Kevin Pietersen: The World's most wronged man?

A man this cheerful cannot possibly have read the book...

The regular accusation of anyone who rubbishes Kevin Pietersen’s version of events, or indeed his book, is that they are part of the conspiracy against him.

Journalists have been accused of colluding with the ECB, with the BBC’s Jonathan Agnew taking the full brunt of the criticism, and anybody else has simply been accused of falling for the plot to find a scapegoat or finding it a convenient narrative.

I wouldn’t want to pretend to be party to the inner workings of an England dressing room, I can only base my conclusions on Kevin Pietersen based on word of mouth and what I saw when I watched him play for England.

After the Ashes humiliation I was critical of Pietersen, but would have had him in my team going forward, as I noted in my review of the campaign but that was based on what he was capable of on the pitch and not what he was like off it.

Whether you believe his version of events, or the alternative viewpoint of everyone else within the dressing room environment, the reality now is that Pietersen can never play for England again. The book makes sure of that.

Some books are referred to colloquially as unputdownable, KP’s was very nearly unpickupable.

After reading three chapters, and finding myself emotionally exhausted by the outpouring from his so obviously wounded soul, it felt almost cruel to go on. For me and for him.

I persevered though, and dived deeper into the thoughts and feelings of a truly distressed man; if nothing else, I hope getting this all out of his system and putting it on paper might help him find a bit of happiness.

Nobody has won in Pietersen’s on-going battle with the ECB, but he has definitely lost, though he achieved so much before the outcome was settled.

At an attempt at a deeper review, I’ll begin with the positives.

Rarely, when reading this book are you left wanting more. Some sports autobiographies feel guarded or too metronomic in style, but this one was similar to Bradley Wiggins’ in that it was almost repetitive in its attempt to tell the full story.

Not an author by trade, it seems natural that the sportsman might repeat himself or lose track of the story they are telling occasionally. It feels authentic.

A friend of mine regularly declares that his integrity is unquestionable, and I usually respond immediately by questioning, or ridiculing his integrity.

Fortunately Kevin Pietersen hasn’t gone down the Mike Tyson route of calling the truth in his book undisputed, because like my friends integrity, his truth has been questioned and analysed with almost forensic detailing, but unfortunately that’s about as positive as I’m able to get about this book.

As alluded to earlier, it is a very tough read. There are no positives, without the aim of including them being to take a swipe at something else.

Some of the things he discusses and the points that he gropes for are difficult to follow, particularly when discussing the IPL and the county game. He gallantly defends the former from an attack I’m not convinced it is facing, while highlighting the second as part of the ECBs systemic failing.

The most repetitive feature of the book is a man who can’t see where he might be in the wrong, and even when he acknowledges he might be, it just isn’t ever his fault.

While all the off-pitch chaos was going on, Kevin Pietersen was scoring thousands of international runs, but they don’t feel central to his story, and they really ought to be.

If you achieve what Pietersen has, and at the end of it your book doesn’t celebrate that, then it isn’t just those around you that need to take a long hard look at themselves. He also manages to cram meeting, and marrying, his wife into less than two rushed pages.

Would I recommend this book? Probably not.

Do I think everyone would hate it? No.

It’s a difficult read, particularly if you are trying to make your mind up about who is telling the truth, but as this is the truth from Kevin Pietersen’s point of view, it is a story worth telling.

I would like to make one final point, the criticisms and borderline character assassination above is based purely on the book. While Kevin Pietersen has always led a controversial existence he is not all bad. He is as generous with his time as he is hard working, and he often speaks well. Unfortunately the voice in the book is not the personable Kevin Pietersen, but a man on a point-making mission.

Counting Chickens, Abrasive Spice and why I don’t miss regular rail commutes

Kei Nishikori: Andy Murray's misfortune was to this man's delight

I’m a great believer in, and regular user of, the phrase “if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”

This rather neatly sums up my cup half-empty view of the world and my expectations that things are never far from taking a turn for the worse.

However, it turns out I can be lulled into a false sense of security, because last week I thought I’d had a stroke of luck.

About nine months ago I bought tickets for the ATP World Tour Finals tennis at the O2, not knowing who had qualified or which of the top eight players I would then get to see.

It isn’t a complete shot in the dark though; whatever happens you get to see two of the top eight ranked players, and you can usually take for granted the appearance of four or five certainties.

This year though, the race to London was a particularly topsy-turvy affair with two surprise Grand Slam winners and other players emerging as real threats, while top five stalwarts, David Ferrer and Britain’s Andy Murray, struggled to hold on to their rankings.

For a while it didn’t look like Murray would make The O2, but a great six-week run, that saw him capture three titles, made sure he got the job done.

Not only did Murray make it to London, he just happened to get drawn to play in the match I had tickets for… a real stroke of luck?

For a few days leading up to the game I thought so, but as soon as Murray dropped serve with two double faults in the first set, I started to have my doubts.

As it turned out, we were treated to the Brit’s worst performance in about three months as he had no answer to Kei Nishikori’s dynamic game, and as it turned out, I had counted that particular ‘lucky’ chicken before the egg had hatched. Nishikori was good though…

On this Saturday’s X Factor show Louis Walsh called Mel B Old Spice, quick-witted humour that I didn’t expect from the man who claps like a giddy seal and recycles his comments and critiques with an intense environmental enthusiasm.

That name served its purpose on Saturday, but I think a more suitable alteration from Scary Spice would be Abrasive Spice.

Added to the judging panel this year, she must have been given the task of shaking things up a bit and being the mean judge now Simon Cowell has been ‘mellowed’ by parenthood.

This has essentially resulted in the most detestable behaviour being dressed up as straight, blunt, or worst of all, ‘real’ talking.

This rudeness culminated in her reaction after the sing-off Sunday night.

Her act Paul out-sung Simon’s act Jay, but compared to some of the sing-offs in the series, they were both very impressive.

When electing to save his own act, Simon praised both singers and said it boiled down to backing his act, as it always does.

Rather than doing the same, yet again Mel decided to be rude.

“Based on that it’s an absolute no brainer… it’s obvious, the person I’m sending home is Jay.”

Praise for her act, but nothing at all for the other contestant, who was by no means the weakest left in the competition, nor was he poor in the sing-off.

The reaction of Mel and her act Paul once it had been sent to deadlock, and the public vote sent him home, was also hard to watch.

In that position you can’t expect him not to be disappointed, but his reaction was not disappointment, it was disgust and disbelief, and that’s unacceptably arrogant.

However good a singer you are, you need more to win that show, and I can’t be the only person who thinks he lacks that bit more, because he came bottom of the public vote.

A small aside from tennis and talent shows, I also had the unpleasant experience of travelling on a busy train over the weekend, one I don’t miss tackling regularly.

The standard gripe of the commuter is people refusing to move down the carriage, but on top of that I had to combat two of the lesser discussed, but equally annoying issues: people who sit in the doorway, and people who can’t stand still.

Getting on to a busy train is enough of a struggle without people setting up camp in the door way and making no effort to not be in the way.

Similarly, while you have to accept your personal space is going to be invaded on a busy train, it’s 1000 times worse if that person is continually fidgeting and brushing against you trying to see out of the window into the darkness.

You couldn’t see anything when you looked out 15 seconds ago, what makes you think you will this time..?