Tuesday, 12 December 2017

Eden Park - results and stats. Previewing Day/Night Test 22 March 2017.

I have taken the liberty of reviewing the previous 10 tests at The Garden.  One thing to note - 8 of 10 tests were low scoring affairs.  The 10th was the last when BMac lashed to all parts.

I found this hard to fathom as Eden Park has long had a reputation for being boundary friendly, but not necessarily so.

In those last 10 tests we have had 5 wins, 2 draws and 3 losses, not a bad record all round.  Below are the stat's (Blackcap players only)

Zimbabwe 1998 NZ Win by Innings and 13 runs.

Horne  157  Astle  114

Doull  two 4 fors.

South Africa - 1999- Drawn

Horne 93

Australia 2000  -  NZ Loss by 62 runs

Vettori  7- 87

Pakistan - 2001 - NZ Loss by 299 runs

Martin and Tuffey 4 fors.

  England - 2002 - NZ 78 Run Win

Tuffey  6 for 54

South Africa - 2004  -  NZ 9 wicket win.

Martin 11 wickets - 180

Styris  170

Cairns  158

Oram 90

Australia  -  2005  -  NZ 9 Wicket loss

Franklin 6 - 119

West Indies  2006 - NZ 27 run win.

Styris  103*
Bond 5 - 69

England - 2013 - Drawn

Fulton 136 and 110 (nice!!)
Williamson 91 and 4 for 44.

Boult  6-68

India  -  2014 -  NZ win by 40 runs.

Williamson  113
McCullum - 224

Wagner 4 for and 4 for (8 Wickets)

So given those figures, it appears that results are hard to come by for visiting teams.  2 out of 10 seem a turn out of the blue as high scoring and result driven.  With that in mind it is fair to say despite the advent of day/night cricket it's going to be a bit dicey for both teams anyway.  Essentially it's a clean slate with which both teams will have to feel their way.  Unless two or three batsmen use T20 form to take advantage of the awkward boundary positions.

And a footnote - between 2006 and 2014 (inclusive) there have been only 3 tests (2006, 2013 and 2014)

Latest Cricket Rankings (as of 12/12/2017)

I have compiled all New Zealand stats in ICC World Rankings.  They pretty much speak for themselves.  I'll start with the team rankings and then follow them with individual rankings.  Nice to see plenty of Kiwi's featuring.

Test rankings(updated 12/12/2017):

1st India 124, 2nd South Africa  111,  3rd England 105,  4th Blackcaps 100,  5th  Australia  97,  6th  Sri Lanka 94,  7th  Pakistan  88 and 8th is West Indies 82.

ODI Rankings (updated 11/12/2017)

1st South Africa 120, 2nd  India 119,  3rd Australia  114,  4th  England 114,   5th Blackcaps  111,  6th Pakistan  99,  7th  Bangladesh 92,  8th Sri Lanka 77.


1st  Pakistan  124,  2nd  Blackcaps  120, 3rd West Indies  120,  4th  England  119,  5th  India   119, 6th South Africa  112,  7th  Australia  111,  8th  Sri Lanka  91,  9th  Afghanistan  86 and finally Bangladesh at 10th 76.

Individual Blackcaps positions in World Cricket rankings




Test Ranking Cricketer
ODI Ranking Cricketer
T20 Ranking Cricketer


5th KaneWilliamson
10th KaneWilliamson
4th KaneWilliamson
13th Ross Taylor
13th Martin Guptill
9th Martin Guptill

14th Ross Taylor
12th Colin Munro

7th Neil-Wagner

13th Trent Boult
7th Trent Boult
10th Ish Sodhi
16th Tim Southee
14th Mitchel[ Santner
11th Mitchel Santner

17th Matt Henry
15th Adam Milne
All Rounder

16th Trent Boult

All Rounder

14th Tim Southee

All Rounder
15th Neil-Wagner
9th Mitchel Santner

14th Corey Anderson

Monday, 11 December 2017

ODI's in New Zealand 2017/18 and the Kane/Ross battle

Starting soon are the first of 13 ODI's on our shores.  And inside those ODI's is the pecking order for our 26 ODI 100 getters.

Ross has had 179 innings for his 17 x 100's
Kane has had 111 innings for 9 x 100's

Be nice to see Ross break 20 x 100 and Kane to increase his tally.

Yes will be a great summer.

First up are the Windies following their test series. If their form in the longer form is anything to go by it's gonna be a tough ride for them.  The team is young but it's fair to say their short form records are different and will mean they have a chance.

