I have such a headache. I have such an excruciating headache. It has to do with Polly. It has to do with AD. It has to do with Boje. It has to do with Jakes. It has to do with Omar, Percy, Eric and every blinkered idiot this country has the gall to call cricketing experts.
It has to do with the sad fact that despite having a year (since the last Aussie tour) to sort out the myth they call the South African bowling attack, nobody appears to have done a thing. And it has to do with the knowledge that despite being on home ground the Proteas are still going to screw things for this country, which so badly needs success.
The bowling display produced by the South Africans in Johannesburg on Sunday has to go down as the worst I have ever seen, and let me hear one word about how fab Steve Fleming was, how rain affected the outcome of the game or the unfairness of the Duckworth-Lewis system, and I swear I will rip the instigator’s throat out and eat it. Raw. Pulsing. So recently filled with life and food. I will rip his throat out and eat it. And then I’ll hunt down his children and rip their throats out, just ‘cos I can, and I’ll eat them too. Raw. Yes.
Violent images to the common man for sure, but just the tip of my iceberg. I am an ocean of anger. I am a deep, dark well of rage. I am humiliated beyond decency, and I am way past caring. If I ever see that red-headed baby again I shall be forced to gouge my own eyes out, and feed them to swine while lashing my naked, scarred back with a whip made of razors and dipped in vinegar.
I’ve had enough.
What sickens me to my rotten core is not the fact that South Africa lost to New Zealand — anyone can lose to anyone on any day — but the fact that so many South Africans are filled with so much support for such a hopeless cause. Because let’s face it — South Africans love to get behind their team; there is a national pride that has been welling since first democracy and then the Rugby World Cup in 1995, and the dreams of a nation which has had to pick itself up out of the dirt are being cruelly murdered by politics and ineptitude.
It is now patently clear that any faint dream we may have had of winning the World Cup is forever damned, and anyone who believes that Australia would have even the faintest problem in dealing with the South African attack needs to be institutionalised, and burned with hot wax every few hours for eternity.
Today I will not talk about Herschelle Gibbs, because I don’t need to. There are just so many eulogies I could dream up it would take all night, but Gibbs spoke with his bat, and anything else would pale in comparison. Great innings by a world-class talent — what more do you want me to say?
No — what I want to talk about is everything but Gibbs, because everything else was so amateurish I couldn’t believe I was watching it. So let’s begin with the toss, and the extraordinary chain of events which produced the blackest Sunday since Stalingrad.
By lunch yesterday you would have sworn South Africa were going to walk Game 12 against New Zealand, having amassed 300+ in their fifty overs — largely due to Herschelle Gibbs, but with able support from lesser partners who weighed in with valuable partnerships. But by the end of the day the Kiwis had reached the (revised) total for the loss of only one wicket, revealing two facts: the SA total was not enough by a long, long way, and the bowling attack has as many teeth as a newborn infant.
The first mistake was putting Nicky Boje in at three. Mistake, you ask? But didn’t he put on 60 or so with Gibbs? Oh yes, my simple friend, but hard as he may try Boje is no class batsman. He may be able to hoik some lusty blows into the empty outfield during the first fifteen — he’s even scored a couple of centuries doing so — but to even begin to think that he is in the same class as Gary Kirsten at three is a very dangerous way of thinking. I fully endorse Graeme Smith opening with Gibbs, as I always have — he’s the future of the game in this country both batting-wise and leadership-wise, and as such there is no better stage for him to begin plying his trade than at the World Cup.
I like Gazza at three, despite his achievements in opening the batting, simply because it gives the openers more license to swing a bit in the first fifteen overs, and should one get out the other can still continue in that fashion while Gazza holds it all together, as he does. To give Boje the duties best suited to someone like Kirsten is criminal, as he does not have the experience of holding an innings together while others bat around him — something Kirsten does to perfection.
You could argue that yesterday Herschelle held it all together, and he did, but can you imagine the total if Kirsten had come in at three and struck up a partnership with Gibbs in which neither got out? You would have got the 350 you needed on that flat pitch with ease, although I doubt it would have troubled Fleming any more than 306 did. But what happened was there were a bunch of fifty partnerships punctuated by falling wickets, and the slow eight overs in the middle of the innings could easily have produced another fifty runs.
I’m questioning the mindset here, the sort of mindset that would think someone other than Gary Kirsten could do the job better. Look at the Kiwis — they changed their order to be sure, but once the first wicket fell they reverted to experience in the form of Nathan Astle to see them through, and his partnership with Fleming was what turned the tide for New Zealand.
South Africa needed such a partnership, and it didn’t materialise.
Still — it would be a hard man that denied the achievement of getting 300 against one of the top sides in the world, and while I’m a hard man I’m not a bitch. I was happy with the SA total, but the fact that we couldn’t defend it frightened me more than walking in on a menage-a-trois involving Percy Sonn, Mahendra Ragunath and Tony Sanderson.
And the captaincy was even worse, showing up Pollock once again, and he must surely be the laughing stock of international cricket captains. He panicked — it showed in his face, it showed in his body language, it showed in his actions. He was taught a harsh lesson by his opposite number Fleming, whose composure in the face of extreme adversity was what pulled his side through.
