It has not been an epic Ashes. The drama of Trent Bridge promised a
captivating, enthralling series to rival 2005 with the Aussies getting
tantalisingly close to a thrilling turnaround victory, prompted by the
extraordinary test debut innings of the smiling, beguiling teenager Ashton
Agar. Even his name sounds like a film star’s nom de plume – he goes straight
into the Gone with the Wind as deputy to C. Gable. If ever an Australian was
going to win over the English public this good-looking, naïve charmer was the
man. I have never been so disappointed to see an opposition player get out when
he finally fell on his elegant sword, on 98. We also had the additional spicy
ruckus caused by another fresh-faced youth, Stuart Broad. Broad’s inability to
detect the ball being smashed off the centre of his bat straight to first slip
via the keeper’s gloves, and Aleem Dar’s sudden blindness. This match had all
the elements – controversy, charm, charisma, pulsating cut and thrust leading
to a fitting denouement. The end of the final innings was as thrilling when the
final pair added 65 and when Haddin was caught behind within touching distance
of the target, it was all to be decided by everybody’s favourite referral
system DRS.
An electrifying series was in the offing
but it did not materialise as none of the subsequent games contained the same
excitement or tension of that first match. Lord’s was embarrassingly easy for
England as the Aussies showed the backbone of a worm in a pathetic first
innings display, after Rogers was somehow felled by Swann’s very impressive
impersonation of a Simon Kerrigan delivery, a looping full toss which was
drifting high wide and not particularly handsome. The most amazing aspect of
this was that Rogers did not review the decision as the Aussies had decided to
only review those that were plumb LBWs as pioneered by Shane Watson. Such
village cricket was then put into perspective by Root’s imperious 180, another
young man who captured our admiration. Like Agar and unlike so many of his peers,
Root smiles and clearly loves playing cricket at the highest level, which is a
striking contrast to the standard sullen grumpiness that seems to be the norm.
Not sure how his angelic looks inspired the
pantomime villain, David Warner to give him a clout in a club even before the
Ashes had started but Warner’s return to the fold provided the boo-boys with
plenty of material. Warner’s exile preceded the removal of Mickey Arthur, the
slightly hapless South African coach of Australia. Surely, Arthur would have
been better suited to leading England aka South Africa B. New coach Darren
Lehmann or Boof as he is affectionately known (and will be forever after his
broadside at our Stuart) decided to weigh into the Broad debate and implored
the Australian crowds to send him home blubbing from the forthcoming return
series starting in Brisbane in November. At least the authorities do not have
to waste any expenditure on those on-field fireworks that are meant to ignite
the atmosphere.
Talking of pyrotechnics, Old Trafford lived
up to Manchester’s reputation for moisture and was literally a damp squib. Australia cursed their misfortune as
the only real rain that had fallen in the previous few months in a surprisingly
hot, dry English summer, made it to the North West for the last day to rescue
England as they teetered on the brink at 27-3, chasing an implausible 300 odd
after saving the follow-on, courtesy of another Australian failure with DRS when
not reviewing a Pietersen LBW which was nailed on and of course KP then struck
an important match-saving century. Just as England were gasping for air the
heavens opened and did not relent until it was too late for Clarke and he shook
hands with Captain Cook and the Ashes were going nowhere.
Durham was hosting its first ever Ashes
Test Match and did everyone proud with a gripping match, the second best of the
series. Australia were in command until Ian Bell continued a rather handy knack
of notching a century whilst all around him were losing their heads, and
wickets. Australia still had a sniff and had set off with good intent, only to
be blown away by baby-faced assassin, Lehmann’s favourite guy, S. Broad. Poised
on 168-2 with just over a hundred required Stuart produced the best bowling
spell of the series, blowing away the Aussie batsmen as if they were matchstick
men, ending with a devastating
spell of 6-20, it was enough to make a grown man cry, Darren kindly take note.
So on to the Oval, that arena which has
seemingly been purpose-built to host the most dramatic of climaxes to the
really big series. With the aid of some imaginative captaincy, which overcame a
few weather delays (as Kennington did a passable impression of Manchester) and
some laboriously painful batting by England, which suggested that timeless
tests had been re-introduced by the ICC without anyone knowing. The last day’s
menu was ‘carrot au dangle’ courtesy of Masterchef Clarke served on a feather
bed of a pitch for England’s Cook. This delicious meal was coming to the boil
nicely, helped by some KP sauce and a slice of Trott-er when the inevitable
happened. It was time for the Idiotic Cretinous Clowns aka the ICC to
intervene. Four overs were left, 21 runs required in the dwindling light on a
bright summer’s evening in South London as the rules and regulations struck.
Hopeless umpires now became helpless umpires as the light meter readings determined
the game to be cut short, strangled just as the juiciest of ends was in sight.
Even mild-mannered and overall good egg,
Jonathan Agnew, BBC’s cricket correspondent, was apoplectic with rage over this
ridiculous ending to the series, ‘an absolute shambles’ was his bitter
conclusion. So when Aggers starts doing his impression of a hybrid of Warner
and Lehmann at their most venomous, you know that everything in the world is
not right. For a game that has to encourage people to spend prodigious amounts
of money to watch the lamest of finishes we are at home to Incompetent Crass
Clots. To cap it off, there was the after-show party where the England players
gathered near the square under the cover of darkness, no need for light meters
now and ‘relieved themselves’ which proved to be utterly shocking to the shy,
sensitive Aussies such as seasoned cricket writer, Malcolm Conn. The meekness
of the apology from ECB matched some of the most mealy-mouthed utterances of
recent years. For all you shy, retiring Ockers out there look away now as this
whole escapade was surely taking the piss. So bring on Brisbane in November for more tears at bedtime.
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