After six losses in World Cup semi-finals, New Zealand finally made it through to this year’s championship match. (More)

I know what you’re thinking: “But Squirrel, what is the Duckworth-Lewis Method?”

Okay, you weren’t thinking that. Instead you were thinking: “But Squirrel, Sen. Ted Cruz announced his presidential candidacy yesterday, without even bothering to form an exploratory committee, and he did it with a speech to a captive audience at Liberty University. By the way, the phrase ‘a captive audience at Liberty University’ could be an entire chapter in your thesis on 21st Century Political Nuttitude. But then Sen. Cruz gave a speech that would make John Lennon’s ghost howl, if we believed in ghosts, and his campaign made a big deal that he didn’t use a teleprompter … but he and his wife rehearsed their onstage kiss:”

“So why aren’t you writing about that, Squirrel?” you’re thinking.

Well, because you know all that already, but you don’t know about the Duckworth-Lewis Method.

“Is that a form of long-term birth control, like an Arkansas Republican wants to ‘incentivize’ when women apply for Medicaid, even though he doesn’t think the Affordable Care Act should cover those forms of birth control?” you’re thinking. “Because there’s some more political nuttitude you could write about.”

Well sure, that’s political nuttitude. But you’re already thinking about that – complete with embedded links – so I don’t have to write about it. That means I can celebrate New Zealand’s first-ever trip to the Cricket World Cup finals.

And what a match it was. South Africa batted first and posted 281 runs on 5 wickets before rain forced them to stop after 43 overs, so New Zealand had to score 298 runs in their 43 overs. No team had ever chased down 298 runs in a World Cup knockout round match.

“Hold on,” you’re thinking, “if South Africa scored only 281 runs, and if both teams got only 43 overs, why did New Zealand have to score 17 extra runs?”

Because of the Duckworth-Lewis Method. The theory is that if South Africa had known their innings would end at 43 overs, then with 5 wickets to spare they could have taken more risks and scored more a few more runs. Because New Zealand knew they would have only 43 overs, they had to chase down not the 281 runs that South Africa did score, plus the 17 runs that South Africa probably would have scored, based on a statistical formula.

“Can I just say,” you’re thinking, “that using a statistical formula to handicap one team’s score based on inclement weather would make Republican sports fans howl?”

Sure. That’s how it fits into my thesis on 21st Century Political Nuttitude. And the Duckworth-Lewis Method is controversial. But both teams knew what New Zealand’s target score was before the Black Caps began batting. So it was fair.

And like I said, the match came down to the second-to-last ball:

The Black Caps’ dream lives on after they won what must rate as one of the most memorable of all World Cup games by four wickets. Grant Elliott, perceived by some to be the weak link in the New Zealand batting, ended a wonderful, pulsating semi-final by hitting the penultimate ball of the game from the finest fast bowler on the planet high over wide long-on and into the heaving stands to set 40,000 people into raptures.

“The words look like English,” you’re thinking, “but … umm….”

Elliot hit a game-winning home run.

“Oh,” you’re thinking. “Why didn’t they just say that?”

Because they’re writing for a cricket audience.

“Couldn’t you just post a video?” you’re thinking. “That would be easier.”

Sure. Here you go:

“Okay, hold on,” you’re thinking.

Sure, I’ll nibble a macadamia while you click the link and watch it.

“Wow!” you’re thinking. “That really was like a game-winning home run! So are you rooting for New Zealand in the finals? And who will they play?”

The second semi-final is tonight, India vs. Australia. And yes, I’ll be rooting for the Black Caps to win their first ever Cricket World Cup championship on Sunday.

“So Ask Ms. Crissie will be about that match?” you’re wondering.

We’ll just have to see. Our lowly mail room clerk may write about Sen. Cruz.

“But he’ll be old news by then,” you’re thinking.

Ahem. He’s been old news for awhile.

“Good point,” you’re thinking. “So this is where you say ‘Good day and good nuts?'”

You already did.