The thing about Pakistan

Those of us used to lulling ourselves to sleep with thoughts of great Pakistani cricket feats have been having a hard time lately. Even as recently as a few weeks ago, a silken Mohammad Yousuf late cut between gully and point, a Mohammad Asif in-cutter through bat and pad, or a bludgeoned pull into the stands by Shahid Afridi – or, for the nostalgic-minded, Imran Khan merely turning at the top of his bowling mark, Javed Miandad doing little more than taking guard, or Wasim Akram simply flashing a smile – would have been enough to sink even the most resistant insomniac fan into gentle stupor and a blissful night’s sleep.

As of the last three weeks, these images have not been coming as readily to mind as they once did. In their place, thoughts of misguided fast bowlers delivering suspicious no-balls and sleazy bookies counting a tableful of money have invaded the senses. Not that the betting scandal has been something particularly unusual. After all, off-the-record talk of match-fixing and spot-fixing has been going on in Pakistan cricket for a while. And as far as crises go, for the last few years Pakistan cricket has been going through one monster turn of events after another.

But the August 29 newsflash was spiced with enough salacious detail to take over the conversation completely. Still, any storm is expected to die down after a few days, and by now you would have thought the headlines would move on to an expectant wait, as the ICC appoints a tribunal and fact-finding begins. But a scandal-mongering British tabloid press is refusing to let go, and the sleaze and muck just keeps coming.

In Pakistan, most of us have learned that the most effective means of redirecting a cricket conversation is to play hard and play well. This lesson may have been lost on PCB chairman Ijaz Butt, who keeps talking in public as if he is holding forth with cronies in a drawing room in Lahore, but the coach-captain combination of Waqar Younis and Shahid Afridi, scarred veterans of multiple wars, knows it well.

Wounds were too fresh for any kind of fight back in the two-match Twenty20 series, but in the opening ODI in Durham the team walked out with purpose. That contest may have been lost by 24 runs, but it was clear that Pakistan had hit their stride. The next match at Headingley was stretched to the final over, but it was a 320-330 pitch and a target of 295 for a formidable English side led by an in-form Andrew Strauss was never going to be enough. Then came the victory at The Oval, one of Pakistan’s most reliable hunting grounds, and with it dreams of a victory to follow at Lord’s, and a decider at the Rose Bowl.

I’ll be honest. When the boundaries were coming thick and fast for Andrew Strauss and Steve Davies as they chased down 266 with a century opening stand last night, I had given up. Several other comrades, judging by the despondency of their text messages, had given up too. It was approaching midnight in Pakistan and a warm bed seemed far more inviting than fuming and stewing in frustration.

Then a wicket fell, and another. Sleep vanished. The ball began to reverse, boundaries dried up, and text messages began flying furiously. Eventually, Eoin Morgan stood between Pakistan and victory. Afridi had already dropped him, and this “little Irish genius” – as Osman Samiuddin described him in an urgent missive – was determined to cash in.

When Morgan top edged Shoaib Akhtar, I switched my television off. The ball rose alarmingly into the night sky, triggering a long-hidden reflex in my right thumb, which clamped down on the clicker. Even in the best of times, the idea of Pakistani fielders catching a skier is riddled with anxiety. On this occasion, it unleashed sheer panic.

After a few seconds, I turned the TV back on, but muted the sound and shielded my eyes from the screen. Holding my breath, I moved my hand just enough to allow a peek at the score line. From 211 for 7, it had changed to 211 for 8. Morgan was walking back and England were as good as gone. I realised I hadn’t indulged in these antics for many years, not since I was 15, which was six years ago.

That’s the deal with Pakistan. It may be a team that from time to time punches its fans in the stomach and kicks them in the face, but it is also a team that even in middle-age can make you feel like a teenager once again. Take that, forces of evil, whoever you are, wherever you are

Arrested Development Won't Help Me Here.

