch of waste ground near Accrington.

The MCC have revealed that one of the reasons their pink balls have gone down so well with players is that the lacquer used on the balls is strawberry flavoured.

Derbyshire have landed something of a coup and, despite a somewhat limited budget, have managed to sign Sachin Tendulkar for the Friends Provident T20. Sachin will be available for up to 15 minutes during the opening group game.

Saturday, 2nd April
In a surprising twist, the least tedious World Cup banquet since 1992 has ended with a final soufflé that didn’t collapse into a soggy, chaotic mess, and victory champagne that wasn’t flat. But the after party wasn’t all fireworks and flowery garlands. It emerged that India had been fined for their slow over rate, a piece of disciplinary nit-picking that has already earned the ICC a place in the Guinness Book of Records for “Most Superfluous Rule Enforcement at a Sporting Event”.*

Sunday, 3rd April
At a packed press conference, Lasith Malinga today announced his intention to retire before the next World Cup, probably. Mopping himself with a towel after attempting to drink from a glass of water that he had been holding at arm’s length, Malinga denied that his unconventional approach to apparently straightforward physical tasks was putting an unnecessary strain on his body.

He also claimed there was a media vendetta against slingers that was putting them under extra stress. He cited the example of Shaun Tait. In a moving story, Malinga explained how one publication had suggested the South Australian was a little bit injury prone and related the sad tale of how Tait had attempted to text the paper to deny the claim, sprained his thumb, and could now be out for six weeks.

Monday, 4th April
The ICC have acted quickly to prevent any reoccurrence of Saturday’s toss confusion, caused by Kumar Sangakkara’s ambiguous coin call. From now on, mime is the only officially permissible method. Should a captain wish to indicate “heads”, he will simply point his index finger at his own face (taking care not to poke himself in the eye); whilst a call of “tails” will require him to turn around and wave one hand behind his buttocks in a sort of swishy motion, as though attempting a donkey impersonation.

Tuesday, 5th April
Concerned at the extent of bad sportsmanship amongst English schoolchildren, the government has drafted in the MCC to help teach the art of losing politely. Youngsters will be taught how a modern English cricket team deals with defeat: by pretending that you never really wanted to win anyway and that in any case, considering how tired you were, it was a miracle you’d turned up at all.

*Previous holders of this title were FIFA, for the fine they imposed on Pele after he allowed his shirt to become untucked whilst celebrating a goal against Italy at the World Cup in 1970, and special constable Maurice Deladier of the Magny Cours traffic police, who issued Michael Schumacher with a reckless driving citation for waving as he crossed the finishing line in the 1996 French Grand Prix.

"I know Ricky, no more funeral faces, excuses at press conferences and selection dilemmas. Isn't it liberating?" © Getty Images

Tuesday, March 29th
Fast bowling comes as naturally to the human body as trying to carry a baby hippopotamus on your head whilst hopping backwards up a down escalator. We like to romanticise it, we talk about a fast bowler gliding on air to the wicket or accelerating gracefully, easily, like a panther in pursuit of prey. But close up, it’s a brutal business; all twisting tendons, splintering bone and grinding cartilage.

For Shaun Tait the journey to the crease is an agonising one. You and I couldn’t feel that much pain unless we spilt beer on the shoes of a nightclub bouncer. Even then, we’d probably only try it the once. But Tait does it again and again and again. He’s like one of those magnificent steam-powered contraptions you see at English county fairs, an impressive feat of engineering that could fall apart at any time.

Thank goodness then for Twenty20, a sanctuary where we can see endangered cricketers in their natural habitat, and where we hope Shaun enjoys many more years of stump-shattering, sightscreen-denting, helmet-clanging slingery.

Wednesday, March 30th

Ricky Ponting is to play on after handing in his stripes. This has not been normal procedure for decommissioned Australian captains of recent vintage who, having overindulged themselves at the banquet of victory, have tended to leave the table altogether lest they explode in a messy shower of success, champagne and baggy-green material. But Ricky has been dining on scraps of late, rooting in the bins of world cricket for whatever he can find, and he’s still hungry.

So now that we know he wasn’t the new Allan Border, what kind of captain was he? Well, his coin-flipping technique was much admired. He looked smart in a blazer. And he had the ability to lose his temper in any situation… Ah look, let’s be honest, he wasn’t a great captain. But that’s not his fault. For a long time he was as good as he needed to be. His main line of work is demolishing bowlers. And he’s still pretty good at that.

Thursday, March 31st
I don’t envy Ashish Nehra. Contemplating what it will be like to take the field in a World Cup final must be a little like trying to come to terms with the infinity of the universe. It probably makes your head hurt and causes you to feel like a tiny pathetic speck of dust in the vacuum-cleaner showroom of existence. On top of that, he has a broken finger. At some point in the next 48 hours he might have to decide: play or don’t play. What would you do? Wouldn’t it be selfish to take the field if you aren’t at your best? Wouldn’t you be letting your team-mates down?

A broken finger probably hurts like hell. It will probably inhibit his ability to field. He might not even be able to catch the ball. But it’s the World Cup final. Look at Murali. He wouldn’t even be able to get to the ball in order not to catch it, but you try stopping the little guy with the wonky wrist from taking the field. His hamstrings are tighter than a whalebone corset, his groin is dodgy, his knee doesn’t work and it almost certainly hurts when he does that. It’s the World Cup final. He’ll be playing.

Mills: not a face you want in your face at breakfast © AFP

Saturday, 26th March
Simon Doull, though he was loving most of what transpired in Dhaka, was not loving the intervention of Mr Kyle Mills. His goading of Faf du Plessis breached another of those codes that cricketers make up as they go along. Doully reckons its okay for blokes in the middle to sledge, but as the Victorians used to say, gentlemen who come onto the field of play wearing coloured bibs should be seen and not heard. Even though I’ve never heard of this rule before, I kind of agree with him.

But Nathan Astle doesn’t.

“It was a great move to get in the South Africans’ faces because they don’t like it.”

And why, exactly, was it great? It isn’t that hard to find things the South Africans don’t like. I’m sure they wouldn’t like being slapped with a four-foot haddock or having a barrel full of cold custard tipped over their heads or discovering that someone has set fire to their bootlaces. I dare say if Kyle Mills were in my face, I’d be none too pleased either, particularly if I were trying to eat a boiled egg or brush my teeth. If annoying people is now to be considered an achievement then it surely can’t be long before we are toasting Sir Graeme Swann or Lord Nicholas of Outtahere.