Next cab off the ramp is the ever competitive Pakistan.  They land on our shores in January with recent ODI form.  And you can always count on Pakistan to rattle the cages.

Will be a tough series (5 ODI's) for Blackcaps but one we should win.

If they are in your city, go and watch them.

England in March - 5 ODI's.  Leading up to the tests are 5 ODI's.  Both teams have played T20 prior to these matches so should be in cracking form.

Time for Blackcaps supporters to deck out in Black (or Beige) to drown out the Balmy Army.

So what do we want to happen in these ODI's?  If there are needs to blood someone then the Windies matches are good. Fair to say form players in top tier be given all the backing they deserve.

Friday, 8 December 2017

Seddon Park - Hamiltron - Tosses from 1991

Wondered about toss details in Hamilton?  Test Match Cricket started there in 1991 versus Sri Lanka.  The the ensuing years there have been 23 tests and the 24th is about to unfold with the West Indies rolling the arm over tomorrow.

Below is a spreadsheet I have manufactured showing all the matches and toss details and match results.  Very interesting mixed results thoroughout.

23 matches where NZ have win 8 tosses, electing to bat twice and field 6 times.

All teams have selected to Field 17 times and Bat 6 times.  The results aren't clear cut on toss selections.

Those results for Us are 10 wins overall, 7 Draws and 6 losses.  Recent results have reversed record trends and our W/L ratio is getting healthy again.

The stats.

Teams Toss won by Elected Match Result Match Score (NZ Only) Years
Sri Lanka SL Field Drawn N/A 1991
Pakistan NZ Field NZ Loss
India NZ Field Drawn N/A 1993
Zimbabwe Zim Field Drawn N/A 1996
Sri Lanka NZ Bat Win NZ 120 runs 1997
India Ind Field Drawn N/A 1999
West Indies WI Bat Win NZ 9 Wickets 1999
Australia Aus Field NZ Loss
Pakistan NZ Field Win NZ Innings and 185 runs. 2001
Bangladesh Bangladesh Field Win NZ Innings and 52 runs 2001
India NZ Field Win NZ 4 wickets 2002/3
Pakistan Pak Field Drawn N/A 2003/4
South Africa SA Bat Drawn N/A 2004
England NZ Bat Win NZ 189 runs 2008
India Ind Field NZ Loss
Bangladesh Bangladesh Field Win NZ 121 runs 2010
Australia Aus Bat NZ Loss N/A 2010
Pakistan Pak Field NZ Loss N/A 2011
South Africa SA Field NZ Loss N/A 2012
West Indies NZ Field Win NZ 8 Wickets 2013
Sri Lanka NZ Field Win NZ 5 Wickets 2015/16
Pakistan Pak Field Win NZ 5 Wickets 2016/17
South Africa SA Bat Drawn N/A 2017

Consequences of a Loveless World - When friends go to war.

Consequences of a Loveless World.

The Sniper sits patiently in his hiding place, his backside itchy from hours of waiting. He shifts his position noiselessly. The target, 250 metres away, stands with his back to him, puffing on his Russian cigarette, oblivious to his plight.

With his eyes on the target, the sniper reaches into his pocket and pulls out the smooth warm 7.62 mm round, thumbs it into the open breach of his high powered sniper rifle and quietly pushes the breach closed, forcing the round into it's chamber, ready for discharge.

The target turns suddenly, his hands dropping to the child standing in front of him. He nervously looks in the direction of the tree, which holds his death sentence, but pans past it, missing the dark green shape sitting high in its position. He bends down to the child and whispers in her ear, then points towards the barrier arm. He stands tall, takes one last look over his shoulder, and prompts the child to move. His Serbian features are taut, stretched from long hours of sleeplessness and the pain of the loss of his wife and older son and daughter. But his urgency still shows through the weathered features. He starts to run, pushing the child in front of him.

The sniper, ready for the dash, raises his rifle to his shoulder, carefully so as not to contact the surrounding limbs and branches, giving away his hiding place. His Croatian uniform, once stiff, now clings to his sweat stained body in easy comfort. The forefinger of his right hand closes round the trigger guard, looping over the trigger. He commences his breathing routine to steady his nerves. One bullet, one shot, one victim. He closes his eyes briefly to calm the light shimmer, and opens them again. The man has stopped, but the child runs on. The Serb removes his jacket, stretching his arms high to clear it off his massive shoulders, exposing a broad muscular back as his T-shirt rides up with the jacket.

