Wednesday 29 January 2014

Facebook goes viral in a whole new way?



Facebook might die off in the next two years, but it won't be because it's like a virus.



Some academics at Princeton have hypothesised that Facebook spread like an infectious disease and will die out like one too, as the world becomes immune to its attractions. Cavalierly, they predict the platform will be largely abandoned by 2017. They use as their primary data the analogous case of MySpace.

This post is very popular on LinkedIn for some reason.

But the learned professors are looking for gifts at the wrong end of the horse. The question here is not whether Facebook will die - maybe it will, maybe it won't - but what will kill it off? Predicting a murder without an idea of the villain is a rum business.

MySpace didn't fail by itself: it got beaten. By Facebook. The paper treats an "online networking service" (ONS) as a discrete infectious disease: an affliction; a curable thing; something to be considered in isolation. 

This misses the trick altogether: the interesting thing isn't the virus; it's the susceptibility to illness in the population. Unlike a virus, Facebook doesn't feed on an bug. It feeds on a feature: the human desire to connect. People develop immunities to disease; they don't to the need to socially interact. Connecting isn't an illness: it's a part of the human condition.

You might say people developed an immunity to MySpace, but a better view is that the MySpace virus got wiped out by the Facebook virus. The people stayed sick (if you call being human "sick").

Facebook doesn't feed on an bug. It feeds on a feature: the human desire to connect. People develop immunities to disease; they don't to the need to socially interact. 

So for Facebook to die, another epidemic needs to kill it. That is, Facebook will die if and only if something else surfaces to challenge Facebook, which:
  • (a) can satisfy all the critical needs Facebook currently satisfies, and
  • (b) can satisfy additional needs Facebook can't, and
  • (c) Facebook doesn't react quickly enough to either kill it off (i.e. buy it - see Instagram) or provide an alternative to (b) before the competitor gets comparable critical mass.
And Facebook has a hell of a lot of critical mass for a competitor to catch up on.

So who would this competitor be? Such a killer virus would have to either:
  • Be super stealthy (hard to build a billion customers servicing a new need without anyone noticing); OR
  • Have a USP that rocks and which absolutely can't be replicated by Facebook (in the post information revolution is that even possible?); OR
  • Be an established player who has resources and critical mass already.
The first two options are remote (that said, Google, Facebook and Twitter could all qualify as "Super-Stealthy" meaning the prevailing market leaders they overturned were super stupid). The third is plausible. So who are the likely candidates?
  • Twitter? Fails on (a) above and has no plausible strategy for fixing that. (Twitter  (public, impersonal) and Facebook (private, personal) do very different things, and can cohabit, provided no-one figures a way of achieving both in a meaningful way. But see Google+ below)
  • Amazon has the scope to do it but doesn't seem to be trying to at present - maybe the Kindle is the stalking horse for that. The USP of Amazon is *you can buy stuff here*
  • Apple? The most likely to fail as its unique selling proposition has all but vanished in the last couple of years (whereas Facebook's it still pretty much intact as far as I can see)
  • Google+? It certainly could fill that space, and could be the killer app that can be Twitter and Facebook at once - but it's taking its sweet time so far.
  • Microsoft? Loooong shot but, the xBox One is pretty cool...
Of these the best shots would be Amazon or Google. But unless Facebook is managed even more incompetently than MySpace was, I reckon it will be a long time coming.

Thursday 18 July 2013

Tetherdown Trundlers CC vs Eltham CC, Sunday 14 July 2013

Eltham:  Eltham CC 183/9 dec. vs. Tetherdown CC, 129/7: Match Drawn.


Sunday 14 July 2013 might go down as the day the Tetherdown Trundlers franchise came of age. 

Both in the field and at the crease we found an inner resolve in the face of environmental conditions, a want of numbers and canny opposition. In the contribution from the first graduate of Trundlers’ Academy we saw vindication of our long term strategy. In our bowlers’ trailing hands, we discovered an unexpected and age-appropriate dimension to our wicket taking.

But let’s first set expectations: we didn’t win, or really even come close. But, courtesy of a different match format, we discovered an outcome that suits the Trundlers perfectly: the stubbornly eked-out draw.

Limited overs cricket is binary: you win or you lose, in the Trundlers’ experience with a stout preponderance for the latter. Thus have we overlooked the excellently English psychology of our sport, delivered by the gap - the same one by which all Englishmen commemorate Dunkerque - between victory and defeat. On Sunday there was to be no limit to either side’s overs; to win, a team needed to outscore the opposition and dismiss its innings entirely. A third outcome, in which neither side wins or loses, was on the table.

And how we Trundlers had forgotten the different complexion that third way casts! How agreeable we found it is to wallow in the tepid purgatorial waters of no particular result! The broad smile on Skipper Frais’ face at stumps, as he tucked his bat under his arm and stalked grandiloquently from the field, said it all.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves: a conclusion is nothing without its premises.

The premises in this case belonged to the Eltham Cricket Club, not far from the Sidcup bypass, some miles the far (or, as it is known in N10, “wrong”) side of the Dartford Tunnel.