Pollock has never shone as a captain — ever — and I can only assume that the reason the selectors keep him on is because his family is as involved in the game as he. I can’t believe that able-minded people could sit around a table and give the thumbs up to his captaincy without a care in the world, especially after his humiliation at the hands of Ponting last summer, and the worst part is that he’ll probably stay where he is until he retires. Which means another five or so years of his bullshit, which is way too many for me.
But let’s take a look at the bowling, shall we? Anyone remember just five years ago, when our bowling attack was still the paciest, most feared attack in the world? Any remember the exploits of people like Fanie de Villiers, and a youthful Alan Donald? Anyone remember a time when no matter how badly our batting had let us down, we could still come back and win games by taking ten wickets?
Does anyone remember?
I do, and those days are long since gone. They disappeared at roughly the same time as Hansie — coincidence? I think not. Whatever else Hansie may have been he was the finest captain of modern cricket, and the deterioration in the South African discipline since he left is astonishing, to be kind. The fielding has gone to shit, the bowling even worse, and there is simply nobody to pick up where he left off, and carry the flag with pride.
Before this World Cup started I bemoaned two inclusions in particular — Alan Donald, and Nicky Boje. It’s all very well getting caught up in the emotion of the services Donald has paid his country, but the man is so far past it I’m surprised he hasn’t doubled around. To be spraying short, wide, erratic balls both sides of the wicket at a gentle medium pace is the stuff of amateurs, or in the case of Donald — the work of a very tired man. I care about his heroic past achievements, but not to the extent that I’m prepared to allow him to screw this world cup up for us.
Mike Haysman and others were going off about how they couldn’t understand why he’d been left out of the Kenya game, as he needed the run to get some rhythm. Horseshit, Mike. It was vital that others be tested, because it’s clear he is not going to last the distance, and getting spanked at ten to the over is not the way to win games. It’s the perfect way to lose games, and if nobody else has the balls to call Alan Donald then let it be me.
Should SA get through to the Super Sixes he is going to lose us more games, because if Stephen Fleming can paste him anywhere then so can anyone else. He’s the obvious target at this World Cup, as I predicted he would be, and to think that he is going to magically pull himself together is the purest optimism. He isn’t. And that’s a problem, when you consider the rest of the backup bowling.
Monde Zondeki has two international wickets — both of which were gifted him — and Robyn Peterson once had a good game playing for SA ”A”. Hardly the stuff of heroes. The only other bowling option (despite allrounder Andrew Hall) is Charl Langeveldt, and while I have enormous faith in him he didn’t impress anyone against Kenya, and as such probably won’t get another decent game. Could he do any worse than Donald? No. Could he do any better? Yes.
So what’s the problem?
Jacques Kallis and Boje proved as unreliable as ever in the bowling department — you just never know when they’re going to produce a good performance, and when they’re going to suck. And at this level of cricket you just can’t suck, as good batsmen like Fleming, Lara and Hayden will kill you.
Makhaya Ntini beat the bat of Fleming more times than I’ve ever seen a bat beaten, but when he erred in line or length he proved easy to get away, his natural bowling angle providing plenty of width for batsmen. He also bowled quicker than I’ve ever seen him do, almost touching 150km/h, which made the difference between returning the figures he did (0/33 off eight overs) and getting punished like the rest.
Pollock was alright, and also added some pace, but rarely looked like taking a wicket. In his defence the track was flatter than a freshly-steamrollered badger, but that’s why he’s a strike bowler — to deal with such conditions, and pick up wickets.
But where the team really failed was in leadership — Fleming faced some tough moments during the SA innings, but he never lost his cool. He kept trying new strategies until one of them worked, and the fact that SA got to 300 was a result of some poor bowling from the Black Caps, and the flat, batting-friendly track. But he never panicked, and as a result restricted the damage as best he could.
Coming out to bat he realised the time for him to stand up had arrived, and knowing what he had to do he did it. The same cannot be said for Pollock, who stood around on the field with a look of haunted desperation, clearly without a plan, and despite his team pep talk in the middle he failed to inspire the performances his side so desperately required.
The last time South Africa lost this badly was last year, when Australia romped to victory chasing 325, and Pollock had the exact same look that time. He didn’t know what to do, and didn’t have the natural talent to work it out and remain calm. He becomes petulant on the field, instead of supportive, and when the captain loses his head it’s a bit much to ask the team to rally around him.
South Africa need a determined, hard individual to lead the side, and personally I feel Pollock would bowl better if the burden of responsibility were lifted from his shoulders. Graeme Smith is being touted as a future captain, but as yet he is still way too inexperienced to be given the job, and the problem is no other candidate lifts his hand right now. The selectors need to apply themselves to the task — it’s our only hope.
So what are the ramifications of this undignified loss? There’s the very real possibility that we won’t make the Super Sixes now, as we have to beat Sri Lanka. Folks like Aslam Khota are full of history and the way we beat them last year, but the current Sri Lankan side is a far more confident, stronger one than it was then, and to beat them is going to be very, very hard indeed.
Not get through to the Super Sixes? Was that ever a possibility in our pre-World Cup thinking? Not mine, it must be said, but I could never have foreseen this. Not even in my wildest dreams, which are wild, make no mistake.
Perhaps it’s for the best that we don’t, to get some heads rolling, but the gall of it sticks in my craw and leaves a bitter, bitter taste. I — like so many — have waited a long time for this showpiece on home soil, and while I can handle losing to Australia in the final I cannot comprehend a final without us.
It’s too much.
Cheers,
The Twelfth Man