The sniper thinks gleefully, a naked shot! The target is clear and unimpeded. His finger closes gently on the trigger, careful not to jerk the shot. The round sits patiently in the barrel, awaiting its moment of glory. But the action is stopped. The sniper stares in disbelief at the target. In the motion of removing his jacket, two medals are loosed from his T-shirt, golden in texture and as big as large biscuits. They dangle from two cloth strips and dance an invitation to a memory the sniper holds dear. They are Olympic medals! The same as the two he carries round his neck, under his tunic. His target is an athlete! Then the dawn of realisation hits him. He knows that man. Of course, the shoulders. His mind slips back to days less complicated.


Los Angeles, 1984. The middleweight weightlifting competition. Georg Vacelich, Yugoslav Croatian, and Ivan Serepov, Romanian Serb, are waiting in the preparation area behind the stage. The competition had been tense, with just the two of them left to fight out the gold metal lifts. They have been competitors and friends for years, brought together through college and university in competition between their two countries. Now they faced each other in the heat of international glory, yet still remained firm friends.

After Ivan wins his two golds, and Georg his two silvers, they escape the confines of their respective compounds, their political commissars, and their mentors, and disappear into the hubbub of L.A.'s many bars and cafes, celebrating their respective triumphs as if both of them had won the gold together, as two true friends would. Six months after the games, Ivan and his family emigrate to the Bosnian province in Yugoslavia, so he can be closer to his friend, for work, and to settle in his ancestral homeland with the descendants of his forebears.


Georg brushes the memory aside. His finger, still delicately poised on the trigger, relaxes a little. His friend, Ivan, pulls the T-shirt down and tucks it into his torn pants, his movement indicating a hastening of pace as he heads off after his girl-child. Georg decides that his friend is of no concern to his cause. He is beaten in spirit and body and will probably die soon anyway, as he, Georg, was dying. The performance enhancing cocktails fed to them as children had taken their toll. However, he thinks to himself, I am a Croatian warrior still and the future must be assured for my descendants. He swings the rifle gently around to the right, tracking the sight ahead of the now running man, and brings the cross hairs of the laser scope to bear on the child's back, pulling the trigger gently, as if making love to it, and forcing the firing pin mechanism forward to impact on the waiting round.


The bullet, glorifying in its freedom, streaks through the air. At terminal velocity it punctures the air, destroying nitrogen, oxygen and carbon dioxide particles with the heat of the friction generated as it spins clockwise about itself. The hardened tip begins to heat up with the friction, burning micro-organisms floating about in the cool afternoon air. On its determined flight to the target, it is killing a little of the planets careful balance, tilting the scales of nature relentlessly towards destruction. No amount of love or hope can repair the damage caused. It is a calamitous certainty of death. After it has travelled a full two miles, and destroyed countless millions of life cells on it's journey, the velocity diminishes to a complete stop and the bullet arcs gracefully to the ground, it's death trip expended, it's mission completed.

The child stands still, the whistle of air as the round passes her right ear sending a terrifying fear through her body. As she turns in the direction of her father, she senses then sees him diving headlong at her, and is caught off-balance as he tackles her to the ground and forces all his body over her diminutive frame. She manages, in her terrifying fear to glance under his armpit and see a man fall from a tree back at the edge of the forest. He hits the ground with a thump and lays motionless. The scream starts to build in her throat, but the years of terror have taught her to stifle her fear. A scream would mean certain death for her and her father. She then hears a mighty thud, as does her father, forcing both to flinch from the next moment of death. However, there is no accompanying whistle of bullet or thwack of target attained, just the sound coming from the tree the man fell from. The thud again, and as she and her father look in the direction of the man, a dark gleaming object and a wooden stock fall to the ground, separately. Realising their fate had been altered, the father raised himself off the ground and in one athletic motion, grabbed his daughter up in his arms, and raced with all the strength he had towards the border post. The UN guards stationed there were waiting in absolute awe of the situation which had unfolded before their eyes.


Georg could feel the fall, the light nothingness of his descent indicating the sensation. But how? He had been sitting on the branch a micro millisecond ago. The sharp pain in both his shoulders suggesting some great force had inflicted his precipitation from the tree. Before he could think anymore on his demise, the ground appeared in his vision, breaking his lovely nose, parts of his arms, and seven ribs. The sensation was electric. The silver medals hanging round his neck were forced into his collarbone by the rock under him, breaking the collarbone and rupturing flesh and blood vessels in the impact area. Jesus he hurt.

