Ashes to Ashes

No, not in this case the iconic TV series featuring the Eighties escapades of DCI Gene Hunt, but the excellent book by Marcus Berkmann on the "35 years of agony (and about 20 minutes of ecstasy) watching England v Australia". Or alternatively the "37 years of humiliation....", depending on whether you choose to rely on the front cover or the inside sleeve.

This is definitely one for the hardcore cricket fan - the sort who also happens to be British and in possession of a self-deprecating sense of humour. Right up my street then. As the sub-title (either version) implies, the book recounts Marcus's experiences of following all the Ashes series from 1972 (at age 12) to the present day - with more or less enthusiasm, depending on England's chances of winning (very slim for at least 15 years from the late 1980's onwards) and/or the outside distractions of actually having a life.

With the benefit of 20:20 hindsight, some very basic questions arise from a reading of the early chapters:

(1) Why were all cricketers invariably identified in the media by their initials, not their first names? (Hence, England's star performer was I.T. Botham, rather than Ian Botham. Some players, such as M.J.K. Smith, didn't appear to have a first name at all.) And when did this archaic practice stop?

(2) Why were many of the players of that era (who were, after all, supposed to be international sportsmen representing their country) patently unfit, unable to catch or in some cases unable to bend down very far to stop the ball? And when did all that start to change?

(3) Why did the class system within cricket continue to dominate decision-making long after the (to modern eyes) absurd distinction between "amateur" and "professional" was abolished in the Sixties? And when did this finally peter out, if at all?

Any ideas?

A tad further than Tipperary

Whoever wrote It's a long way to Tipperary* had clearly never attempted a trip to Australia. Now that really is a long way. But I'm now over half way there in miles and time. Changi airport, Singapore, to be exact, at 9pm local time. Somehow I have missed seeing any daylight this Tuesday. A weird feeling - a bit like becoming an honorary Laplander for the day (but without the fringe benefits of owning a flowing red cape and long white beard).

Frankfurt and its surrounds may look quite twee when you're enjoying a Glühwein at the Christmas market (ignoring the fact that your toes are so cold, they feel as if they could fall off at any second). But when you are trying to travel anywhere during the first major snowfall of the winter, it becomes a different story entirely. As we experienced yesterday.

Fortunately for me, amid the hundreds of flight cancellations and complete chaos at the transfer desks, my flight finally got away at shortly after 1am - three hours late. This was after eventually solving an unnamed technical problem with the aircraft and waiting a further hour and a half in the queue for the de-icing machine. The joys of winter travel.

Yet I really shouldn't whinge about long haul travel in the modern age. Imagine taking part in a cricket tour to Australia 50-60 years ago. This would have taken the best part of 7 months out of your life - 2 months on the boat to get there in the first place, 2-3 months of cricket (including extensive pan-continental travel within the vastness which is Australia), then another 2 months to while away on the boat back to Blighty. And to think today's England supporters call themselves barmy. That sort of time commitment really is the stuff of a bygone age of travel.

(* Harry Williams and Jack Judge wrote It's a long way to Tipperary according to Wikipedia, so I imagine there is a 50:50 chance of this being right).

Hold the front page - a cricket match is drawn

Brisbane Day 5: England 260 & 517-1 declared (is this right?), Australia 431 & 107-1 Match drawn

This is where it gets really hard to explain cricket to, say, a German or an American reader. Why would two teams play for five whole days, then shake hands on a drawn game? And why, having witnessed this stalemate, will the Barmy Army be painting Brisbane red and white tonight?

It's just not something you can explain objectively. The sense of pride at this result, and the manner in which it has been achieved, derives from somewhere deep in the soul of a cricket-loving Englishman. Maybe I will try harder to put this into words in the next few weeks....

After yesterday's great fightback by England, I was already hoping for a drawn game when I tuned in at 7am this morning. But my eyes stood out on their metaphorical stalks when I saw the score. Over 500 runs for the loss of only one wicket? England? Against Australia? That sort of thing just doesn't happen. Not in my lifetime anyway.

Tonight I am flying out to bolster the ranks of the Barmy Army for the second Test in Adelaide. Weather permitting. According to the forecast, 10 centimetres (4 inches) of snow will be lying on Frankfurt airport by the time my plane is due to leave. This is doing nothing positive for my stress levels. However, maybe these would be relieved somewhat if I actually started my packing....

It's just not chess

Nothing of particular relevance to Day 4, but this morning I managed to relocate a gem from the brilliant Ben Dirs on the BBC's Test Match Special on-line coverage.

Back on Day 1, he had been increasingly comparing the tense opening exchanges to a game of chess, with each side waiting patiently for a chance to out-manoeuvre the other. Then, out of the blue, came Peter Siddle's fantastic hat-trick (note for Stefan: 3 wickets in 3 consecutive balls - a very unusual feat). This inspired the following commentary from Ben:

If this match was a game of chess, Siddle has just done the equivalent of flip the board over, sweep aside the pieces and nut England in the face.

