Another Tape has fallen into the hands of Mimitig and MouthoftheMersey

Transcript from the England hotel after the Sri Lankan match on 4th April.


The tapes came through again for us, this is getting spooky because this time, we also received a few pictures and have to preface this transcript by informing you that Captain Vaughan has seldom looked so weary, so wan and drawn.

As he enters, instead of the usual chat and giggling in the ranks, the room is deathly silent. No-one can quite believe that despite all efforts by the batting tail, the match against Sri Lanka was lost on the last ball. MV surveys the ashen-faced squad.

MV: it's just us here today, no psychologist. You all got way too fucking cocky because of some respectable fielding. You believed in yourselves - in an entirely bad way - and you, top and middle order, your batting was crap.

I'm not going to go through it in detail, because quite frankly words fail me. Anyone who doesn't know how he screwed up, stay behind and watch Straussy's video. And Ed: learn how to use the camera and the laptop - it's over to you next time.

Now it's desperate times and we need desperate measures. When I blow the whistle, lads, I want you to surge over the top and it'll be death or fucking glory. If we don't beat Australia on Sunday, and we know we can, then we're basically on the next fucking plane out of here. OK. OK. I wasn't there, but I did plenty of homework on those boys while you were Down Under and this is what we'll do. Bat like fuck, first or second and when we sledge, here's the plan.

Hayden: Fred it's going to be your job to get him and get him fast. The rest of you can help - get going on the recipes. For fuck's sake, everyone knows Aussies are crap at cuisine, so have a look at his bloody book and find some shit-hot one-liners.

Punter should be an easy mark: Saj - I've got you down to york him (aside to Collingwood: he's gotta master that sooner or later, hasn't he?). The rest of you just mutter Garry Pratt, Garry Pratt all the time, it's bound to get to him.

For Gilchrist: Badger over to you, plenty of profanity, and a few comments about Michael Slater will wind him up nicely - mention the unmentionable, you all know what I'm on about.

Symo: we know he can damage us, so chants of "Cardiff, Cardiff, who went home" should unsettle him. A few "Don't rip that bicep, we know you're a Brummie" will help.

Tait: quietly, but all together: "it's a wide, it's a wide, are you Harmy in disguise?"

Stuey Clarke: a simple "You're not Glenn McGrath" should get him riled and if that doesn't work, go for a few estate agent jokes.

And for Glenda herself, I think we can stick with "Been playing touch rugby lately? Where's the ice-bath, love?"

Finally, for Brad Hogg: "Hoggy, Hoggy, Hoggy - you're not The Hogg, you've got no dog."


OK lads? Have you got the message? We can fucking do this, I know we can and if anyone needs more ideas for sledging the rest of them, Badger's got the notes and you can see him in his room later - you won't have anything else to fucking do because it's hotel, hotel, hotel now until Sunday. Yeah, that's right. It's a fucking lock-in - and Fred, that's with no booze.


Tape ends.