Sport: Blood and the Ashes

London — Twenty thousand Englishmen baying at the enemy. Screaming themselves hoarse, urging their champion to strike flesh. And then, it happens: The enemy is hit. Yes! Unwilling to show pain, he removes his helmet. Blood — the sight most keenly craved for — trickles down. His entourage runs to assist him — he attempts nonchalance, but concussion is an issue. The crowd is ecstatic.

Is this the Saxons at the Battle of Hastings, eager for Norman gore? Or Wellington’s men at Waterloo, bayonets fixed for Frenchies? No, it’s June 2005 at Lord’s Cricket Ground, the spiritual home of cricket worldwide. And the bloodthirsty mob of 20,000 are mostly wearing blazers, brogues and club ties. On other days of the week, you’ll find them at work in arbitrage.

And the blood? Australian, of course — the ancient enemy, rival for the Ashes, as the trophy for each five-match tournament between England and Australia is known. What a start that was, and there were still some 24 more days of such glorious skirmishing to look forward to.

In fact, the 2005 Ashes series turned into the greatest I have ever witnessed, the probable outcome seesawing almost hourly. There were moments when I had to leave the TV, my anxiety too intense. (Spectating can be more nerve-racking even than playing oneself.) I still cannot watch the highlights of the second match — which England won by the closest margin in 123 years of the contest — without fear stoking my pulse. It also remains the only time I have attended a victory parade: Trafalgar Square, London, was awash with jubilant jackets and ties that day.

England vs. Australia in cricket may be one of the oldest sporting rivalries, but it is hardly the most chivalrous. Rather, it is when this oh-so-civilized game truly reveals its nasty, brutish heart. Cricket may be the only team game in the world in which it is entirely legal for a player to make a move whose only purpose is to hurt, if not hospitalize, an opponent. In cricket, this is not a foul; no penalty is awarded, or score deducted. For, central to this gentleman’s pastime — whether played on a village green or at Lord’s — is “the bouncer.”

Music: Dripping Blood spreads

Dripping Blood, the latest album from gospel  Carlene Davis, is poised to  thanks to major label distribution.In addition to VP , the album is being handled by global industry giant Universal Music, which is in fact the world's largest music corporation and owner of the world's second-largest music publishing company. The album was released in July of last year, in turn five years after the previous album, True Worship,   and has been posting solid returns, with a number of promotional jaunts to North America and various points across the region in support of the disc

Husband Tommy Cowan, explaining the significance of the deal, said "the global footprint and stellar roster of a label such as Universal gives us a major boost in achieving our primary goal, which is getting the message of Christ's redemptive work spread as widely as possible, all over the world."

Speaking of the title, said that while taking communion, he had a vision involving the titular "blood" in which he literally felt the blood of Christ flowing down on him as he worshiped and praised the Lord after having had the wine. 

The single Dripping Blood is a bonus on the 16-track set, produced by Cowan for Glory Music, and

among the disc's other standout tracks are King of Glory, 10,000 Reasons, All About You featuring her daughter Naomi, Divine Authority, and Jubilee, with gospel deejay Papa San.

An accompanying video has also been made (shot and edited by Nathan Cowan) for the title track.

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Good Girls Gone Bad: Colombiana and Black Angel

Hollywood tends to like its anti-heroes male, and neither too old nor too young. Little girls are, however another matter. Whether in the hillside slums of Bogota, or the high rises of Tokyo, the lore of the "little angel" - basically and incorruptibly regardless of the circumstances - persists. Two films, one currently in first run in Jamiacan cinemas, the other part of a Japanese franchise, explore this phenomenon in similar yet contrasting styles.

Zoe Saldana is sexy as hell- with or without a gun.
But in the battle for our affections, she can't hold a candle to the angel-faced beauty who plays her character as a child and who lights up the film's riveting and frenetic opening sequence.

But little angel is forced into violent life from early, and after stabbing her father's nemesis in the hand and dodging killers through the city's streets and sewers, she ends up as part of some CIA Covert Ops program me and thereafter the film goes downhill into the standard assassin-with issues. Saldana tries her best to infuse some emotional substance into her character but director Oliver Megaton (last name adopted in honor of the Hiroshima atomic bomb) handles the action in such a leaden manner that you just want the pace to pick up again, which it does briefly, before once again imploding.

If you love fierce action, and can get over the sloppy subtitling and atrocious dubbing, then the bloody, raunchy Japanese import Black Angel may be just the ticket. Here again, a little girl witnesses the horrific murders of her parents before being spirited away to safety by a mysterious assassin, in whose footsteps she eventually. In stark contrast to the strictures of Hollywood, the Tokyo set have little if any hang-ups about nudity or blood-soaked shootouts and raw, hand-to-hand fighting. Again, the storyline is pretty much standard, but Black Angel is way more engaging for much of it's run than Colombiana, mainly because it abandons wasteful pretensions on which it cannot deliver. When the girl-killer and her gay(?) male sidekick pull a disco dance sequence in a cheap motel, having just ruthlessly dispatched some Yakuza a few scenes earlier, you know this is a creative team that could care less about convention.

And so they shouldn't. Both movies are messy, but Colombiana carries a load of guilt over it's mess, while Black Angel gleefully gives the finger to those who demand a clean-up.

Be good, bad girls!


If you can get over the grinding combination of sloppy sub-titling and atrocious dubbing, the raunchy, bloody Japanese action import, Black Angel, is just your ticket.