Genius.

The thin line between success and failure

Brisbane Day 4: England 309-1, 88 runs ahead (surely some mistake?)

Fortified by a prime cut steak, several glasses of Rioja and great company over dinner, I overcame any hints of tiredness to watch the first hour's play on Day 4. After witnessing the serene progress of Strauss and Cook to reach 80 without loss, I finally retired to bed with renewed confidence that England could make a decent fist of their second innings. And so it proved. At last a day's cricket which belonged unquestionably to the English team.

Which just goes to prove how thin is the line between success and failure in top class sport. Saved by a matter of technological millimetres yesterday, of course Andrew Strauss would take full advantage and score a hundred. It's what sportsmen of the highest quality do when they are thrown a lifeline. 110 runs and a decent chance of saving a match which seemed all but lost. Or two ducks, 1-0 down and a mountain to climb in the rest of the series. I know which one I'd take.

But we're not out of the woods yet. Although I awoke to discussion of a possible England declaration on Day 5, this seems to be wishful thinking to me. A quick clatter of wickets in the morning session and it will be game on again.

So much for modern technology

Brisbane Day 3: England 260 & 19-0, Australia 481

As the cricketers swelter in the Queensland heat, it's a winter wonderland in much of Northern Europe, including our back garden (right).

Let's not dwell too long on the accuracy of my Day 3 cricket prediction (or lack thereof). Suffice to say that Australia are giving the Poms a salutary lesson in Test match cricket.

After a few pints of Guinness last night at our local Irish pub, there was no way I was going to get up early enough to see much of today's play. Maybe it was just as well. By the time I was woken by the kids, I had already lost faith in my own prediction and experienced that familiar sinking feeling when I finally dared to switch on the TV.

The first ball I saw (the first of England's second innings) should have seen the end of captain Strauss for another 0. The "Hawkeye" technology must have been having a really bad day at the office, because to the naked eye that ball was hitting the stumps halfway up. Plummers. 

Yet for some unaccountable reason the computer decided it was going just over the top. 99 times out of a 100 the umpire would have given it out anyway and the batsman would not have lingered for a second opinion. All probably irrelevant though unless England make 500 in the next two days.  I'm sticking with my prediction that England's batsmen will dig in on Day 4 but the Aussies should still win at a canter on Day 5 to go 1-0 up.

Snow, sledging and Mr Cricket

Brisbane Day 2: Australia 220-5, 40 runs behind England

Last day at work before the big break, hurrah!  Feeling quite organised at the start of the day but am equally convinced I will be in complete chaos by 6pm.  After all, why should today be different to any other working day?

Woke up to a covering of snow and early enough to see some of the last session in Brisbane before bad light ended play. Quite happy again with my prediction as England did indeed hit back strongly, with "Oh Jimmy Jimmy" Anderson in particular bowling beautifully.  But when I switched on my TV at 6am, there was Mike Hussey, "Mr Cricket" himself, standing obdurately in England's way. Again.

I couldn't believe the talk of Hussey being out of form and fearing for his place in the team. I know the Aussie selectors can be ruthless but this man has been the bane of English bowling for years. A high score from Hussey is as much an Ashes inevitability as the hardy perennials caught Marsh bowled Lillee, any of several bad outcomes bowled Warne and of course the dreaded Gooch lbw Alderman 0.

During the hour I was watching, England failed to take another wicket or even look like taking one (refer "Revealed – Australia's secret weapon" below). I just thought I would point that one out.

What I did notice was the sledging – and not of the snowy variety. Yes, England's bowlers were giving some real stick to the Aussie batsman, especially Hussey. That made me recall my all-time favourite England/Australia sledge:    

England fringe bowler Jimmy Ormond walks out to bat against the Aussies.

Mark Waugh (standing at slip): "Hey mate, what are you doing here? You're not good enough to play Test cricket"

Ormond: "That may be true, but at least I'm the best player in my own family"

Prediction for Day 3:  Hundred for Hussey but not much more. The Aussie bowlers will chip in a few runs to get Australia over 300 and a handy lead.  Then England will dig in second time round – I fancy Trott (three words I didn't ever expect to use together) to really get on Australian nerves.

You couldn't make it up

Brisbane Day 1:  England 260, Australia 25-0  Oh dear

Well, I predicted Australia would just shade day one and but for a certain Mr Siddle, I may have been right. But in the end it was all very black and white.

Just imagine taking a Test match hat-trick on your birthday - you really couldn't make that one up. Good job for Australia that Siddle is not of German extraction like his team-mate Ben Hilfenhaus, otherwise he would have struggled to run up to the wicket after consuming his birthday pastries and cakes.