Anyway, this wasn’t a subtle piece of match-changing mental disintegration. It was one little boy going up to another little boy and saying, “Na-na na-na na na! We’re going to wi-in!” Why does this matter? Well, it matters to those many cricket lovers who traditionally at this stage of a World Cup turn to supporting those nice, plucky boys from New Zealand. If they’re going to go all Australian on us, we may decide to take our fair-weather armchair-bound support elsewhere.

Monday, 28th March
Julian Hunte has been re-elected as president of the WICB for the third time, which is quite an achievement. However, aside from the clear savings in headed notepaper and door signage that his re-election will bring, it is not entirely clear that this result is a good thing. Far be it from me to doubt the wisdom of the WICB electorate, but a cynic might politely suggest that his first two terms were not exactly over-stocked in the success department. But El Presidente is having none of it:

"Thus far, this board has had significant progress in revitalising West Indies A Team programmes, women's cricket, Caribbean Twenty20 and the Scotiabank Kiddy Cricket to ensure that our cricket is strong again at all levels."

Well, not quite all levels. There is the small matter of the premature World Cup exit and then the inconvenient trivialities of the all-time low ranking of the Test, one-day international and Twenty20 Teams. But hey, let’s not dwell on all that unpleasantness. Perhaps he has a plan. Maybe he intends to fast-track some of the more promising ten-year-olds from the Kiddy Cricket programme directly into the Test team. Who knows, one of them might even be worth a look as captain.

"And everyday I'll ink my fingers with what's trending on Twitter that day" © Getty Images

Tuesday, 22nd March
When we first heard that this World Cup was going to last six weeks, we were all a little nonplussed, but I guess our questions have been answered. Six weeks? How on earth can they make it last six weeks? Oh, I see, that’s how.

But Mr Lorgat believes the thing is as long as it needs to be and not a minute longer.

“It should be remembered that we ICC officials need a break. The longer tournament means that we can go to the seaside, sample some of the excellent restaurants in this part of the world and just, you know, kind of chill, man.”

When asked whether he was enjoying the cricket, he replied,

“Cricket? Has there been some cricket?”

Wednesday, 23rd March
Jade Dernbach is the latest call-up to the Travelling Circus of Replacements as Andy Flower continues to conscript the entire adult population of England one at a time. But the new guy does have something that the rest lack. Not a South African accent or a different flavour of slower ball or even a hint of androgyny in a squad full of boring names. No, I’m talking tattoos. Without KP, Team England have an inky-flesh deficit. And Jade’s skin scrawlings are not just there to look ugly.

“I’ve got the UDRS regulations and the ICC Code of Conduct on my forearms. On my bicep there’s a pie recipe that Jimmy really likes; my right calf has Belly’s address and phone number, in case he forgets them again, and my gluteus maximus is covered with a list of sledging suggestions, should Matt run out of stupid things to say.”

Thursday, 24th March
Not since the publication of JK Rowling’s popular kiddies thriller, Chris Gayle and the Sulk of Doom has there been such excitement in Caribbean literary circles. The WICB are this weekend putting the finishing touches to their latest work of fiction, provisionally entitled: Strategic Plan 2011-2016. It is the long-awaited follow-up to their side-splitting 2007 best-seller What Do We Do Now! and the 2003 hit, What The Hell Are We Going To Do Without Brian!

The novels tell the story of a collection of hapless, but stylishly attired travellers who get into all manner of scrapes around the globe, whilst back home, a gang of bumbling amateurs in suits attempt to run a regional cricket organisation; with hilarious consequences! Described as “Dad’s Army meets Monty Python meets The Muppets” this slapstick series is sure to run and run. Unlike Chris.

Friday, 25th March
One of cricket’s givers, Geoffrey Boycott has for many years dispensed free advice to professional cricketers through television, through regular newspaper columns and, if he happens to know where they live, through their letterboxes. He has been criticised in some quarters for his recent comments on Michael Yardy. But I wonder how many of his critics were aware of his research paper, published in the Lancet in 1994.

Entitled, Pull Theeself Together, Lad: Towards A Cure For Mental Illness, it was based on his time in a psychiatric ward in Barnsley. He discovered that teaching someone with a mental illness to play a proper forward defensive shot slightly increased their chances of opening the batting for England, thereby raising their self-esteem. Similar results were achieved when they were encouraged to wear a panama hat, develop a Yorkshire accent and argue loudly with people on the radio.

Since Dr Boycott’s credentials in this field are impeccable, I think we would all benefit from listening to his thoughts on depression. And his prescription? Be more like Geoffrey and you won’t be depressed. Though your family and friends may be.

Phil Hughes: soon in an adaptation of Jesus Christ Superstar © Getty Images

Friday, 18th March
Despite Old Mother Hilditch’s protestations to the contrary, it does appear that the Australian cricket cupboard is, to put it diplomatically, some way distant from being in a state of fullness. During the glory years, if you wanted the selectors to know who you were, an average of 60 was de rigueur. But these days it seems a couple of cheeky 30s is all you need to get your name into the selection tombola to win a baggy green.

In another era Phil Hughes and his extraordinary limbo-dancing, backward-shuffling, fly-fishing style might have been a backwoods curiosity, a minor provincial spectacle, an offbeat conversation piece on the side table of domestic cricket. But this is 2011 and Phil Hughes is not an eyebrow-raisingly unready rookie; he is the messiah. And judging by Mr Hilditch’s comments today, we can soon expect the third coming.

Admittedly the first and second comings didn’t really work out. But the Australian selectors have a useful little saying: “If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s probably the beginning of a long and successful Test career.” So the fact that Phil Hughes has now scored some runs in a state game pretty much guarantees that he’ll be seen all at sea again in a Test match near you, soon.

Sunday, 20th March
Sadly the Kenyan team are flying home without winning a match. Despite a fantastic new logo, heavy monetary investment (a games console and a copy of Steve Tikolo’s Knocked Out Cricket) and some of the finest sunglasses you’ll ever see on a cricket field, they did not live up to expectations.

“Yes they failed,” explained a senior cricket official, “But we feel that their failure represents a real failure. We had hoped for a slightly disappointing failure. Instead it was a very disappointing failure. This level of failure is, quite frankly, disappointing.”

Cricket Kenya have already conducted a thorough review and have identified the three key factors responsible for this not entirely unprecedented lack of success:

1. Batting: Not very good
2. Bowling: A bit rubbish, really
3. Fielding: Needs work

Conclusion: Disappointing.

Monday, 21st March
Good news for Darren Sammy and chums but bad news for the vehicle glaziers of Dhaka. The Bangladeshi government have promised the men from the Caribbean top-level security ahead of their defeat to Pakistan. For a start, all the residents of Mirpur will have to don blindfolds as the coach passes, the thinking being that if they can’t see it, their chances of hitting it with a projectile will be significantly reduced.

