Maybe Raw As Meat will get a run in the big time after all.
Taito head
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ticking clock
remember the good times
One of my International Research Assistants of Mystery found these postings to the Deluxe Bicycle Club’s Chat Group – reminding us of that magical first test where le tour and le ashes melted into one another as if in a dream (and Australia were still comfy winners):
Comments: …Brett Lee’s next ball to Vinokourov is short of a length, Vino opens the shoulders and swings but miss cues and the ball skews high, high into the air and just past the outstretched fingers of Gillespie who is fielding at deep mid wicket. Dizzy stumbles backwards and pulls up just short of a giddy precipice and just in time too as, moments later, a breakaway group of riders containing Cadel Evans, Michael Rasmussen and Shane Warne plummeted by on the treacherous descent of the Col du Telegraph and, I don’t know about you Phil, but I think Warney’s been sneaking powerbars out of the KOM’s musette bag…
Comments: Brilliant mate, love it.
But will Warney be dropped on the first climb up the stands to Col de Bay 13?Or will he attack as they descend from the outer?
Now we just need a pommie equivalent to Gabrielle Gate to bring us some fine gordon blue brit cuisine b4 the first over.
C’arn Cadel.
atmospheric pressure
One of the very striking things about watching the cricket from England is hearing the incredible noise of the crowd, and the trajectories it takes in moving away from noise and into song. Thinking back to Edgbaston, where the crowd noise was at its most pronounced, there was an exemplary moment. Langer and Clarke were building a solid partnership and things were on the improve for Australia. It was nearing the middle of the Afternoon session, the middle of the cricket day. The crowd was quiet, noises were sporadic and isolated. The crowd had no syntax. Giles came on to bowl and Langer went on the attack – nothing out of hand but the crowd sensed something. The noise built abruptly, the trajectory of the crowd-force intersected with that of the game and it suddenly stopped drifting. The crowd sensed soemthing could be about to happen. Within the space of a few balls, and without any really discernible cause, the crowd noise moved from lonely unintelligent shouts to committed song – the crowd became a unified mass, harmonised and absolutely sensible. They were singing up a wkt. It was still early in Giles’ spell when he produced one of the best balls he’s ever bowled, perfectly pitched and turning fast. Clarke hadn’t a chance. The general metaphor places a value on the crowd = to that of a 12th English player. It seems more complex than that – the crowd is more like an element of the weather. They influence atmopsheric pressure. It wouldn’t be stretching it credit the crowds with the phenomena of reverse swing that we have been seeing the English bowlers use so effectively – the crowd clearly creates the perfect atmopsheric conditions for this. It also wouldn’t be out of the realms of possibility to suggest that the crowd was is some way responsible for the rain that fell on Old Trafford giving Australia the opportunity to escape from inevitable ignominy. Immense, concentrated pockets of atmospheric intensity will always produce unforseeable and at times unwanted effects. The crowd, however passionately united in desire, however tuneful, will always be wildly producing aleatoric effects. The twelfth man provides drinks and equipment changes. Quantitively the value to the team may be similar, but the two qualities are in no way analogous.
Some enjoy silence:
“The most beautiful thing about the finish last night was the absolute silence of the Barmy Army after Harmison bowled a spectacularly easy over for a tailender to bat out. It was so quiet in the ground that you could have heard a ball take Marto’s inside edge. It is a lovely sound, the sound of a shattered Barmy Army.” From my Sydney correspondent.
the modern cricketer
the following poem is pieced together using (almost) direct samples from the rampant sentimentalising indulged in by the Channel 4 commentary team during the past 2 test matches (as if modern cricket isn’t good enough for them – they aren’t so keen on that modern computer digital stuff).
the modern cricketer lets go of the bat &
drives a fancy foreign car
with small backseats he
doesnt even try to bowl line
& length no one can swing the ball anymore
they cant get the seam position right the
ball only swings after its
past the batsman
or it swings in reverse
you wouldnt know if they could they dont
even try to bowl line & length
in my day all the opening batsmen had gritted teeth
we never got our trousers dirty
these new bats these new bats
where are the yorkers & slower balls
lovely old fashioned scoreboard
thats the way they used to be at every ground
over here i fashioned it especially
using my own carpentry set
its come up beautifully it was
an old fashioned test knock
the kind of innings geoffrey boycott loves
langers playing an old fashioned test innings
today thats an old fashioned tempo just
what is the modern day family old
trafford the bowlers actions arent side on anymore
the modern boot is very different from those of yesteryear
these are slightly more comfortable & very light
they certainly look different to the old
mcmurtrys hand stitched by
hope sweeney in melbourne & not
by foreigners you dont
see handshakes anymore its
a little high five or a punch of the gloves or
a hug & a pat on the backside angus
fraser in my day everybody fielded in the slips
faith, hope
“Noel Coward once said that he could handle the despair; it was the hope he couldn’t stand.” From Gideon Haigh’s Ashes Diary.