Encouraged by a partial success with my first prediction, I now confidently forecast:
(1) England will get slaughtered in the media for their performance today (that's the easy one)
(2) They will bounce back strongly on Day 2.

How wide will it be?

The journalists and commentators seem pre-occupied with this question on the eve of the series opener in Brisbane. But are they referring to the first ball of the series? or the average waist measurement of a Barmy Army member? or perhaps Sir Ian Botham's matchday suit?

As I'm stuck in a hotel in a small Northern German town (no Sky!!), I won't know the answer. But at least I'll get a good night's sleep.

First cricket prediction (a.k.a. hostage to fortune) of my blog: the Aussies will come out fighting and just shade day one.

Revealed – Australia's secret weapon

I can't go any further with this blog without dealing with the main matter at hand. Yes, the fact that it could be a little bit chilly back home is just a convenient smokescreen – really I am going to Australia to watch the cricket. In fact, I hope I am going to witness England win the Ashes. Away from home. Which hasn't actually happened for 24 years. Several species of pig may well have soared through the skies in the meantime. As they say in these parts: die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt (literally: hope dies last).

But first I need to come clean on the effect my support (and that of my children Annabel and Simon) tends to have on the fortunes of my favourite sports teams. This will surely give Australia the boost they need ahead of the start of the Ashes series on Thursday.

I admit the sample size is small (one football team, two games).  The choice of team to which we pledge our allegiance could possibly be seen as misguided (Charlton Athletic) - except by me of course (the kids are somewhat less convinced). Yet no-one can deny the catastrophic impact our presence in the stadium has on the fortunes of our team.

November 2008: The temperature in London may have been minus five but my naïve heart was warmed by the prospect of taking the kids to their first ever match at The Valley.  When our brave boys found themselves 1-5 down shortly after half time, I had the first inkling it wasn't going well. Indeed, 20,000 other folk around us appeared wholly convinced of this fact. My kids learned some new and unusual Anglo-Saxon expressions. The manager got the sack. Even the away supporters cringed with embarrassment. But apart from all that, it was a thoroughly enjoyable day out and at least the kids saw lots of goals. In our team's net.

October 2010: Two years older and wiser, we decided to repeat the experiment. Surely it couldn't be quite as grim again. After all, our team had already been relegated twice in three seasons. Alas and alack, we proceeded to witness a 0-4 drubbing at the mighty hand of Brighton & Hove Albion. In the third division (cunningly rebranded "League One" to lend it an aura of respectability). This was the comfortably the worst defeat since... since… well, since the last time we were there of course.

So, be warned England. Ian Botham and Freddie Flintoff may think we are going to win this time. But they haven't reckoned with Burton sneaking into the stands to cheer the lads on.  

Looking on the bright side, we may have a chance in the First Test. I don't arrive until it's over.

I'm British so I talk about the weather

Last Sunday it was - by some freak of nature – the same temperature (16C) in Frankfurt and Adelaide. By the time my flight touches down in Adelaide in ten days time, the mercury should have risen to the mid-twenties or even higher.  In Frankfurt we are now promised snow - just in time for the start of the Weihnachtsmarkt next weekend.

Talk of snow takes my thoughts somewhat unwillingly back in time. To the winter that went on for ever and ever. Put simply, I don't do snow. I don't even get on with skiing due to a fundamentally incompatible phobia of moving downhill fast on a two thin slices of metal.  And no, I don't want to try it with a snowboard, thanks all the same.

Anyway, back in the mists of time (nine months ago), we experienced a two week period when our quiet suburban road looked like the surface of Mars. The time when a barely noticeable upward gradient suddenly seemed as challenging to navigate as the north face of Everest.  Particularly when behind the wheel of a BMW (a hovercraft would have been preferable).  For a week or so I simply abandoned my car at the nearest S-Bahn station, put on my wellies and trekked the last kilometer across the fields. In the pitch black at midnight (it was one of those weeks at work).

It was so bad even the council snowplough didn't fancy it. One Saturday morning I decided to take things into my own hands and, together with neighbour Bodo, spent three hours clearing the worst of the snow from the road. Rewarded for my endeavours with a Glühwein, I watched incredulously from the kitchen window as the snowplough finally made an appearance around lunchtime.  The next day one set of neighbours helped me remove my car from a huge snowdrift, only to watch equally incredulously as I reversed down the road into an even larger one. A different set of neighbours had to help me out of that one. It was not a good time.

So, last winter is one of the reasons why I decided to escape the Northern Hemisphere for six weeks this time around. There are lots of other reasons and we will come to these.

Setting up a blog

That was the easy bit, even for someone as computer-illiterate as me. Now I have to provide some content, aaaarrrghhh!