The pain, forcing his eyelids shut, abated for a second, allowing him to open his eyes in bewilderment. His vision fixed firmly on the two objects raising themselves from the ground in front of him and dashing towards the border. He knew he had got the round off, dead centre of the girls back. Why wasn't she dead? How could he have not hit the future of Serbia at that range? The pain forced its way back requiring his senses immediate attention. Just then he heard the encroaching sound of air being forced apart as if an object were passing through it, and the soft thud of a great object landing adjacent his head. He forced the pain from his conscience, opened his eyes, and managed to swivel his broken neck a little towards the shadowy beast standing over him. What on earth was a monkey doing here, he thought?

The monkey, old, strong, and obviously very flexible, bent down to the broken warrior, took his broken hand and said to Georg, "What God wants, God Gets. Come with me my son."

Sunday, 19 November 2017

A few more poems from my pen.

Warning poem two has ADULT CONTENT.

Tu Tangata

He sits alone on a canvass of choice,
the room depicting a Hermits cave,
well worn chairs, a threadbare carpet,
all signs family have forsaken him.

His office bureau complete with computer
his lifeline to a world passing him by,
the aroma of sweet smelling tobacco smoke
endless cups of coffee sweating brown ooze.

On Saturdays he changes his sheets, sweat stained,
his shoes spread around the unswept floor,
there are smudges on the carpet where tears drop,
the pain of loss too hard to bear for a once great man.

The walls are littered with the remnants of his life,
children’s photographs, self portraits, Tangaroa art,
a small table holds a malfunctioning alarm clock,
to remind him that life just passes by on a daily basis.

The 12 Hour Timesheet


Forgive the language
it’s about to explode
all over the page
all over the fucken road


I mated with a black witch
we had a grey child
yet our lips are pink
when mingling


there’s this old cunt
lives down Framby Avenue
he’s been tormenting children
that stop at his door begging for fun.


my baby floats in jello
she’s fucked her life badly
I try to rescue her daily
but teasing old men suits her fine


lettuce leaves covered in snail trails
I was and clean
dusting off spam
apple seed coverings
today the fucking light shone black


ok so he screwed her big time
the life of a sailor hazardous
gonorrhea and herpes
maybe even a punch in the head
till dawn drunken matelots
service the netherworld women
and them they.


capsicum, green, yellow, red
mixed with mince
a drop of Dolmios
and onions to kill for
a delicious mixture
served with macaroni.


i delighted in ecstasy
fucked this island virgin
on a beach white
from coral and sun,
we humped like baby pigs
till dawn’s light
she told me - in Tongan
she loved me,
i said thank you, and ran


the valve on the old radio
sparkled and warmed
the station too sketchy
to tune into.


remorse, I’m sorry
the language so guttural
so esoteric sailor speak
the black humour
a thing to cherish
a dead person
treated like shit
just because we are alive,
pass the remote,
I need to sanctify.


ok so I went
from the New House
to the outhouse,
my time on the streets
by days in dust
and rubbish bins,
a passing stranger
treated like crap,
like the turd they are,
they have a life
mines exorbitantly dashed.


i sometimes lie on my back
under the spreading Kowhai
a Tui wings it’s way in
pecks at the flowers,
a bird song of pure joy
emanates into the ether
summer this year fine
with nature singing “all’s well”

A Mirror in a Window

The flyer on the window says
“Peer into the Magic Mirror
to see things you’ve never seen”

Children congregate and wave
jump and shake in front of that window
the images distorted in reflection

then occasionally a clown will appear
shake his booty, smile woefully
and the children would scream with laughter,

they duck and dive, chase shadows
the reflection now a rainbow
a kaleidoscope of possibilities.

Sanchez the young kid from the cantina
stands lonely watching nothing happening
see his possibilities faltering in belief

the other children shun him for his disability
one leg a wooden replica, hopping along
the other strong from years of practice,

still he sees a wry smile form, tantalising
the clown rubs his shoulders, gives him a pat
points to the mirror, surprise, happy times,

the ladies who are mothers stand back chatting
see the by play and smile, mothers alike
they won’t look in the Magic Mirror for fear,

fear of seeing a totally childlike reality
where husbands are off to work or the pub
working off their frustrations, their hardships

not seeing what their children see, too busy,
even on the way home past this magic store,
their shadows flick the image maker, gone

All the children are tucked up in bed
the Google monsters silently asleep
a reminder of a clown and magic mirror

to ease their journey into Lala land.