I love it when someone, anonymous of course, leaves me what he or she presumes is a biting comment and then fucks it all up by making absolutely no sense whatsoever. Yes I am a junky, possibly dumb although opinions vary but what the fuck does rationalizing hafta do with that particular line from my last post?
I wasn't quite as evolved in my drug use at that point in time and certainly no junky, so how does the way I felt then have one single, solitary thing to do with who/what I am now?
Is it rationalizing to admire someone for doing something so beautifully distasteful and unnecessary that it becomes awe inspiring? Yeah it was gross and kinda creepy but the fact that he even went there is almost poetic in it's own vile way. Respect is subjective, not to be lumped into one single category, one might assume that a person as mentally gifted as yourself would recognize that.
Moving on, I have no stories of young boys selling their virtue for a taco this evening, interesting as they may be. I am restless and have no patience for such things.
I am doing my damnedest to make this thing with Adrian die a quiet, peaceful death. I think it was sometime last week that I came to the realization that when one's life begins to resemble a Pat Benetar song, it's time to take action. I only thank God that Richie is far, far away and thus unable to complicate matters any more than they already are. I've been so fucking scattered these past few months, I don't think I could handle it.
I went for a ride with Maniac to kill time and ended up somewhere I shouldn't be, dealing with morons who have no place in my life at all. Some rotten toothed, arrogant, greasy business contact of Rainman's got a bit too pushy and I was escorted back to the truck after telling him that I refused to be dictated to by some Bobby Peru looking motherfucker who didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground! I couldn't help it really, that jerk off truly looked like he had been dining on crunchy gravel for the last 20 years and IFC has been running Wild at Heart all week. You can understand how I made the connection.
I went gladly and waited out the transaction, no foot dragging here! That house smelled exactly like his teeth looked, no great loss to sit in the car. I wasn't interested in their speed or their bullshit and was also preoccupied with the Adrian situation.
Once I got home, ate the dilaudid that R-man gave me and sat to try and figure shit out, I decided to attempt the pussy way out and just not answer the phone/door...ever again. I would've worked beautifully if not for the fact that Casey was in a pissy mood and the incessant ringing was driving him crazy.
I don't have the energy to go into details right now but let me just say, if love is a battlefield this has all the makings of a massacre. I'm just not in the right frame of mind to be nice about anything and my patience is deteriorating at an alarming rate.
If there was ever a time that I thought my arrested development put me on the same level as Adrian, I am over it now. I'm so glad I was done with highschool before I had to deal with crap like this. My experiences concerning the opposite sex were of a much more adult nature when I was his age and I always had the sense to know when something was done and over with. I never wanted to be that girl who was too stupid to know when to kick rocks and I never have been. I don't plead or try to bargain, I get out while the gettin's good and that is the best advice I can give anyone.
I sincerely wish Adrian was as good at reading the situation as I was, this soap opera is getting exhausting! I'll take as much responsiblity as is mine but no more than that. I obviously blurred the lines between innocent slap and tickle and serious involvement, yes I did. I also took it for granted that he would understand the difference and not be such a girl about it! *sigh*
Anyway, I'm working on this issue and asking myself how someone who looks like Adrian can be such a bitch about all this. I've been told that my attraction to him lies in fact that his being younger than me makes him less threatening but to agree with that would give credence to that voodoo they call psychology and that is something I won't do. I've been surrounded by threatening guys most of my life, why would I start to care now? Exactly, I wouldn't.
So I will go on my merry way, watch movies til dawn and hope that I will fall asleep at some point, not likely but I can dream.
Champagne wishes,

Two days ago i decided to kill myself ............. Last night I changed my mind and decided to stay alive. At Twenty i have been both a brilliant failure and a dull success. I have made a lot of mistakes that have paid off and a lot of smart moves i'll regret forever.However long it turns out to be. I have gone from rags to riches and back, and managed to hold on to them both, though not to much else. my frens all seem to be dead, fed up with me or just disgusted and who can blame them. And now I am all alone. As I contemplate my life, I realize i only have two problems: the past and the future-- well, future is something else

These days inside a room of 9x12. I have been going through all the news papers available in the market online as i can't afford to buy all those shits with no good articles on them. Recently while turning my hawk eye thru one of these i saw a picture which was told to be latest but is about few months old and it was public-ed  with the same title as The man who dedicates.