And in an unprecedented effort, thousands of policemen have been busy confiscating every single stone, rock, boulder, pebble and boiled sweet in the Mirpur district. Keen stone-throwers will still be able to obtain their missiles, but only from approved flinging-supplies shops. These retailers will only be licensed to sell rocks made of foam and fitted with a Donald Duck squeaker so that the West Indies players will be entertained as they are bombarded on their way out of the ground.

“We are taking this very seriously,” chuckled a Bangladeshi government spokesman. “In fact, you could say that no stone has been left unturned.”*

* I understand that the official in question has since been sacked, for violating the “excruciating wordplay” clause in his contract. Firm, but fair, I think you’ll agree.

Shoaib Akhtar: a portly ghost of his old self © Getty Images

Tuesday, 15th March
In these days of 24-hour rolling highlights packages and surround-sound Shashtri, it is easy to forget that there is a downside to our sport. But right now, as you read this, there are ageing cricketers out there who need your help, men who face a bleak future of pro-celebrity golf tournaments, supermarket openings and sharing a commentary booth with Danny Morrison. Men like Punter.

Punter has fallen on hard times. He hasn’t scored a century in over a year. He doesn’t know where his next boundary is coming from. That’s why I’m asking you to support my campaign: “A Run For Ricky”. You don’t have to give much. Even a streaky single down to fine leg or a hurriedly scampered two off a misfield would help. Dig deep, ladies and gentleman and let’s try and make a little hairy fella happy.

Wednesday, 16th March
His fringe may hang forlorn where once it flopped; he may be coated in sweat with the exertion of walking back to his mark; his excess bodily baggage may give him the appearance of a man attempting to smuggle kittens under his shirt; but he is still Shoaib. And for true cricket lovers, the old tingle returns whenever we watch him get into his run and accelerate to the crease, his right arm stretched out beside him as though he was preparing to hurl a deadly poison-tipped spear.

What hooks people on cricket? It isn’t statistics, trophies or putting the ball on a length and wobbling it about a bit. It is watching players like Shoaib. In full flight, throttle down, he was mesmerising. Few things on a cricket field were more exhilarating than watching him hurtle to the wicket and let fly. So now that he’s going, pay the old boy a fitting tribute: throw a sickie and spend an hour or two watching Youtube footage of the Rawalpindi Express in his prime.

So long, Shoaib, and thanks for all the thrills.

Thursday, 17th March
Those bearded gents who founded the modern game had some very firm ideas on what the sport should be like. There should be rules, of course, and lots of them, because let’s face it, cricket in the pre-Victorian era was dangerously free and far too much fun. But above all, they were determined that cricket should be a gentlemanly affair. It was more important that a chap lose his wicket politely than that he should know which end of the bat was which.

Well they would have enjoyed today’s game, featuring two moderately talented but supremely chivalrous XIs trying desperately to hand one another the game as though it were the last cream slice on the dessert trolley. And no one epitomised this noblesse oblige more than those two gentleman of the crease, Sir Pollard of Trinidad/Mumbai/Taunton and Lord Ravi of Chelmsford.

First Pollard gently blocked out a Bopara over (not a sentence I ever thought I would find myself writing). Then, in return, the ever-courteous Ravi diplomatically spilled a Keiron lob. It was all very pleasant and a welcome diversion from the rather vulgar goings-on elsewhere in this tournament, caused, I am afraid to say, by an excessive desire for success on the part of some teams. Sadly, the demands of the format required a nominal victor and so, after some delay, England reluctantly accepted the prize, on the understanding that they would let the other team win next time.

England’s hardy warriors return after having beaten every trace of moisture out of the ground with their bats © Getty Images

Saturday, 12th March
On Friday in Chittagong, we witnessed two well-documented natural phenomena: the early-evening accumulation of condensed water droplets, and Englishmen complaining about the weather. At the post-defeat debrief, Mr Strauss and Mr Swann sounded like marine commandos returning from some dangerous amphibious operation, rather than sportsmen who’d had to play cricket on a bit of damp grass.

Their repeated use of the word “dew” in close proximity to the word “defeat” was, by the way, entirely coincidental. Let’s be clear: in no way were they blaming this dew-soaked defeat on the prevailing dampness that made it impossible to grip the ball or bowl straight. They were not suggesting, as some might, that this was a debacle borne of dew, a dew-induced lottery or a dewy farce; a dew-feat, if you will.

But it was karma. Mr Swann has spent the winter choreographing a surprisingly irritating dance modelled on a device employed for the purpose of distributing water onto grass. So the cricket gods have devised for him a fitting torment: to spend eternity bowling at tailenders with a ball that is never quite dry, no matter how many times he swears at it or wipes it with his special handkerchief.

Sunday, 13th March
The Kochi Tuskers Kerala is not just the first half of a high-quality tongue-twister, it is the newest name in the Twenty20 menagerie; an exciting new attraction occupying an enclosure next to the Matabeleland Tuskers and just around the corner from the Faisalabad Ferrets and the Adelaide Anteaters. If domestic leagues continue to expand at the current rate, scientists estimate that within a decade every animal species on the planet will have a Twenty20 team named after it.

Monday, 14th March
For many years the test of a true cricket lover was the ability to explain to an outsider the rules concerning leg before wicket. And if you could get to the end before the person you were talking to passed out, you could feel justifiably pleased with yourself. Mastering the intricacies of this particular corner of cricket’s rule book was tricky, but achievable, with a little dedication and the occasional diagram.

But how would you fare if, in the course of your attempt to convert the non-cricket lover, you were asked to explain the DRS system? Even if you felt confident in your grasp of all the intricacies (and as far as I can tell, Simon Taufel is the only human being who can say that) I fear your conversational partner would expire through old age long before you even got onto the thorny subject of the 2.5 metre rule.

And DRS is having some unpleasant side effects. Players used to put up with the occasional howler out of respect for the doctrine of Umpiring Infallibility. But not any more. Thanks to DRS, the on-field umpire’s decision is no longer final. Last week, MS Dhoni was having a grumble; today the Irish captain has been fined. They may be right, they may be wrong. Who cares? Once players think they can get away with whingeing about decisions, they’ll never stop. Our game will descend into chaos. Or worse, it’ll be like Premier League football.

Kevin Pietersen's ego: never too far from his team-mates © AFP

Tuesday, March 8
It’s been a hell of a summer in Australian cricket. But after a dignified pause for sombre reflection and careful consideration, Cricket Australia have chosen to pretend that Andrew Hilditch is definitely the man for the job and he will remain as ringmaster of the Circus of Selection Horrors until August or possibly later.

