Ashes Fever part 1

Something strange is happening to me. Its July and its warm outside. I have a bad case of pollen allergy at the moment, and my eyes are streaming. The work is coming in slowly, so I have a few things to be getting on with.
Only, I can't seem to get motivated. I can't seem to shake off this overwhelming emptiness I'm feeling inside. I can't easily describe it but, with difficulty, I will try to do just that.
The Ashes urn is the prize that awaits the winner of one of the oldest sporting rivalries in human history. The cricket family contains only a few major nation teams. England and Australia form one of the fiercest rivalries in any sport. Every 2 years for the last 140 years, the two nations have sent their best cricketers to battle it out for the urn.
Anyway, it is a contest that has captured my attention for decades. Firstly, the game of cricket is a mesmerising one for those fully initiated into it. For those who aren't, cricket is about as enthralling as peeling dried paint off a wall. But it is important for the uninitiated, or unenchanted, to acknowledge that there must be something special about it. A bit like walking past a women's clothes shop. I can see people in there, doing something with a mixture of enthusiasm and frustration, but it has no appeal to me whatsoever. I see men tinkering under the hood of a car and I admire their patience and technique, but it has absolutely no appeal to me.
But if you're into it, its great, and that's what truly matters.
From here on in I assume the reader knows all about the Ashes, what it means, what it is about, who are involved and what is at stake.
After England's heavy defeat during their last visit to Australia, optimism for England retaining the urn was low. Arriving at Cardiff for the first test of the series, I was not expecting much fortune to go the way of England. Despite a decent summer of preparation against a tough New Zealand team, Australia always bring an extra level of ability into the arena.
Despite a test match lasting anything up to 5 long days of play, it is the minute moments of play that carry gargantuan significance. A dropped catch, a missed stumping, a fine edge not picked up by the umpires, a close run out, the batsman recalled to the crease after the umpire spots a no ball.
In the universe of cricket fate plays its hand at every moment, and weaves its tapestry as the minutes, the hours, the lunches and the teas play out in front of you. Joe Root, England's best batsman, is dropped on nought. He goes on to score a huge hundred, and drags England out of a precarious position. Destiny was out of his hands and in those, momentarily, of Australian keeper Haddin. Once the ball dropped and Root received his early escape, Root took advantage to maximum effect. The game was altered from that point and the story of the first test was altered forever.
Australia may well have cruised to victory had Root been caught out with England 46 for 4. As it was, their heads went down and they never scraped themselves back into the match.

My problem is I can't take my eyes or ears off the action. Its on the radio, its on the TV. Its on the computer, its on my phone. What's the score?
Only, life hasn't noticed. Life continues to tick by and expects me to play my usual role within it. Visits, days out or a day's work. Shopping, family responsibilities and dog walking, all still need to be attended to. Its not a hard life, but I'm trying to watch the cricket? Doesn't anyone understand?
On Saturday morning, the test coverage was due to start at 11am. I mowed the lawn, washed up, ate my breakfast, walked the dog and had a wash. At 1045am I turned on the TV to watch the pre-match punditry. All is well. Beefy and Athers are discussing the wicket, and reflecting on the play so far. I'm counting down to the first ball of the day. I am, quite literally, strapping fridge to sofa, and flicking my shoes off. I put my feet up. 1057am. The players come out onto the field. I'm set, seated, and I'm exactly where I want to be (being live at the test match would be, admittedly, much better).
"Ding Dong." That's the doorbell.
I look up, to see who is visiting at this time. It is the mother and father in law popping round. At this point the missus is still in bed. Its her day off and a lie in is her weekend activity of choice. I shout upstairs, "your mum's here."
"Put the kettle on will you, I'll be down in a minute."

"JESUS FUCKING-CHRIST-ALL-FUCKING MIGHTY. I JUST WANT TO WATCH THE FUCKING CRICKET."

.....to be continued.

Is that a monster? No, its Jesus

"Is that a monster?"

The first words out of my infant daughter's lungs during a visit to a Roman Catholic church. As the 3-year-old spoketh forth, she pointed her finger toward the church's graphic three-dimensional model depiction of the criminal Jesus' legally binding execution on the cross. My mother nearly spat her boiled sweet into the contours of the mauve hat of the elderly worshipper ahead of her (probably nothing in this but there always seems to be a large number of distressed babies in church. In any other circumstance you would probably remove the child from the source of its distress and terror. In church, however, tell it to shush and let the shaman do his paid job and read out stories from his old leather book). I answered the question as accurately as I could. "No, that is a famous criminal called Jesus."

From the moment I was first instructed to recite and repeat...repeat...REPEAT! the christian mantras in all manner of daily pursuits, as was the norm throughout school and occasional church visits, I sensed it was all (...er, let me see, my vocabulary deserts me) bollocks. For a while, I was seduced by the reward-based social myths of Father Christmas, the tooth fairy and the egg thing at Easter. I'm getting chocolate, money, a new football and a bike - as much a no-brainer as an 8 year old gets. 

