The great disappearing act

The Barmy Army...but where were the Aussies?

After my quite serious assessments of the England and Australia cricket teams, it's high time for a more tongue in cheek appraisal of their respective supporters.

The question everyone back home seems to be asking is: where did all the Aussie supporters go when their team was losing? I am told this was a major topic of debate on Sky's TV coverage, particularly with the knight of the realm formerly known as Beefy Botham. It's a question which deserves some sort of answer.

It is certainly true that many of the Aussie spectators spent the series perfecting a lost, bewildered look. Then they left early. On Boxing Day in Melbourne, admittedly the most one-sided day ever witnessed at an Ashes Test, this was very early indeed. "We can see you sneaking out" we sang, with relish. But actually we wished they would stick around longer, as it was never quite as much fun without them.

The reality is that Australian sports fans do not have much time for losers. This is partly cultural and partly because their national cricket team has been so successful for so long. A whole generation of Aussies has grown up supporting a team which has been nigh on invincible, surely the best team ever to walk the oval-shaped playing fields of the planet. This generation is currently in shock. The older generation, which lived through a decade of Australian under-achievement in the late 70's and 80's, is much more sanguine – some I met even seem pleased that the Ashes had become a real contest again (and the Ponting/Clarke regime had been taken down a peg or two).

Australians also struggle to relate to the ethos of the Barmy Army, which is not only to support your team through thick and thin – fully accepting that thin may dominate for long periods - but to have fun whatever the outcome.  In Australia, it seems that fun is only associated with winning.  Losing is for – well, losers. If you are losing, you may as well leave and do something useful – like mowing the lawn.

But what of those hardy souls who stayed? On every day of every Test, there was at least one Aussie who was so affronted by the presence of the Barmy Army that his only solace was to get completely drunk on mid-strength VB lager by early afternoon (however scientifically impossible that may seem). It was a different guy every day but the hairstyle never changed – a cross between the modern "walked through a wind tunnel on the way to the ground" and the more old-fashioned "dragged through a hedge backwards".  "You've had too many Milo's" we sang every time he and his hair stood up to have a pop.  "Another one bites the dust" played Billy every time he was removed by the local police.

In addition to the differing interpretation of the fun factor, what differentiated the respective supporters was the community nature of the England following.  The Barmy Army has songs, lots and lots of them, generally sung at the same time and almost in tune by groups of more than two people and accompanied by the brilliant Billy Cooper on the trumpet. The home supporters could not get beyond a couple of mates shouting "Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi". Unless you include the two numerate guys (it's rarely more than two) who like "counting backwards" in the hope of inducing a thrilling and original Mexican wave. Get organised, guys! Then maybe you too could have some fun when you're losing, just like England fans have been doing for the last 18 years since the Barmy Army was formed in conditions of sporting adversity. 

The positive vibes of the Barmy Army on this tour were the subject of some very favourable media comment. Maybe it was because England were winning this time round, or could it be that even the Aussies are getting a tiny bit envious of the motivational powers of England's "unofficial 12^th man".  Did anyone else notice Matt Prior signal the Army to direct some well-meaning chants in Ricky Ponting's direction in Melbourne? Shortly after, Punter was bowled. Another example – just before the end of Australia's victory in Perth, Mitchell Johnson made the massive mistake of directing the Army's attention to the scoreboard.  Thereafter he was targeted mercilessly ("He bowls to the left, he bowls to the right"), was clearly riled by the constant taunts and never looked like bowling so well again. Little things maybe, but I would argue that they negated any home advantage Australia expected to enjoy in this series.

Whatever the result, it was always fun to sit with the Barmy Army (or stand, as in Adelaide). The humour, the camaraderie, the songs – there's nothing remotely comparable in the world (football, in particular, does not come close).  I miss it already.