Our opponents boast a century and a half of proud history. This is their sesquicentennial year. They point also to auspicious forebears: Eltham is where the 66 year-old W. G. Grace played out his cricketing dotage, his last match concluding as the Great War erupted around him.

So, rarely has a day been so generously filled with auguries. Cricket was in the air at every level of abstraction. We left our sons and wives contesting the pride of Tetherdown Primary as North Middlesex Under 10s (stewarded by Honourable Trundler Hayward) took on their Highgate counterparts (stewarded by Honourable Trundler Ball). As we navigated the sweltering traffic of Hackney Wick, Agnew and Blofeld jacked the temperature further with reports from Nottingham. Messrs Pattinson and Haddon of the formal penal colony were making easier work of their tenth wicket partnership than expectation predicted they should.

Amidst the heat shimmer of Sidcup, the spirit of Grace himself awaited. It is a handsome and generously-proportioned oval, well concealed from the road. It promised a fast outfield and a dry but well-matted playing surface. Skipper Frais took an executive decision to field (he now equivocates about whose decision it was, but no one else of the playing 22 has made any claim to it). He resorted immediately to his New Zealanders, and given the option, Buxton at once took the uphill, upwind end intending to let gravity do its work.

Eltham’s innings

Eltham’s openers had a resolute look about them. They were not especially troubled by our opening armoury. Buxton was relieved to see his first few looseners allowed to glide harmlessly down the leg side. Gordon’s first ball was not treated quite so magnanimously, Bulpitt getting quickly into position and lofting it mightily for six behind square. As the mercury touched thirty it looked like it might be a long day.

Skipper Frais, still adorned with the Duck, kept his horses fresh by frequent rotation. While Master Bonfield’s line and length was enough to have Buxton openly pondering his shelf-life as an opener, still it couldn’t crack the Eltham starting pair. That task fell to the crafty Mr Morris, a label I hope he will not be affronted to hear gives him the benefit of some considerable doubt.

To a ball well flighted and of good length Eltham’s Fisher drove full-bloodedly and straight. It wasn’t with malice aforethought that Morris laid fingers on it, nor even reflex, but the simple inability to get out of the way. This was nonetheless enough to do for the non-striker Bulpitt who, backing up correctly, could only watch in horror as the ball cannoned from Morris’ annular and clipped his bails. As his team arose incredulously, Morris composed himself, assembled a nonchalant air and, while not in so many words saying so, evoked the idea that this turn of events might have been part of his plan. His watering eyes, bitten lip and swelling fingers told a different story.

1/72 off nine: Eltham’s tail seemed a long way off, especially if that was how we were going to get them out. Wouldham was the next man in, and after some circumspection he too set about accumulating runs with apparent ease. Frais brought Buxton back on to stem the flow which he did, to the accompaniment of the day’s only minor controversy. Having failed in a Leg Before Wicket appeal that might have succeeded on another day, (a day for which your correspondent will also save his treatise “On The Manifold Injustice to Left Armers of the LBW Rule”) and then being carted around the ground for an over, Buxton again trapped Wouldham low, this time with a faster yorker unequivocally bound for the base of the middle stump. The Trundlers went up, as did the umpire’s finger and, to our surprise, the batsman’s dudgeon. Wouldham marched off giving unsubtle indications that he felt we knew he’d hit it. He was the only one of that view. To his credit he was able to concentrate and apply this sense of injustice to an impressive bowling spell later on, and was to have a revenge of sorts on the New Zealander.

Still, Tetherdown’s fortunes began to turn. Gordon switched to the downwind end while Trunders debutant Ritterband commenced a lengthy spell of Left Arm Orthodox - his first in 20 years - into the breeze. Fisher, now well over his half century, was scoring freely until he leathered one firmly but uppishly into the mid-off area. Gordon, mid-way through exit manouevres from that magisterial bowling action of his, conjured a change in momentum to his left which, though deft, went far enough neither to catch the ball nor, fortunately, to impede Buxton at mid-off who managed to catch it with that trusty solar plexus of his.

With Fisher’s admirable knock at an end and three wickets down for 128, Frais felt able to tighten his ring*. Having taken a couple of overs to rediscover his range –no disgrace after a couple of decades’ layoff – Mr Ritterband started to get the better of the new batsmen with generous flight, immaculate length, and unpredictable bounce. James, an enthusiastic cutter of the ball, looked less at home playing off his legs and eventually lobbed a noncommittal stroke straight down Everett’s throat at wide midwicket.

Eltham were still regrouping themselves when the curse of the flailing hand saw for another non-striker, this time Meeson, off Gordon, who celebrated the wicket with a similarly disingenuous look of wisdom after the fact.

Not long after, Seeds failed to make his ground for a cheeky single and Swain, who had been holding up the middle order, chose the wrong ball to have a slash at, and lost his leg stump to Gordon. Morris compounded a fine tight bowling spell with a sharp catch (mostly with his other hand) off Bonfield senior at point. With the run rate slowed to a trickle and the afternoon wearing on, Eltham declared their innings closed. Over quite splendid array of cheese and pickle rolls Tetherdown girded (and girdled) themselves for the run chase. 178 needed, and as many overs as could be fitted in, with a maximum of 20 after 6pm.

