Monthly Archives: September 2005

the decider

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Before the test commenced, after the sepia toned slow motion replays of agonised cricketers’ faces and cricketers’ faces laden joy, Dean Jones called it the grand final of all test matches in the last 100 years. Last night as Hayden (if that’s who it was out there, playing with all the patient care in the world) and Langer worked so diligently away at giving Australia the platform they have not had all series, it was fitting cricket for the occassion. Time stretches so frikkin thin. Every moment is filled with a massive expectation that something, dreadful or wonderful, will occur. Yet the ball by ball commentary goes on like this:

x.1 nothing happens

x.2 nothing happens

x.3 nothing happens

x.4 nothing happens

x.5 nothing happens

x.6 nothing happens

y.1 nothing happnes

y.2 nothing much happens

y.3 nothing happens

y.4 nothing happens

y.5 nothing happens

y.6 nothing happens

z.1 nothing happens

z.2 Langer sends the ball deep into the vast skies

z.3 Langer sends the ball deep into the vast skies

z.4 nothing happens

z.5 nothing happens

z.6 nothing happens

The crowd is silent or bubbles away or is singing tunes from all across time; hymns, yellow submarine, or original compositions whose repetition is wonderfully appropriate to cricket, birds or pop music with their incessant refrains:

barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army barmy army …

There is the occasional beat of leather on willow. Strangled shouts and shouts.

Over it the commentators riff, each with their own particular phrasing of popular cliches. Jazz interpreters. Benaud is a traditionalist, his phrases are well metered, clean and delivered with a calm conventional purity. Grieg on the other hand stutters away, repeats bars, gets stuck on the end of a sentence, halts, and goes again – he’s like Sonny Rollins trying to work his way from one phrase to the next or if he’s getting excited perhaps he sounds more like Coltrane cracking his phrases into pieces. Mark Nicholas delivers slogans. His air time is sparsely populated but with epigrammatic gems, short crystals of sound delivered with a powerful confidence. Each is a pefectly formulated hook that you may expect to enter into a sequence of repetitions and variations but is then followed only by air time. Until the next crystal forms.

Concurrent with the cricket, on channel 10, there was a football final being played. Football is one huge event compacted into 100 or so minutes. There is little demarcation within this event. It rarely ceases happening. Time is one great mass. The crowd is wild noise, the commenators don’t even breathe. The test match is also a singular event. But it is stretched out over 5 days. Time is stretched so frikkin thin. And it is heavily, distinctly divided. Ball by ball. Non event after non event, from time to time there is a minor happening or even a drama – the game turns on all of these. Flintoff comes on to bowl and my organs are so widely distributed that I can feel a small patch of sweet residual Russian Autumn sunlight on the left side of my heart. Living a test match like this the involved cricket viewer is thinly dispersed. Perhaps never to recover – how am I to recollect myself after the Ashes? I am no phoenix.

el rey warno

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El Warno is the king. Without question. He is irreproachable. Entire people have long been uneasy about his indiscretions – there are no longer, and never have been any indiscretions. El Warno has licence to do as he likes, he has earnt total immunity from judgement & moral zealotries. Through his work, his tireless exertions and his focus on attaining the perfect state in which to produce leg spin he has earnt the right to be exactly as he will be. He is the absolute role model, the ideal human. The next person who thinks they are funny because they can mention El Warno and Mobile Phones in the same thetic space shall be struck down by a bottle of El Warno’s prestige line of red wine. The good authority is that it makes your world spin after a single glass – and of course it does, what else would it do?

music review (singles) : incomplete

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The selection comittee has met and decided that Australia must retain the same batting line up that has appeared in the previous 4 tests. Hayden must play. It would be cheating the narrative of the series if changes were to be made. Those that have dug their burrows must be the ones given the chance to dig themselves out. The responsibility must be borne squarely on these shoulders. They will be the desperate ones.

The desperation is very clear in the passion with which the Australian top 5 deliver their latest single ‘incomplete’ – the most powerful song to hit the charts since Robbie Williams’ heyday. While the lyrics of the song contain a certain sense of having given up hope, a resignation that now, with Steve Waugh long gone, the Ashes too are lost, the delivery of the song contains a searing emotion, a searing heart, that can only be built out of pure hope or even exact knowledge that it is within them to fill the empty spaces that are filling them up with holes – there is little room to doubt, in this impassioned and rawly honest self appraisal of where the Australian batting line up finds itself, that they will finally deliver that final telling blow. On the back of this song, the backstreet boys reaffirm their position as one of the greatest boybands in the world.

The second track on the ‘incompleete’ single contains the line – ‘lets not talk about a possible ending’.

last ditch

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On Monday morning after the conclusion to the test I sat on the tram in a daze. I had taken my book from my satchel and was planning to read it but I just sat there with it in my hands as I thought about the cricket. My breathing was all over the place. I was basically sighing or maybe even panting – there was exhaustion and tension and exhiliration all involved in the make up of my gasping. And I hadn’t even satyed up to watch the England innings. I only heard about the score on the morning news. These magnificent last ditch efforts by the Australians (or should I attribute them more precisely – El Warno and Lee) are all well and good but just not quite good enough. Its tantalising stuff.

Its a shame there’s been so much whingeing from the Australian camp about substitues (ok, it’s a pretty iffy tactic of the Poms but it should be pursued quietly along the proper channels) and the umpires (certainly the umpiring’s been poor but only in the same way that Hayden’s form has been poor, or poor old Dizzy – misfiring players get replaced by other players, not by computer animated simulations.) Its not the outbursts on the field that are a problem, that’s heat of the battle stuff, the frustration after having worked so hard takes over, as is reasonable. Its in the days between matches that losing teams need to keep their gripes tightly quiet, to speak is to be a sore loser and displays in some sense an acceptance of the fact that they are not cut out for copping sweet blows and going on to really challenge a dominant opposition.