Explaining their decisive non-decision, chairman Jack Clarke explained that they were all waiting for the result of the Big Review of Everything which is expected in August or maybe November, depending how long it takes AB to type it up and Tubby Taylor to colour in the pictures. But he had this reassuring message:

“We’re looking forward for sustained future success, we’re not looking with rearview mirrors.”

He means metaphorical rearview mirrors, of course. But as any metaphorical driving instructor will tell you, it is important to check your metaphorical mirrors before you change direction, lest the articulated lorry of the past catch up to you again and run your rusty old vehicle of administration off the motorway of sustained future success.

Wednesday, March 9
So Kevin Pietersen is going home and England must find a new temporary replacement opener. But Andrew Strauss confirmed that whilst the big man will be flying back to Blighty, KP’s ego will be staying on in India.

“KP will be a big loss, no question, but it will still be good to have his ego around the dressing room, looking at itself in the mirror, Tweeting rubbish and encouraging the other lads by reminding them how much poorer they are as cricketers.”

Thursday, March 10
Imagine a man who wakes up one day and wonders what would happen if he hit himself on the head with a frying pan. He tries it; it hurts. Fair enough, you live and learn. But then a little while later, he wonders if he made too hasty a judgement. So he does it again. It hurts again. Hmm. Its looking pretty conclusive, he thinks. One more try? Now his head hurts, his dinner is ruined and he is able to deduce from all this that hitting yourself on the head with a frying pan is both painful and pointless. Yet, for reasons impossible to fathom, the Pakistan cricket team continues to beat itself about the cranium with a pan called Kamran.

Friday, March 11
England’s entertaining defeat today appears to have been the final straw for the ICC who have announced that their Implausibility Department will be investigating the string of unusually nail-biting victories and suspiciously thrilling losses that England have produced since they arrived in India. An ICC spokesperson stressed that they did not believe the men in dingy blue had been doing deals with bookmakers.

“It’s much more sinister than that. We suspect that certain England players have been engineering close finishes in order to produce a more entertaining post-tournament review DVD. Perhaps they are hoping for an Oscar nomination.”

Speculation intensified when it was rumoured that Quentin Tarantino was spotted on the England’s team balcony during the brutal post-modernist defeat to Ireland and that Bruce Willis had been seen practising in Matt Prior’s place ahead of the Bangladesh game. But Bob Willis, a leading film critic, was unimpressed.

“The plots are totally unrealistic, the dialogue from behind the stumps is wooden and unconvincing and quite frankly, James Anderson is just not believable in the role of an international fast bowler.”

A Faberge egg: the choice of the posh stone-thrower © Getty Images

Saturday, 5th March
In the wake of the attack on the West Indian and Bangladeshi coaches, the ICC have acted swiftly. Speaking to journalists today, a man named Haroon, the organisation’s new Head of Homilies, defused the crisis with a pithy proverb:

“Rocks and stones may dent your coach but pebbles are not a problem.”

He went on to demonstrate, with the aid of geological samples and his grandson’s school ruler, that the flying objects which rattled Chris Gayle’s window were not stones at all. That’s right, in their post-match anger, the rock-flingers of Dhaka, perhaps mindful that the eyes of the world were upon them, had, according to Haroon, eschewed the lumpier ammunition in favour of some lightweight throwing pebbles.

Now I don’t know how a stone thrower thinks. I’ve never had cause to hurl a solid thing at a vehicle because one team didn’t beat another team at cricket. But I would imagine that an individual so inclined would not be picky about his choice of projectile. He has an idea, an idea of chucking something heavy, something heavy that he can pick up, and so he casts about for any object answering to that description.

In any case, it isn’t the size of the missile that matters, it’s how hard you fling it. An ornamental stone, even one of those pretty polished ones you might bring back from the beach, can, if correctly flung, do a fair amount of damage. Look what happened to Goliath. No doubt as as he lay dying on the ground, he was surrounded by his fellow Philistines, telling him to get up and stop making such a fuss about a little pebble.

Pebbles, stones, Faberge eggs, boulders, bricks or porcelain hippopotami; the point is that they are hard and heavy and can make a nasty mess of a window, a pair of expensive sunglasses or an innocent nose. And we can only imagine the furore if someone had thrown so much as a handful of gravel in the general direction of an ICC official’s Mercedes. It would be lifetime bans all round and the tournament cancelled out of respect for the memory of Mr Lorgat’s broken wing mirror.

Monday, 7th March
Some people think today’s game between Canada and Kenya was a motion-going-through-exercise of the most tedious kind; a prime example of the futility of the 14-team format. Well they are wrong. It was thoroughly watchable. And as an occasional viewer of county cricket, I felt right at home; a deserted stadium, two teams full of players I’d never heard of, and a reassuring dose of amateurism.

And just like county cricket, it was all about which team was the most bothered about losing. After a scrappy encounter, Canada deservedly prevailed, but we had some fun along the way. Pick of the highlights was Ruvindu Gunasekera forgetting where he was, going for a walk and being stumped by the keeper at the second attempt. “That was stupid,” was Ian Chappell’s verdict. Then Jimmy Hansra chipped gently to mid-on and Seren Waters dropped it. “That was not difficult at all,” said Ian Bishop.

As if that wasn’t enough, the viewer could also enjoy Steve Tikolo’s choice of eyewear, possibly the most cheerful pair of sunglasses ever seen on a cricket field, the kind of shades that would make you happy the moment you put them on, and some of the most splendidly half-hearted fielding you are likely to see outside of an Indian practice session. Yes, it was mostly awful, but then you could say that about any of England’s recent World Cup campaigns and no one’s suggesting they shouldn’t be allowed to take part next time.

"I've told you a dozen times not to leave your slippers in the dressing room. People will get suspicious" © Getty Images

Tuesday, 1st March
Conspiracy theorists are like cockroaches: it is impossible to get rid of them entirely but they need to be kept under control. Unfortunately the post-Salman era is a warm and hospitable environment for these persistent pests. Indeed, blaming your team’s collective brain freezes and willow misadventures on corruption, once the preserve of loonies, nitwits, and the easily bewildered, is now a nearly respectable pastime for people who should know better.

Last week there was unsubstantiated television talk of Sri Lankan naughtiness in their game with Pakistan. And now Indian newspapers are reporting that other Indian newspapers have reported that a source has reported that the ICC are looking into Australia’s last innings. And so it goes on. I don’t hold Salman and friends responsible for all this. No, it is the News of the World who are to blame. We were happy in our fantasies. Reality is confusing.

Wednesday, 2nd March
Group A is one long snooze. The place where it’s all happening is on the flip side of the fixture list, in Group B, where the England cricket team are keeping the party going with consummate skill. By expertly pitching their performances ever so slightly either side of just about good enough, they’ve turned a tedious slog through the preliminaries into a thrilling rollercoaster ride. They are certainly answering all those moaners who said that there was too much 50-over cricket these days and that the tournament just went on for too damn long.