After a hard day in the field Tetherdown’s bowling attack, with thirty seven overs between five of them for just thirteen culpable extras, felt as keenly as ever that they’d done their bit and should be allowed to observe the remainder of the match from the shade of the pavilion. It was not to be so.

Trundlers’ Innings

Still, as things started out we were hopeful. Everett and Phillips both looked good in the face of a disciplined opening spell from Tanveer and Swain. Indeed, the first departure from the field of play was not a batsman, but the Elder Bonfield, shaken from his umpiring stupor by the realisation that he was due to bat at number 3, was therefore next in and really ought to have his pads on. In hindsight he may wish he’d stayed put. 

In any case, as is so often the way with the Trundlers, both openers got a start – we were fully eight overs in before Phillips caught a thin edge to the keeper, and Replacement Umpire Grays, with a doleful look, raised his finger. Phillips felt he had cause to regret the absence of a TV replay, but none of the Tetherdown men with a view of the incident shared his misgivings (with the exception of incoming Bonfield: had he known what was coming next he might have sought Phillips’ reprieve from hotspot, a third umpire, an appellate court and might even have thrown himself on the mercy of his maker).

Still flustered from his moment of umpiring panic, Bonfield D played all around his first ball from Swain, and it played all around him, striking his toe, pad, bat and wicket like some sort of pinball before coming to rest in the keeper’s glove. In the confusion, Bonfield stumbled forward and the keeper stumped him for good measure.

Now it is just as well a man can only be out once in a cricket innings, or we might have been four more down on the spot. “I don’t believe it”, Bonfield muttered as he gazed at the parched earth.

Mr Grays adopts a charming air of bafflement when he umpires, and here it was well justified. For a moment, as Eltham’s inner ring carried out their war-dance, hopping excitedly from foot to foot, Mr Grays froze, overwhelmed by the choice for which he was spoiled on what to give Bonfield out for. Finally, having decided a single finger wouldn’t do the occasion justice, he raised two.

Now if ever a team needed a skipper’s knock the Trundlers did, two down and hardly batting down to eleven (by this I mean no slight on our lower order: we only had ten players). And out strode Skipper Frais, having ostentatiously coated himself with suncream, as if to say he had come to stay for a while, but with a large yellow duck on his back, as if to say he hadn’t. It was between him and Mr Everett to salvage the situation.

Mr Everett is a fine strokemaker on his day: put a mullet and a walrus moustache on him and, in the throes of a crashing cover drive, you might mistake him for a young David Boon. Having held “judicious” as his watchword for ten overs the Bristolian thought he’d done enough to start playing expansively. Alas, Eltham’s Swain had other ideas and his containing line and length proved too much: dreaming no doubt of a fine ton at Launceston, Everett chased outside off, intent on one of those blazing Boonian drives; the ball stayed true to the line it was bowled on and accounted for his leg stump.

With 40 odd on the board, three down and a good 30 overs’ worth of play remaining, those making arrangements for an early supper back in N10 would not have been dissuaded by the sight of Mr Grays approaching the wicket. Certainly not if they had heard him remark, as he set off, “well, the main thing is to score a run. As long as I manage that, I’m happy”.

Your correspondent is an experienced lower order batsman, having waited upon all kinds of late wicket stands over his career. There are times where the not-out batsmen are in such apparent control that the next drop can relax, catch a few winks, even pop across the road for a pack of cigs and the latest issue of the Racing Post. Attending on Mr Grays’ batting affords no such tranquillity. You feel more like an anxious relative visiting a trauma ward. But never for long: Grays got his run, cut deftly through the vacant leg slip area, added another the same way, before lofting one gently off the shoulder to midwicket and retreating gratefully to the pavilion, his day’s work done.

With no specialist batsmen to come and just forty two on the board, it once again fell to the workhorses to do something about the situation. Your correspondent was next, and the skipper came out to greet me for some encouraging words. Residual sunblock gave skipper’s face a pale and waxen aspect which I misconstrued as the early signs of heart failure. I feared the heat may be getting the better of his pulmonary system; it was certainly getting to mine. I felt quite light-headed.

Now bowlers are from Mars, batsmen from Venus. They think about the world in contrasting ways. Often they misunderstand each other. My Captain started babbling in ways I had trouble making sense of.

“Occupy the crease,” he said.
I looked about me to check. “But I am occupying the crease,” I replied. I began to fear he was being patronising.
“Only hit the balls that are there to be hit,” he said.
Now I knew he was. “But they’re all there to be hit. That’s what they’re bowling them for.”

The idea of remaining at the crease for longer than the handful of deliveries it usually takes a social cricketer to put one on the sticks seemed oppressive. But as the first over passed I had an epiphany. Swatting wildly at deliveries wide of off stump lost its appeal. I had a go at leaving one. You heard me: I left it, completely alone! I even waved my bat flamboyantly in the air! O, how strange and bracing a sensation!

Then one pitched at a good length on middle stump, given enough air for me to override my fight/flight instinct. I held my bat vertically out in front of me. The ball bounced off it, rolling harmlessly back down the pitch. I wasn’t out! Umpire Phillips looked ready rub his disbelieving eyes with his cravat, but they were not deceiving him. By Jove, this new idea of defence is marvellous! Mr Frais and I started taking gentle singles! We rotated the strike! I PADDED OFF!