I quite like the hope. I don’t think my hopes can possibly be disappointed from here on in. If I’m hoping for great cricket matches then I can’t be happier with the way my hopes have already been met. The thing that was becoming an issue for me was faith. The faith that no matter how good England are (and they are amazingly good – especially their bowling attack) my boys will not let England win these Ashes. Some sort of faith that England don’t quite deserve it yet (the current Australian team certainly doesn’t deserve to lose) and that justice will be done. Obviously this faith has been wavering. Hayden hasn’t produced the immensity of batting that I was sure he was going to – none of the batsmen had until Ponting on Monday. Gillespie has found nothing to provide fuel to faith. I was sure El Warno was going to complete that century on Sunday, I had complete faith in him, yet I was let down once again. My faith was strong after Edgbaston even though Australia had lost. The fight they provided was more than I had ever expected. I took this as an entirely good omen. After the first four and a half days of the Old Trafford test faith was gone, I was sure I would awaken to the news that Australia had been bowled out in the second last over. Close things were going England’s way – they had done everything to deserve it. Everything, it turned out, except win. Ponting’s quest was one of immaculate application. Faith is restored. My feeling after Edgbaston was that England wouldn’t win another test this series. Obviously that idea had been dismissed long ago. It is now back in force. Faith has been putting on this wonderfully exhilirating binary dance – a series of zeroes and 1s. May this spectacular light show go on, from this point on it will be superficial. The overall faith in the boys is as solid now as it ever was.
Clarkie is still to unleash his full powers (waiting for the right moment, the ultimate test, when everything is on the line).
Hayden is still due to annihilate.
El Warno may never score a test century but his greatness is unquestionable – he is forever redeemed.
McGrath has a new foot – his rejuvenation has begun, piece by piece (Brett Lee was given the grisly hand me down – it’s good to keep a high quality spare).
Ponting has graduated.
Perhaps Dizzy can even become a new master of reverse swing – he has 8 days.
the greatest test match since Edgbaston 2005
Cricket is officially sexy.
In England the spectators and commentators are feeling the pinch – “The entire country can now take a breather as the series breaks for 10 days before Trent Bridge. There are many people who will need to go and lie down in a darkened room – with two Tests to go this is becoming the ultimate series.” In Australia, where distance can do nothing to thwart the emotionally harrowing intensitites that are being driven into our souls, we have the added problem of sleep deprivation – Ashes recovery booths are being set up all over the country.
It was eons ago that the the coyotes crept off to die quietly in a cave somewhere, ceasing their hopeless crying before the moon, leaving Michael Vaughan free to take all his chances with glee and amass a huge century to put England well on top from the outset. Generations later the coyotes might have perked up again as Ponting, after days of nothing but disappointment (another failed attempt at a century from El Warno being the pinnacle, the seductions of hope & ignorance of faith had well and truly begun to work their teasing ways), led Australia in the most remarkable, most spirited, of rear guard actions to win his team a draw. England’s massive chance to take a lead in the series went begging, the road runner beeped cheerily, smiled at the camera and sped on.
oh my god
god! eeesus – this entry comes two days later but I’m still exhilirated when I think about the end of the test! So massive so extraordinary so delightful so sad. Watching the Australian tail approach the victory target It always felt like they would fall short -basically the unlikely that they were dealing with was far too huge. So initally it was just nice and relaxing cricket, watching Warne and Lee score a few runs, knowing that surely soon a wkt would fall and then another – but it was nice that they had lasted a few overs and were making England work. But the runs required just kept coming down – the crowd was completely silent all morning, this could have been some sort of hint I guess. Even when El Warno trod on his stumps (another incredible event in an incredible series of events) and Kaspro came in the runs required kept coming down. At some indeterminate point I started to believe it might actually be possible for Australia to win. Or at least I entertained fantasies of such a happening without really believing it. This put me in the awkward position of knowing that the closer Australia got the more painful it was going to be when the wkt eventually did fall. I started counting down, first by 10s, then 5s, then 9,8,7… jumping about with excitement, white knuckles, edge of seats, adrenalin. When the end came only 3 runs short of victory there was barely any disappointment at all. I couldn’t have imagined a more fantastic way for a test match to go. Ok, 3 more runs would have been better in the short term – the massive joy that comes with the impossible being rendered unlikely and the unlikely achieved. As regards the long term though, now it feels as though the rest of the test series will be like this all the way – 3 x 5 days straight of pure adrenalin. Gideon Haigh put it very nicely – “Like no other match I’ve attended, in fact, this one has left me feeling both privileged and proud: privileged to have been part of it, and proud of the game I love.” Thank the cricket gods for back to back Tests, I couldn’t imagine having to wait more than a couple of days for the cricket to recommence.
I watched the highlights show the next evening and found it devastatingly sad, knowing already the way things would go. Hearts bleed for Kaspro and Lee.
F****off
The bloody epic came but the hero was cast differently. Flintoff is undoubtedly a demigod. His is a terrible divinty – there is nothing more fearsome in the world than watching him take a wkt. He derives no joy from the experience, it is pure beastial passion that overcomes him. It is as though an Australian batsman, when Flintoff was only a child, commited horrendous acts of atrocity against his family as he was forced to watch. The way he looks skyward with ferocious eyes and roars to the heavens, thrusts out his chest, stands and receives the bitter rewards of revenge from his wronged cosmos. Physically, he heals quickly – mentally the damage seems irreparable, it appears this is a revenge that will never find resolution, he is surely the most dangerous thing Australia have come up against for a very long time.
waste day 2
Today England were fantastic. The bowled tight to great plans, the field settings were brilliantly conceived. They took every chance they were given and even made a bunch for themselves. Vaughan’s run out of Marto was particularly important. Marto barely bothered running figuring the chance of a direct hit was basically nil. As Psmith would say he mistook the impossible for the unlikely. Vaughan made the unlikely history, now Australia have to embrace their own version of the unlikely and make it fly from underground to the heights of the incredible. Even sans McGrath they have the personnel, but they need to lift, launch.
(Doesn’t Justin just love getting hit – we’ll need to see a lot more of that when Australia chase however sizeable a target in the second innings)