Frankly, I could watch this stuff for weeks. Anyone who sat through Ireland’s innings without experiencing a rising sensation of joy is probably missing their happiness gland. Each O’Brien six elicited a louder exclamation from the depths of the Hughes sofa and my astonishment supply had run dry long before he elbowed Hayden from the top of the big biffing league. And it wasn’t just about the sport. There was some comedy too. The men in shady blue offered us a string of ball juggling episodes of increasingly elaborate hilarity, with Andrew Strauss’s Chaplinesque fumbling at mid-on being the piece de resistance.

There is, too, a comforting psychological aspect at play here. For those of us of a certain age, a successful England team is a challenge to the natural order of things. I’m still not sure how it happened. A few months back, the familiar collection of hard-working journeymen and overrated chancers were being pummelled in Kingston. Then fairy godmother Andy Flower appeared and they were transformed. But like all the best magic spells, this one had an expiration date and as England fumbled, stumbled, and tripped over their shoelaces in Bangalore, it seemed as though they were changing back into pumpkins before our very eyes.

Friday, 4th March
Australia have been doing their homework ahead of their not-very-important clash with Sri Lanka at the weekend. A source with access to the Australian dressing room (the security guard assigned to television protection duty) was able to sneak out a copy of their highly confidential plan to counter the dangerous Lasith Malinga and avoid a spate of broken toes that might hamper their function-attending ability in the latter stages of the tournament:

1. Wear 17 pairs of socks.

2. When he lets go, get your feet out of the way by jumping as high as you can.

3. Ask to swap places with Kumar

A beating with a stick? Comes free with the privilege of being able to scrap for tickets to cricket’s biggest event © AFP

Saturday, 26th February
Today the ICC’s Director of Understatement, Mr Lorgat, described what happened in Bangalore as “unfortunate”. Unfortunate for whom, though? For the people who were beaten with bamboo sticks and left bleeding on the pavement simply because they had wanted to go to a cricket match? Possibly. Or was he, I wonder, employing the word in the way that evil villains tend to use it, in the sense of a temporary setback but with no lasting consequences for his long-term plans:

“Mr Bond is still alive? That is unfortunate. It will complicate matters.”

More likely, since Haroon is not, as far as I know, an evil villain, he just meant that it was very bad PR. Still, bad PR is pretty serious. It’s far worse than bad karma, for instance. Karma can take a lifetime to catch up with you. Bad PR can bite you on the backside before you’ve finished your breakfast. Only a swift dose of spin can cure an outbreak of bad PR. Mr Lorgat promised that “a centralised ticket system would be something they would look at next time”. So that’s that sorted then.

But this is just standard procedure for the likes of the ICC. The golden rules if you’re organising a major sporting event are:

1. Whatever happens was unforeseeable.
2. Whoever’s to blame, it isn’t us.

Pre-tournament it’s all slick presentations, confident smiles and photo ops. But when it’s underway and entirely foreseeable problems crop up, the men in suits rely on our human understanding. We’ve all organised picnics and forgotten the plates or sent out wedding invitations with the wrong date on, haven’t we? Relax. Take a chill pill. Easy to be wise after the event, they will tell us. Yes indeed. But the job of the ICC in this instance was to be wise before the event. That’s why they fly first class.

Sunday, 27th February
Aren’t ties marvellous? No, I’m not referring to those tatty bits of silk that sections of the world’s population are forced to wrap tightly around their necks on a daily basis. I don’t like those ties at all. I mean the good kind of tie, the kind that is a bit like a draw but better, providing of course, it is not tainted by some demeaning contrivance like a Super Over or a Bowl Off or a Groin Protector-Flinging Contest.

Ties put smiles on everyone’s faces. Had England sneaked one more or one fewer run today, there would have been a winner and a loser and the world’s cricket message boards would once again be clogged with post-match one-upmanship, abuse-laden recrimination and every flavour of witless jingoism. Instead, the butterfly of victory flitted this way and that but stayed always just out of reach and for once, we could bask in the pleasure of having enjoyed a game for its own sake.

The only bum notes in this uplifting session of free-form cricket were hit by former England captains. From the Sky studio, Mr Michael Vaughan offered up a noxious concoction, blended from the three worst ingredients in the punditry kitchen: sour bias, bland cliché and a vowel-mangling accent, whilst at the ground, Sir Beefy of Beefhampton could barely suppress his chortling as England began their chase well. The sound of a gloating Botham is not pleasing to a neutral ear, but mercifully England began to throw away wickets just as he was becoming unbearable and he was forced to go back to commentating on the cricket.

He was right about one thing, though. Who says that 50-over cricket is finished?

"It was found that there was a shadow of another protector fell on the TV set a second before Ricky's own landed on it © Getty Images

Wednesday, 23rd February
Little Ricky’s note apologising for accidentally breaking a television with his groin protector is a classic of the genre. It will no doubt be filed in the same ICC shoebox as Michael Atherton’s handwritten letter explaining that he had soil about his person because he was trying to grow pocket potatoes and Ijaz Butt’s email insisting that he did have some really top quality proof that the England players were involved in match-fixing but unfortunately his dog ate it.

When it comes to the curious incident of the bouncing groin protector in the dressing room, I confess I’m a sceptic. I’ve tried reconstructing it like Jim Garrison investigating the death of JFK, but the physics of the thing just don’t add up. One groin protector flung into a kit bag could surely not have gained the velocity needed to break a television. Ricky Harvey Oswald was just a patsy. There must have been other groin protector flingers involved to topple a TV. We’ll probably never know.

But the absurdity of this situation is not in Ricky’s schoolboy-esque excuse but in the fact that he had to apologise at all. He was apparently in breach of the new Fixtures and Fittings Integrity Regulations. The ICC, having given up on trying to properly organise tournaments or tackle corruption have decided to crack down hard on the serious problems, such as the scourge of slightly damaged electronic equipment and lightly dented advertising hoardings that threaten to undermine our sport.

But these are entertainers, performing under pressure. Would the Rolling Stones have apologised for scuffing a television screen? If the ICC are that concerned about the state of dressing-room furniture, then why not provide the players with pretend items they can vandalise, such as televisions made of cardboard or polystyrene microwaves. They could even lay on life-sized mannequins dressed as Billy Bowden or Aleem Dar for batsmen to abuse in the event of an unexpectedly early return to the pavilion.