I can’t deny there were moments when my natural instinct to wallop the living daylights out of the cherry got the better of me, but generally our partnership was one of caution, taste and elegance. The runs began accumulating. Then Mr Wouldham, with whom you may recall there had been a testy exchange earlier, came into the attack. He was still simmering about my successful Leg Before Wicket, and creditably marshalled his frustration into a parsimonious bowling spell. He finally got his just desserts when, at the Non-Striker’s End, I upheld our club’s venerable tradition of inexplicable running between wickets.

Captain Frais pushed the ball to the fielder at short midwicket, and transparently no run was available. I ran anyway. I believe it was Mr Seeds at Midwicket who heeded Wouldham’s strangulated cry, and so it was that, with me well short of my ground, the bowler set about obliterating my wicket with his bare knuckles. He was still at it as the younger Bonfield, my replacement, arrived at the crease.

Such a display of animal spirits might have unnerved another lad of that age, but young Bonfield displays worldliness beyond his years. He was quickly into his stroke-play, which is handsome indeed, and promptly cracked his first to the boundary and snuck a single from his second. It was only courtesy of an extraordinary snatch low down in the gully (from Wouldham, I believe, mostly with his other hand) that Bonfield was dismissed following what looked from the boundary like a gracefully carried-out late cut.

Only Gordon, the untried Ritterband and Morris remained. Your correspondent has voiced  concerns before about Morris’ excessively low place in the order, but today there looked to be no doubt that he’d get a fair old go, especially once Mr Gordon had completed his customary round trip to the crease and back. But this was to reckon without the ministrations of Mr Ritterband, the debutant. Ritterband’s casual references earlier in the day to “not having played since the first XI at school” were presumed by all to be unfalsifiable braggadocio. They were now clothed in hopeful plausibility.

There were eight or nine overs remaining of the 20 after six, perhaps more. Mr Ritterband took a conventional guard on middle stump, left his bat there, but then stationed his feet six inches outside leg, affecting a curious stance resembling nothing so much as a gothic arch. Anxious looks were exchanged between Frais at the non-striker’s end and your correspondent, out for another spell of umpiring. We wondered wordlessly what kind of first XI encouraged this sort of display. So did Eltham: the ring came in, far tighter than anything Frais could imagine, all ten of them stationing themselves around the bat at a radius of about six feet, like jackals at a poisoned watering hole.

Yet as Mr Tanveer’s arm rolled over, Ritterband snapped into an orthodox position and batted correctly, smartly across the square. This was to be the unvarying sequence for the remainder of the game: Frais at one end, Ritterband at the other, a scrum of fielders intruding from all sides, but masterful and resolute defence rolling across the block from each ball, as the sun lowered in the sky. Not a run was scored in the last seven overs. It was magnificent to watch, though it might pall on a ball-by-ball description. Skipper Frais was magnificent in concentration, Ritterband a revelation as his foil, and as they walked from the field at stumps, the men of Tetherdown felt the joy of Dunkerque, made real in South London. W.G. Grace, the spirit of cricket himself, would have been smiling.

*It is, as Trundler Oral History records, a thing of rare complexity in any weather, and its tightening only adds to the sense of marvel.

Sunday 7 July 2013

Tetherdown Trunders vs Cuxham CC, Sunday 23 June 2013

It was under heavy skies but borne upon hopeful hearts that a small flotilla of Tetherdown men set out on the three and a half hour* voyage to Wattlington, a pretty Oxfordshire town abutting Lake Windermere‡.

There was much to discuss: not only prospects of play but the matters expected to arise from the scheduled extraordinary general meeting: chiefly, who should wear the duck shirt and under what circumstances, and who should occupy the camp stretcher. These matters turned out to be of lengthy debate but little eventual moment.

‪An air of apprehension therefore, and not just because Binns was to skipper, led to unusual circumspection at lunch: much tomato juice and soda water was consumed – more on this later – and many a jealous eye turned to Duncan’s exotic Scotch egg, the like of which no one recalled having seen previously.

‪The meal dispatched, it was quickly on to Cuxham, where in the shadow of the Chilterns and under scudding skies the locals awaited. As we pulled in a processional of reverent Oxonians, sitting pretty on 2 from 2 in recent fixtures, brought the scorer’s chair to the pavilion.

‪Captain Binns lost the toss and was asked to field. Skipper’s remorse saw him agree to trot up the slope, tacking into the teeth of the nor’wester from the Leeward End. Buxton wasted no opportunity to let out the sheet and come honking down from the Windward.


Wattlington Oxfordshire,  abutting Lake Windermere
‪For all the New Zealander’s theatrics it was the skipper who made the first breakthrough, bowling opener Atkins as cheaply as he did comprehensively. Thereafter his bowlers were able to restrict the locals’ rate of stroke in a most satisfying fashion.

‪After eight overs Bonfield relieved Binns at the Leeward End, Colley relieved Buxton at the Windward and Frais relieved himself at the midwicket boundary.