At that age, it didn't really occur - or really matter - to me, whether the providers were real or make-believe. Inspired, as a small boy, by heroes like Gary Brazil, Daniel Laruso, Tony Ellis, Rocky Balboa, Frank Worthington, James Bond, Sean Gregan, Superman, Daley Thomson, The A Team, Ian Botham and Wasim Akram - and, often, equally taken by their ever willing enemies and opponents, the factual or fictional nature of each meant little to an 8 year old kid in football socks. They were all people - men - I aspired to be one day.

Jesus never really did it for me. I liked the story of Thor, Zeus, Hermes, Achilles, Beowulf and that bloke who saved Snow White. Again, their origins didn't matter.

But the mantra of christian prayers, hymns, stories and the rest never really did anything for me. I sniggered throughout most prayers, and invented my own words during hymns, with the simple goal to make the lad next to me piss himself laughing. Usually I found the singing attempts of nearby adults - teachers mostly, and my own father sometimes - concurrently hilarious and terrifying. 

Most of religious prayer is completely counter intuitive to me. Along the cold, hard, upright and uncomfortable pews of the grim and cold local church I was forced to attend as a kid, were hung large rectangular cushions, hanging from nails in front of each worshipper. These, I learned, were for people's comfort when kneeling in worship of their imaginary leader.
This desire for people to submit to a higher force was utterly perplexing to me, and I never ever once felt the need to do so.

Later, I would learn that there are countless other factions or cults containing similar types of community knee bending only, in other cults the imagined recipient of this acquiescence was slightly different. Each had a mandated set of rules and life instructions based around abstaining from doing things with, to and for your body, and those of other people and animals. All of which, however, required those wanting to join in to completely submit to the rules of the club. Take your shoes off. Put your shoes on. Take your hat off. Put a sheet over your head. Don't cut your sideburns. Get on your knees five times a day. Say you're sorry a lot, and then make the same mistake again.

I bow to the reaction of a 3 year old child, when she saw a model of a blooded, filthy dead or dying man hanging by his hands from a wooden structure, on the wall of a cavernous building full of kneeling down, fully grown adult humans.
"Is that a monster?"
"You make up your own mind, petal, and never stop asking questions."

Ashes 2015 1st Test, Cardiff

The tale of these 4 innings will report a convincing win for the hosts against all the odds handed to them at the start of play.
England won by 169 runs - (full scorecard here)

 

Australia bring with them a swaggering confidence and a bravado that is unique within the sport, contrasting with the approach of the rest of cricket, which is a cautious modesty and respect for cricket as master of fate.
England has been utterly dominated in the 06/7 and 13/14 tours of Australia, losing all 10 test matches played. England managed to buck this trend between '09 and '13, by losing only 2 out of 15 tests during that time.
Australia do not take, or forget, defeat very well. They go down with a swagger, and return with that same swagger, belligerence and optimism.

The clamour, in the cricket media both home and down under, to pick the remaining flesh from the Australian carcass, is, in my opinion, a little hasty. The result is the result and over two innings any fortune either way tends to balance out. Some pundits may point out that the luck only evens itself out over an entire series.
Australia had a chance to take the scoreless wicket of England's most prolific batsman, Joe Root, in the first innings, and squandered it. Whether this counts as bad luck or simply a lack of skill, remains in the hands of the viewer. The viewer would then search for reasons for that bad luck. Perhaps the Aussies started the test with complacency. This is quickly quoshed when you note that, at the moment that chance went begging, Australia had already obliterated England's opening line up, to 43 for 3.

Australia may well have earned the right to be complacent in preparation for this latest Ashes series. After all, England failed to put up resistance during the most recent 0-5 reverse on Australian soil.
And with a resurgent England side that contains both talent and solidarity, the England victory at Cardiff will probably go down as the result of nonchalant Australia taking their recuperated hosts too lightly.
England has shuffled the pack and given chances to several players in recent months. There have been huge question marks over all of the top 4 batsmen, and rightly so, justified by their performances on the first innings scoreboard. Captain Cook's runs will be essential to a winning series for England. And in recent tests with New Zealand, Ballance and Bell have struggled to make a big impact.
Perhaps reassuringly for England is the confidence of the new blood with bat. The middle order of Stokes, Buttler and Moeen offer insurance for the fragile openers, as back up for the blossoming Joe Root.
If England's top 4 can start firing, then this would be disastrous for Australia.
England would be wise to focus on their own game in the short time ahead, and simply hope that Australian squad cannot recover from the inevitable meltdown that will follow this defeat. What can be certain, is that Australian cricketers do not enjoy losing, and they will move heaven and earth to put this first defeat right.
But, determined as they are, Australia will be unlikely to prosper unless they adapt to these lush, slow English wickets which offer less bounce than their pitches down under. Progress is not, therefore, a question of attitude, but one of technical skill. This England is not lacking in its own sense of bravado, and is technically ahead in respect of preparing for the conditions of play.
England should expect an Australian backlash from this victory in the second test, at Lords. But with the Australian squad morale teetering on the edge, and with their home media questioning the ability of half the side, a certain pressure will mount upon their shoulders in the build up. Not that they aren't used to high expectations. Its normal for Australian cricketers.
Huge stakes fall on the imminent second test. Heroes needed, once again.

2nd Test
Thursday, July 16-20, 2015 - at Lord's, London
England v Australia