Thursday, 24th February
It’s easy to criticise SKY’s coverage and its fun too. But it would be remiss of me to ignore their excellent selection policy for this World Cup. Regular bores Botham, Lloyd, Ward and the rest are off playing golf in Asia and so the production staff have had to dig a little deeper into the pundit selection box in order to put together a team that is well balanced, strong in all departments and capable of going all the way to the final without sneezing into their lapel microphones.

The line up has something for every viewer: a big one, a medium-sized one and a little one. Bob Willis is languidly pessimistic in a doom-laden fashion, ever ready to point out just exactly why everything is rubbish. Michael Holding’s flashes of anger and punchy opinions are disguised with a smooth delivery and Robert Croft is doing his best, though his mouth and his larynx do not always appear to be in sync, which may just be down to the demands of the Welsh accent. Even captain Gower has upped his game and is dangerously close to being animated.

But it isn’t all aromatic in the SKY herb garden. This tournament’s new toy takes the form of an interactive television screen which enables them to enhance the experience of the viewer by whooshing a small icon of Jonathon Trott into a screen-filling portrait, or to play at being Geoff Miller and choosing whether Ravi Bopara or Luke Wright should bat at six. That is, when it works. But this device really comes into its own when the touch-screen technology fails to comply and the former pro of the moment is left waving forlornly at the screen like a demented window cleaner or a sorcerer who can’t remember the magic word.

Afridi and Waqar contemplate with distaste the unprecedented outbreak of sobriety in the Pakistan ranks © AFP

Saturday, 19th February
Shahid Afridi thinks that Pakistan are dangerous. I disagree. A tamer set of green-clad cricketers you will rarely see. Shoaib Akhtar is an ageing rockstar, Younis Khan and Misbah ul-Haq are as sensible as a stout pair of brogues and even the captain is on his best behaviour. They’re about as dangerous as a Sunday afternoon in Bournemouth. And frankly, all this harmony, discipline and focus is dull, dull, dull; we get more than enough of that from the other teams. Loosen up, Shahid, and do something silly!

Monday, 21st February
As a species we have achieved much. We have travelled to the moon, carved railways through the sides of mountains, discovered supersonic travel, and eliminated the need to take two bottles into the shower. And yet it appears that, given 2000 years’ practice, four years’ notice, a potential audience of a billion and pots of money, we are still unable to satisfactorily arrange an efficient method of ensuring sufficient people gain entrance to a sporting event in exchange for a small fee.

The range of ways the authorities have found to deter people from attending World Cup games is impressive. Set up websites to handle public demand that then crash due to public demand. Refuse to tell anyone where they can buy a ticket. Don’t advertise where the games are happening until the last minute, like illegal parties. And, thanks to a suggestion from the Mumbai CA’s marketing consultant, a Mr Wonka, the public allocation of 10 golden tickets for the final have been hidden in bars of chocolate to be sold in sweet shops throughout India.

Tuesday, 22nd February
I don’t agree with this idea that Associate Members are cluttering up the World Cup. For one thing, it is a dangerous precedent to start excluding teams from competitions on the grounds that they haven’t got a hope in hell of winning them. Where do you draw the line? If such a rule was in place, England might never play in a World Cup again. Ditto New Zealand and West Indies. A few years from now, we could be looking at a tournament featuring just India, Sri Lanka and South Africa. Which might be better, but rather misses the point.

Anyway, you don’t always need a close game to be entertained. Today’s match, for example, had everything. There was an impressive display of formation politeness (“Would you like to catch the ball?” “No sir, I couldn’t, possibly. After you.” “No, you go, I insist”) a coconut shy in the covers, some hilarious clowning around on the boundary, and a lovely rendition of the traditional “Four Men in the Circle” dance. All that was missing were the silly hats, tinkly ankle bells and waving handkerchiefs. This troupe of English folk dancers are sure to be a hit on their six-date Indian tour.

And there was KP, continuing with his tradition of celebrating left-arm spinners. As heroic flaws go, this helplessness in the face of a ball heading towards him from a slightly wider angle is baffling. After all, it took a rare glowing green rock from outer space to bring Superman down. Though, to be fair, Clark Kent’s mission was easier: save the world whilst maintaining anonymity. KP has a lot more on his plate. He has to open the innings in the World Cup but doesn’t quite know how. Do they want him to be Kevin Boycott or Kevin Botham? As sportsmen would say, it’s very much swings and roundabouts being a superhero.

"And instead of autographs, we have taken to scribbling 'Kiwis are winners' on fans' memorabilia" © Getty Images

Tuesday, 15th January
Bearing in mind how well the wars on Terror, Obesity and Drugs have gone, it is probably just as well that the ICC hasn’t officially declared war on Corruption. But even if they haven’t announced the commencement of hostilities, they are pretty damn miffed with corruption. Make no mistake, if corruption sent them an invitation to its wedding, not only would the ICC not go, they wouldn’t even bother RSVP-ing.

Instead the ICC is running a kind of stealth guerrilla campaign against corruption. Today they attempted to disrupt the march of naughtiness by banning players from taking mobile phones into the dressing room. And not just phones. The list of banned dressing-room accoutrements include laptops, carrier pigeons, semaphore flags, plastic cups on string, and those blankets that the Sioux used to send smoke signals.

And, most gloriously of all, there is to be a ban on in-game Twittering. This has little to do with corruption but is a commendable attempt to stem the tide of inanity, profanity and banality that washes towards us in ever higher waves from the general direction of professional cricket. The message to players is clear: Shut up. Stop talking. Say nothing more. Zip it and keep it in a state of zippedness.

Wednesday, 16th January
The news that Salman Butt has been hired by a television company may have caused a certain degree of tea spillage and marmalade-themed spluttering at the Lorgat breakfast table, but the whole thing is a big misunderstanding. I hardly think that, having been found guilty of perverting the course of cricket and tainting the game, Mr Butt would be employed to offer us his sporting observations.

No, he has in fact been hired to handle the catering. Butt Ices, the leading purveyor of frozen dairy products to the cricket industry, will be keeping commentators and studio staff refreshed throughout the World Cup and beyond. I understand that his prices are very reasonable and that Salman the Ice-Cream Man is also available at short notice for children’s parties, embassy balls and court appearances.

Friday, 18th January
More evidence that the Black Caps are taking this cricket business far too seriously came today in the form of an interview with one of New Zealand’s leading semiologists and the winner of the Most Tattooed Bicep Award 2008, one Brendon McCullum. Switch off your mobiles, put the mongoose back in its cage and send your children out into the street, you’ll need to concentrate to decode this one fully.

“Someone has to flick a switch, somewhere along the line we have to get ourselves across the finishing line and with a W in the column.”

Right, so there’s a line and then there’s another line, electricity is involved at some point and the letter W. The column may refer to Nelson’s Column, but I’m not sure. Maybe if we read on, it will make sense.