‪Tightness in the field continued, in bowling and bladder. Bonfield’s generous flight had the batsmen at sixes and sevens, as if sharing the rest of the field’s awareness of a Glowering Presence in the covers. Indeed, Colley had snapped up Gavin’s mistimed push on the off side before anyone in the fielding side had summoned the nerve to so much as encourage him. Two down for thirty odd: the visitors sniffed opportunity.

‪Not long afterward, Bonfield was persuaded to abandon a creditable experiment with a leg slip and was immediately rewarded with a wicket, this time a ball pulled firmly to short midwicket which Buxton gratefully retrieved from where it had become lodged in his solar plexus.

‪Bonfield could be convinced to eschew slips; Colley couldn’t get enough of them. Leg slips, fly slips, all sorts of exotic concoctions: he even took to inventing new varieties of slip to ensure every angle was covered. But when he eventually drew the false shot he was looking for, it steepled high and wide into the deep extra cover. As the ball prescribed its arc, its bowler threw back his head and issued his customary howl, apparently unconcerned that he himself had directed Binns to station seven men, not counting the keeper, behind square. It was Mr Kohler who showed great fleetness of foot in making ground from third leg fly slip to catch it.

‪There was a certain poignancy to that effort. It was to prove Kohler’s last significant display of athletic prowess for some months, for shortly he was to give the phrase “leg slip” a whole new, ghastly, meaning.

‪The Ducksman, Frais, came into the attack for Bonfield, and plied a containing line and length. ‪This allowed the Trundlers’ ace out of his hole.

“Gordon’s alive”, as the saying goes, and the man from Karori Heights, well used to a stiff breeze, hoisted not just full sail but jib, genoa and spinnaker and as he thundered in was fair blowing into the blighters too. What a marvellous, colourful sight; and yet the gathering storm over Drayton St. Leonard had nothing on the one behind the New Zealander’s eyes. Before long Colley’s ululations were but a distant memory: growls of existential ardour were emanating from somewhere deep inside the Wellingtonian as ball rapped pads and beat edges with regularity.


 The luckless reintroduction of his countryman confirmed that it just wasn’t to be the New Zealanders’ day with the ball – how often do we hear cricket fans saying that? – and the latter overs wore on punctuated only by further trips to the boundary from various Trundlers, occasioned as often by the lunchtime soda as the home side’s strokeplay.


‪Messrs Morris and Freeman briefly graced the attack before Binns and Gordon brought matters to conclusion without further fall of wickets, but without undue inflammation of the run rate either.


Cuxham's bowling (courtesy Buxton's Gizmo)
‪Fewer catches were held in the second half of the innings, Messrs Kohler, Frais, Colley and Buxton all putting down chances they might have held on other days, but none egregiously enough to trouble the camp-bed judges. As the men of Muswell returned to the pavilion they reflected on a good session’s work: 123 in 35 overs felt an achievable target with wickets in hand.

‪Phillips and Colley strode out confidently. Umpire Buxton carried a scoring gizmo that promised all kinds of intra-game analysis. Cuxham’s openers bowled intelligently and with knowledge aforethought of the conditions. It quickly became clear it was not the sort of track on which one could compile a quick fifty. Of Tetherdown’s opening pair Philips looked the more likely to do it, elegantly pushing the ball around until he was deceived for seven. Colley batted patiently and correctly, rarely looking in trouble, accumulating the odd single and providing a foundation which allowed the incoming Frais to assume the senior hand in the partnership.

‪The Ducksman also looked comfortable steering the ball around, at least until Cuxham introduced their youth squad. Angus Parker, screaming in like a Hobie Cat to Buxton’s earlier schooner, sent a succession of lively balls short of a good length past Frais and Colley’s outside edges before having one each nip back and collect an off stump. Yet, with Frais out for 12, Colley for 13, and in Aylott LJ and Bonfield two new men at the crease, the run rate began slowly to tick up.

‪The arrival of Luke Styles, the other prong in Cuxham’s youth attack, did for Lord Justice Aylott. “He bowled me,” he confided to the incoming Buxton, “I seem to have missed it”. Thus informed, Buxton strode out, and did enough to last the over, eventually scampering to the other end when a ball squirted into the covers.

‪ At the other end Cuxham’s Atkins was mid-way through a lengthy spell of loftily flighted balls, most directed at a dead patch outside off stump. Determined to play correctly, Bonfield was having trouble penetrating Atkins’ ring, which was densely packed on the offside. For the incomer, however, Atkins momentarily drifted onto middle, the ball rose invitingly, and Buxton’s moment of brief dazzlement arrived: an uncultured swipe saw the ball sailing into the brook at Square Leg. This worked less well against the livelier pace of Styles from the far end, however, and presently Buxton found himself repeating Aylott’s wise words to the incoming Kohler and heading back to the shed.

It is a pity that Bonfield wasn’t party to this conversation, conducted midway between the pavilion and the wicket, for it might have fortified him not to do precisely the same thing a couple of overs later. Steam was verily emanating from his ears as he returned to his brothers knowing the team’s interests had lain in his remaining at the crease. Binns strode out, with the look of Custer about him, prepared to mount a last stand. 