“We can’t have that mental blockage or mental baggage heading into this World Cup. We have to ditch that quickly.”

I hope he didn’t have too much trouble at the airport. “Anything to declare, Mr McCullum?” “No, just this mental baggage.” “Did you pack it yourself, sir?”

“We are going to have to borrow some confidence to stare down those situations and dream that we are capable of achieving success in those moments.”

If I’m not much mistaken, that’s the second verse to Norway’s 1978 Eurovision Song Contest entry. But what can it all mean? As far as I can tell, the keys to World Cup success are mental baggage, lines, electricity and confidence rental. Perhaps ESPNcricinfo readers will fare better. If you can work out what Brendon is banging on about, get in touch. A virtual pat on the back for the most convincing answer.

"Er no, Kevin, she's not the lady who wrote about the witches and goblins" © Getty Images

Tuesday, 8th February
Today we learned of another well-meaning, if misguided, attempt to employ cricketers as a force for good, this time to persuade people to read more. I’m not sure this is going to work. Frankly the news that Tamim Iqbal wants to be Harry Potter is unlikely to get me popping into my local branch of Books, Books, Books to contribute to JK Rowling’s yacht fund, though it might cause me to give the chap a wide berth if I met him at a party.

Perhaps the biggest mistake of all was inviting a Mr Pietersen to get involved. As he reviewed some of the classics of the English language, he kept us up to date via Twitter. This, for example, is what he had to say about Pride and Prejudice:

“Sum woman from the old days talking s*&t about bonnets and stuff!!!!”

This was his verdict on Martin Amis’s seminal 1980s work Money:

“Blokes a muppet!!! Noes nothing about money!!! He’s not even a millionair!!!”

and this on 1984 by George Orwell:

“B*())(ks!!!! It wasn’t like that in ’84, cos I was there!!!!”

He did, though, find one classic worth recommending:

“Just finished Spot the Dog Goes to the Dentist, Brilliant! Red it in one go!!! Deff takin it to India to read on plane!!!”

Other cricket figures to have boarded the literary train were Lalit Modi, who for some reason was drawn to The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde; Ijaz Butt, who recommended The Da Vinci Code as a must for fans of conspiracies; and one Bob Willis. Mr Willis was not impressed with Bob Willis’ autobiography, complaining that he found it entirely predictable, trite, riddled with cliché and that the author simply wasn’t up to international standard.

Wednesday, 9th February
Jaded and exhausted, the only team ever to play a one-day series before a World Cup staggered off business class at Heathrow earlier today. It’s been a long old tour. Frankly I am jaded and exhausted from reading about how the England team are jaded and exhausted. The sheer number of self-pitying tweets, whining comments and sympathetic articles from sycophantic journalists has taken its toll. There is no other word for it. I’m jaded. And exhausted.

But I did find time to do a little post-tour research. I counted the number of articles about exhaustion and plotted them on a graph, and in the process made a remarkable discovery. There was a direct correlation between the number of one-day defeats England suffered on the one hand and the volume of material declaring that they were exhausted on the other. Interestingly the graph shows exactly the opposite slope to the one from four years ago, when articles outlining the importance of one-day cricket increased exponentially as England neared the final. And no one mentioned burnout.

Friday, 11th February
As Donald Rumsfeld might put it, there are things we know we know and there are things we know we don’t know. We know, for example, that South Africa will depart the World Cup at a stage just prior to the final and that they will do so in a manner that is either inexplicable, hilarious or both. We just don’t know exactly how yet.

AB de Villiers doesn’t agree. He thinks that he and his chums are “the opposite of chokers”. The Opposite of Chokers is an excellent title for the book that will have to be written if South Africa do win. Which they won’t. My money is on a runaway elephant demolishing Billy Bowden in the semi-final and the men in sweaty green being eliminated under the new Pachyderm Intrusion Regulations.

”What, no Gucci trainers? Right, I’m off” © Getty Images

Friday, 4th February
Our humble sport is more than just a game; it is a lifelong education. Through cricket we can discover so much about the world around us. For example, thanks to the alleged misdemeanours of cricket folk around the world, we have been able to sample the rich variety of legal systems that our planet sustains. From the Lalit Modi saga alone I have learned lots of sexy new legal phrases such as “show-cause notice” and “recuse” and “massive financial irregularities”.

Well, today I was introduced to a dusty nook of English law with which I had hitherto been entirely unfamiliar. Apparently, right here in Blighty, you can be sent to prison for cheating! Who knew? I’ve lived here all my life and I had no idea that the c-word could land you in front of a judge. If only I’d known I was risking a criminal record all those years ago when I scribbled formulas on my arm before my maths GCSE, I never would have done it! So let this be a lesson to you kids, the law is on to you and cheating doesn’t pay. Unless you get away with it, obviously.

Saturday, 5th February
This is a sad day for cricket. The wait is over, our fears have been realised and now we know the truth. We all need to take time to reflect on what this means for our sport. No doubt in time we will get over it, but for the moment the loss is palpable. We must face facts, everyone: Sourav Ganguly will not be playing in the IPL.

Why is this? How could it be allowed to happen? In an act of pure cricket vandalism, the IPL has ruled that no franchise can sign him, which means, barring an unlikely appearance in the Birmingham and District Premier League (where I fear the absence of gold taps in many of the pavilion washrooms could be a deal-breaker) I will never again see Sourav on a cricket field with a bat in his hand and a glint in his eye.

Never again will we witness that snort of derision from haughtily curled nostrils as he lets the ball go by; that lordly patrician glare of disapproval as the bowler whizzes one rather too close to the Ganguly cranium; that natural god-given ability to irritate Australians without really trying. And, lest we forget, the most entertaining press conferences in India that don’t involve Virender Sehwag. Farewell, Sourav.

Sunday 6th February
More disappointing news. It appears that Shaun Tait will not be used at the World Cup after all. The experimental cricket ball-propelling device had become a popular addition to the sport this winter but Australian authorities have refused to grant it an export licence. Apparently the special extra-strength sticky tape used to hold the Tait together is a crucial component in the Australian air force and so cannot be taken out of the country. The Johnson will not be used either as there are some concerns that its malfunctioning target-location system may render it a threat to local birdlife.

Monday, 7th February
After a closely fought campaign between the Silly Party, led by “Crazy” Shahid Afridi and the Dull Party, fronted by “Sensible” Misbah ul-Haq, the result of the first Pakistani Captaincy Election 2011 was declared at the weekend and it was victory for Afridi with a 100% swing to Silliness as the electorate, a Mr Ijaz Butt, cast his vote by carrier pigeon for the man with the nicest hair.