At this point the Trundlers weren’t far off in terms of runs, but the supply of recognised batsmen was beginning to dwindle. Mr Kohler, however, was unquestionably one of those, and a gazelle between the stumps to boot. As long as this pair could remain at the crease, it felt quite doable. But disaster was to strike. To a shorter ball Kohler gathered himself erectly and battered it magisterially through the covers. On any but the lushest of outfields that would have been the end of the matter: the umpire would wave, the scorer acknowledge, and the outfielder would trot over the boundary, vault the fence and retrieve the cherry from deep in the neighbouring paddock. But having observed the leaden outfield the Tetherdown men knew better than that and Kohler’s commanding cry brought Binns – on this occasion alert and en garde – bolting from the non-striker’s end.


Trundlers' Wagon Wheel. Strong behind square.
It was then that a rifle-crack reverberated around the shire. Perhaps, we in the pavilion thought, the storm was finally breaking. We were soon disabused of that notion: Kohler crumpled as if felled by a sniper, and from the turf began issuing all sorts of guttural exhortations, none sanctioned by the Wisden Almanack. Binns, raw from his mid-week experience and with ears pinned back, kept running. Kohler, still prone, had moved his conversation on from the prospects of the single, and was reciting extracts from Roger Mellie’s dictionary. In any case it was apparent he would not make his ground, possibly not even by the end of the week.

Our hosts were magnanimous: no run-out was effected; without a word the ball was taken to be dead, and paramedics at once motioned on the field of combat. It did not look good.

With Kohler unfit to continue, the Beast unsheathed his new blade and made his way to the middle. Some four overs remaining and thirty odd required: you could see in his eyes that Mr Freeman knew his moment had come. But he had not accounted for the intervention of Binns who, perhaps upset by the grisly scenes of the previous over, had quite forgotten his mental rehearsals about the importance of running between the wickets.

Having deftly whipped his first ball off his hips for a single, Freeman found himself at the non-striker’s end. Binns steered the next ball into the gully area. The record does not reflect whether Binns played any part of his stroke with open eyes, but if he did he will have noticed that the gully area (which is, of course, behind square) was plainly populated, and by a fielder who had cleanly stopped the ball a mere handful of yards from the wicket. By his actions we can assume that Freeman had noticed all of this, had determined a run was so obviously unavailable that it went without saying, and had returned to his crease without articulating a call (which was his to make) to that effect.

Freeman looked most startled, therefore, to hear Binns’ blood-curdling cry of “YES!”, and quite horrified to see his captain galloping heroically away from the danger end. Nothing if not a pragmatist, and realising that motion in any direction other the pavilion’s was a plainly a waste of energy, Freeman turned and trotted directly back to the changing shed, correctly sliding his bat as he crossed the boundary rope.

This brought Mr Gordon to the crease, once (but only once) upon a time an opening batsman for the Trundlers. With a little over three overs left and still 27 required, the visitors’ optimistic spirits began to wane. As he tends to, Gordon maintained an admirable strike-rate of 50% before joining at least six of his comrades in playing across the line to a straight ball, but his final score of 2 scarcely budged the total, and it was Mr Morris, in your correspondent’s view most unfairly asked to bring up the rear, who showed great style and elegance in amassing a total of 1 not out and looked as likely as anyone to compile a match-winning innings. His intentions were frustrated by his Skipper’s faltering resolve. Mr Binns finally succumbed to the same temptation as so many of his men in swatting across the line to a ball on off stump, to depart and concede the game, on 7.



105 all out, then, but the Trundlers’ most creditable performance versus Cuxham to date, promising much for next year’s fixture.

‪*give or take 
‡ I crave your indulgence.

Saturday 8 June 2013

Where to pitch a cricket ball: an object lesson from the England cricket team

Something a little different today: Fast bowling line and length. The wealth of information on ESPNCricinfo's site makes for some fascinating observations on where to bowl a cricket ball. This information is taken from ESPN's cricinfo coverage of the Champions' Trophy One Day International between England and Australia on 8 June 2013.

In a nutshell, for a right armer, it should pitch OUTSIDE OFF STUMP. Exhibit one: all right arm seam bowlers bowling for England against Australia:


Given right armers will be bowling "over the wicket" (that is, to the left hand side of the stumps at the bowler's end) There is a clear "line of best fit" here which shows the line is towards middle stump.

When bowling to left hand batsmet they will tend to aim across the batsman and well outside his off stump. There's a very good reason for this: they'll get tonked if they put it on his leg side!) Because of the right armer's natural action, the ball will tend to "swing" in the air from right to left: away from the right hander and towards the left hander.

Note also that, to a right hand batsman, ALMOST NOTHING PITCHES IN LINE WITH THE STUMPS. The ball *should* land outside the line of off stump. Note also that NOTHING, BUT NOTHING, goes down the leg side. 

Also interesting to see what a difference consistency makes: 

Here's Mitchell Starc, the Australian left arm opener. He is bowling mostly left arm over the wicket, but is bowling round the wicket occasionally, which will make his "scatter pattern" more varied, but not so much as to explain the wide spattering here - this is like a Jackson Pollock!  Ten overs of this has cost Australia 75 runs for just one wicket  - incredibly expensive in a one day game.