Afridi celebrated his victory with a 57-run defeat in Auckland and after the match promised to bring back the World Cup and to do something silly along the way. Conceding defeat on behalf of the Dull Party, Misbah declared that whilst the result was disappointing, he and his friends would rally behind the new captain and offer him their fullest support until just after they lose their first game.

KP finds a better way for preparing for the World Cup is to watch a ball being slammed across a court countless times © Getty Images

Saturday, 29th January
What could be more teeth-grindingly depressing than the appalling news that the years 2013 to 2015 will contain no less than THREE Ashes series? Well one or two things, I suppose. Wolverhampton in the rain. Discovering that Osama Bin Laden has moved in next door. Being trapped overnight in a lift with Brett Lee. Discovering that Brett has brought his guitar with him. But that’s about all.

The only consolation is that by the autumn of 2015, all those people for whom the Ashes is more important than cricket will have come to understand. They too will be sick of the brain-numbing hype-mongery, the plague of pifflesome previews and the Graeme Swann video diaries. Personally, I will be retiring to a salt hotel on the edge of the Atacama Desert in May 2013 where I will remain until it is all over. You are welcome to join me. Just as long as you don’t mention the A-word.

Sunday, 30th January
So now we’re booing Michael Clarke? Really? Does the egregious Mr Pietersen get such treatment even though every time he opens his mouth he sounds like a particularly tactless Terminator trying to blend into human society? Did Paul Collingwood feel his lugs humming with boos for those long periods in his Test career when he appeared not to know which way up to hold the bat? Did grumpy old Ricky Ponting get booed? Well, you get the idea, anyway.

Michael Clarke is a good cricketer out of form, which it seems is a lot worse than being a bad cricketer out of form. Worse still, he has committed the heinous crime of being a celebrity. But why is he a celebrity? Did he once eat a plate of cockroaches on a jungle reality show? Was he involved in a love triangle with a waitress and the Foreign Minister? Did he come third in a televised Latin dance competition? No, he’s a celebrity because he’s very good at cricket. He’s a fair dinkum celebrity, you might say, if “fair dinkum” is the kind of phrase you like to use.

Monday, 31st January
One of the oddities of modern cricket is how little its practitioners seem to enjoy playing it; indeed their enjoyment of said pastime seems to decline at the same rate with which their salaries increase. The more money you throw at a cricketer, it seems, the more likely he is to complain about having to play cricket. Take Jesse Ryder. He has informed us, via that open drainage pipe to the ego, Twitter, that having to play for Wellington the other day was, “a waste of time”.

Now, if he was suggesting that, set against the vastness of the universe, our little sport is an insignificant speck in the vacuum cleaner of time or if he was attempting to communicate some of the existential pointlessness of all human endeavour, then fair enough. But I have a feeling that “waste of time” is just code for “I’m too important”. You would have thought he’d be happy just be fit, healthy and playing the game he is so talented at. But no. It seems that Hollywood Jesse picks his movies these days.

And then there’s KP. The man is a PR volcano, a brooding, rumbling presence who every so often erupts in an explosion of hot, gassy nonsense, spewing dusty clichés and molten inanities in all directions.

“Our schedule is ridiculous going into this World Cup. It has been for England teams for a long time and that’s probably why England have not done well in World Cups.”

Yes Kevin. That’s probably why England have never won the World Cup. Because they’ve wasted their time playing 50-over cricket in preparation for a 50-over cricket tournament, when they could have been busy playing golf, opening supermarkets or spending quality time on Twitter.

Eden Gardens: Now to be used as a set for the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean movie © AFP

Wednesday, 26th January
My South Africa versus India series was splendid. Lots of lovely cricket with only sporadic interruptions from a trio of self-conscious men in dark suits sitting in an arctic blue studio that looked like the penguin enclosure at a downmarket zoo. But Indian viewers had it much worse. Their cricket was squashed into a small window, the rest of the screen being reserved for gaudy ads hawking all manner of worthless tat. Why was this? A prominent man in nice shoes from Ten Cricket explained:

“…there is a significant amount of pressure to monetise Indian cricket events.”

There may well be, but since I don’t speak gibberish, it took me a while to grasp his argument. Like cats, small children and economists, I don’t really understand economics, but I got there in the end. The argument goes like this: It costs a lot of money to put Indian cricket on television, leaving very little for he and his fellow boardroom loiterers to spend on IPL cufflinks, porcelain elephants and diamond-studded ipods. So without adverts, they would have to cut costs.

And then it came to me. Why not decommission the commentary booth? I don’t know what Ravi Shastri or Ian Botham charge per hour, but by definition, it’s too much. Dispense with the men whose job it is to talk about what we’ve already seen and to speculate on our behalf about what we might see next. Imagine a televised match where all you could hear was the roar of the drunken crowd, the thwack of leather on jaw and Peter Siddle cussing. Commentary-free television? I’d pay for that.

Thursday, 27th January
Leaving everything to the last minute is dangerous and thrilling. We’ve all been there. A tableful of diners are due any minute and you’ve spent so long straightening your nose hair that you’re way behind schedule. So you dash about like Jonty Rhodes after too many espressos, finally pulling the last tray of sauteed snails out of the oven and sprinkling the cocaine on the trifle just as the first guest arrives. There’s nothing quite like it to get the adrenalin flowing.

Sometimes, however, it goes wrong. Two days ago, the tournament director of the World Cup informed us that even though his kitchen appeared to be on fire, he had it all under control. But sadly, his stadium soufflé failed to rise in time and Eden Gardens, though in many ways ready, turns out to be not quite as ready as all that. In its current state, spectators would be required to perch on scaffolding like pirates clinging to the rigging and third man would have to wear a hard hat.

By contrast, many fans chose not to wait until the last minute and instead had the unbelievable bad manners to plan their visit to Kolkata in advance. Amateurs. Let them go to Bengaluru, as Marie Antoinette almost certainly didn’t say.

Friday 28th, January
Step aside Leicestershire, the professionals are here. Yes, when it comes to squandering money they haven’t got, Lancashire are top of the tree, weighing in with a £2m loss, the largest ever recorded by a county and this despite their £1.7m handout from the ECB. How’d they do it? Well, they wanted to tart up their crumbly stadium and so, like any sensible loss-making sporting association, they lashed out £1.5m in fees to get the best planning advice money can buy. The advice was so good that the redevelopment is now stalled at the planning stage and may not be complete on time.

But this whopping loss is just the start. Losing their Test match status and bringing on the inevitable bankruptcy and dissolution of the sporting side of the business will usher in a bright new future for Lancashire CCC. With that tiresome cricket stuff out of the way, the visionary entrepreneurs of Old Trafford can get on with developing their conference, hospitality and supermarket business (ample parking available). And then they can make some real money!