Compare that to Stuart Broad (After 8 overs: he's still bowling as I write!)


This is really remarkably consistent line and length. But for one yorker, everything is short of a length - just a bit to short to drive, but not so short the batsman is comfortable playing off his back foot. He has to be watchful, and as a result Broad is very economical.

Sunday 17 March 2013

A Blue Peter guide to writing like a Lawyer


It takes years of study and practice to write properly florid legal text. While celebrity lawyers like Stanley Fish have taken ill-advisedly to the presses to entreaty us to write all our prose the same way, no-one actually enjoys reading legal text: not even the curmudgeon who has taken such pleasure in writing it. Construing a contract should not be a boldily pleasure but an act of ascetic sufferance the reward for which comes in the hereafter[1]. Legal counsel does this so the client doesn't have to.

So here is a rare peak inside the fevered mind of a deal lawyer. Take a simple sentence conveying a simple proposition. The less content the better. For example:
Unless we hear from you before the end of the week, we’ll assume you are happy with the termsheet.
Now imagine you are the deal lawyer. Your client asks you to “just have a quick look at this statement to make sure this is ok”. Here is your chance.

The first job is to depersonalise. Law is a formal, not colloquial. It is business. We should not countenance a familiar “we” and “you”: this is a commercial contract not a family reunion, or an outreach centre. Parties should address each other as if they were unacquainted third persons.
Unless the vendor hears from the purchaser before the end of the week, the purchaser will assume the vendor is happy with the termsheet.
But why have easy-to-follow active tenses, when we can depersonalise things further, and elongate with denser constructions? The passive tense is your friend. (If you are a commercial lawyer, you have to take friends wherever you can find them).
Unless the vendor is advised by the purchaser before the end of the week, the vendor will be assumed by the purchaser to be happy with the termsheet.
This all still seems a little loosey goosey. Commercial lawyers have no truck with loose geese. It is time to start layering on detail. This is a painstaking job, and should be done in stages. First, be infinitely clear about the times, dates, deadlines.
Unless the vendor is advised by the purchaser on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013, the vendor will be assumed by the purchaser to be happy with the termsheet.
I said infinitely clear. So don’t forget contingencies! What, for example, if 22 March is a public holiday?
Unless the vendor is advised by the purchaser on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013 (or, if such date is not a business day in London, the close of business on the immediately following day that is a business day in London), the vendor will be assumed by the purchaser to be happy with the termsheet.
Infinitely clear, I said: We have not yet provided what should happen if the immediately following business day falls in the following calendar month. Perhaps there might be some adverse tax consesquences. You might have to book revenue in a different quarter. Who knows? Better be safe than sorry. After all, as deal counsel you can’t rule out a week and a half of public holidays being spontaneously declared (a Royal Wedding for example), or war suddenly breaking out. And you can be sure, if war should break out between now and the end of the week, the very first thing your client will do is sue your ass for forgetting to think about it. Sure as eggs. So be careful.
Unless the vendor is advised by the purchaser on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013 (or, if such date is not a business day in London, the close of business on the immediately following day that is a business day in London, provided that if such immediately following Business Day would not fall in the calendar month of March, such date will be deemed to be the business day in London immediately prior to Friday 22 March), the vendor will be assumed by the purchaser to be happy with the termsheet.
As we inspect the detail, note that some of this original language is a bit sloppy. What is meant by “happy”, exactly? And what if our napkin contradicts the legal contracts we’re going to draw up?
Unless the vendor is advised by the purchaser on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013 (or, if such date is not a business day in London, the close of business on the immediately following day that is a business day in London, provided that if such immediately following Business Day would not fall in the calendar month of March, such date will be deemed to be the business day in London immediately prior to Friday 22 March), the vendor will be assumed by the purchaser to have consented to the material economic terms of the transaction, as set out in the term sheet which is attached to this letter as an annex, such consent always to be subject to the legally binding terms of the transaction as shall be agreed between the parties on or before the closing date.
It still isn’t clear who we’re talking about. Just in case anyone is in any doubt, can we say? With infinite certainty?
Unless Joe Bloggs (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Vendor”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s directors and employees (“Personnel”) but will exclude reference to consolidated and non-consolidated affiliates of such person, howsoever described (“Affiliates”)) is advised by John Doe (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Purchaser”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s Personnel but will exclude reference to such person’s Affiliates) on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013 (or, if such date is not a business day in London, the close of business on the immediately following day that is a business day in London, provided that if such immediately following Business Day would not fall in the calendar month of March, such date will be deemed to be the business day in London immediately prior to Friday 22 March), the Vendor will be assumed by the Purchaser to have consented to the material economic terms of the transaction, as set out in the term sheet which is attached to this letter as an annex, such consent always to be subject to the legally binding terms of the final transaction documents as shall be agreed between the parties on or before the closing date.
But hold on: what if my client agrees to change the deal in the mean time? Or events overtake us?
Subject to any subsequent mutually agreed amendment to the terms hereof between the parties, such amendments if made orally to be subsequently confirmed by the parties in writing within a reasonable period of time (provided that any failure to confirm such oral amendment shall not operate to vitiate such amendment) or any other written agreement between the parties, whether or not expressed as an amendment hereto, which is intended to modify the terms of this agreement, unless Joe Bloggs (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Vendor”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s directors and employees (“Personnel”) but will exclude reference to consolidated and non-consolidated affiliates of such person, howsoever described (“Affiliates”)) is advised by John Doe (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Purchaser”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s Personnel but will exclude reference to such person’s Affiliates) on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013 (or, if such date is not a business day in London, the close of business on the immediately following day that is a business day in London, provided that if such immediately following Business Day would not fall in the calendar month of March, such date will be deemed to be the business day in London immediately prior to Friday 22 March), the Vendor will be assumed by the Purchaser to have consented to the material economic terms of the transaction, as set out in the term sheet which is attached to this letter as an annex, such consent always to be subject to the legally binding terms of the final transaction documents as shall be agreed between the parties on or before the closing date.
The problem is, now, that this is starting to look like a pretty onerous sort of obligation, so we need to be extra careful to protect your client’s interest. How do you know that your won’t be held to a technical provision with malicious intent?
Subject to any subsequent mutually agreed amendment to the terms hereof between the parties, such amendments if made orally to be subsequently confirmed by the parties in writing within a reasonable period of time (the reasonableness of such period as determined by the parties acting in good faith and in a commercially reasonable manner and provided that any reasonable failure to confirm such oral amendment shall not operate to vitiate such amendment) or any other written agreement between the parties, whether or not expressed as an amendment hereto, which is intended to modify the terms of this agreement, unless Joe Bloggs (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Vendor”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s directors and employees (“Personnel”) but will exclude reference to consolidated and non-consolidated affiliates of such person, howsoever described (“Affiliates”)) is advised by John Doe (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Purchaser”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s Personnel but will exclude reference to such person’s Affiliates) on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013 (or, if such date is not a business day in London, the close of business on the immediately following day that is a business day in London, provided that if such immediately following Business Day would not fall in the calendar month of March, such date will be deemed to be the business day in London immediately prior to Friday 22 March), such Purchaser acting in good faith and in a commercially reasonable manner, the Vendor will be assumed by the Purchaser to have consented to the material economic terms of the transaction, as set out in the term sheet which is attached to this letter as an annex, such consent always to be subject to the legally binding terms of the final transaction documents as shall be agreed between the parties on or before the closing date.
Good faith. I like that. But wait a minute: if in acting in good faith that doesn't mean my client is somehow responsible to to its counterpart as some sort of fiduciary does it? Best be sure by using the great smart bomb in the lawyer’s armoury. For The Avoidance Of Doubt. No five words in the legal lexicon are more apt to create doubt where none before existed.
Subject to any subsequent mutually agreed amendment to the terms hereof between the parties, such amendments if made orally to be subsequently confirmed by the parties in writing within a reasonable period of time (the reasonableness of such period as determined by the parties acting in good faith and in a commercially reasonable manner provided that any reasonable failure to confirm such oral amendment shall not operate to vitiate such amendment) or any other written agreement between the parties, whether or not expressed as an amendment hereto, which is intended to modify the terms of this agreement, Unless Joe Bloggs (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Vendor”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s directors and employees (“Personnel”) but will exclude reference to consolidated and non-consolidated affiliates of such person, howsoever described (“Affiliates”)) is advised by John Doe (such person, together with its successors and assigns, the “Purchaser”, which expression will, unless the context requires otherwise, include reference to such person’s Personnel but will exclude reference to such person’s Affiliates) on or before the close of business in London on Friday 22 March 2013 (or, if such date is not a business day in London, the close of business on the immediately following day that is a business day in London, provided that if such immediately following Business Day would not fall in the calendar month of March, such date will be deemed to be the business day in London immediately prior to Friday 22 March), such Purchaser acting in good faith and in a commercially reasonable manner, the Vendor will be assumed by the Purchaser to have consented to the material economic terms of the transaction, as set out in the term sheet which is attached to this letter as an annex, such consent always to be subject to the legally binding terms of the final transaction documents as shall be agreed between the parties on or before the closing date. For the avoidance of doubt, the parties enter this Agreement as arms’ length contractual counterparties, at what they consider to be market prices, for valuable consideration and without notice of any interests to the contrary and nothing in this Agreement will constitute or be construed as, or be deemed to constitute or be construed as, a joint venture or partnership between the Vendor and the Purchaser. Neither the Purchaser nor the Vendor shall assume or be deemed to assume any fiduciary responsibilities or other analogous obligations of a trust or agency nature, and each parties hereby acknowledges that it has obtained such legal advice as it as considered necessary or appropriate to assess the suitability and/or appropriateness of entering into this transaction and expressly disclaims any reliance on the other, or any responsibility for advising the other, as to any risks, economic, legal, regulatory, reputational or otherwise, which may arise (whether or not such risks to arise) as a result of the contemplation of the transaction contemplated herein.
And so our 19 word napkin scribble has evolved into a 500 word behemoth. And we haven't yet started inserting indemnities, let alone a governing law clause. It requires no particular acumen, but just sheer bloody mindedness, to carry on, as we lawyers like to say, ad infinitum. Ad nauseam, even.





[1] i.e., when the bill becomes due.