Having said that, Australians probably won’t take heart from the half-arsed scragged-out draw at Cardiff at least precluding a 5-0 Blighty-Wash in answer to the 2006-7 drubbing. For all their deodorant ads, Team England just don’t have enough soap to clean up the Baggies completely. 

Only one thing went wrong for Australia at Lord’s outside their control. Losing the toss. This was followed by a truly horrendous bowling performance on the first morning which put England into the driving seat at 196-0. As Kevin Fewster, the Australian Director of the National Maritime Museum put it, meat-pie in hand, ‘This is the Mitchell Johnson.’ Credit the Aussies attack for recovering some measure of control to dismiss England for less than 450 when 600 was on the cards.

Bat well, and the game was drawn. (Remember this is the Green Baggies’ base-line strategy: bat longer than they do.) Here the Australian top-order went bonkers. Perhaps their first innings thrashing of the England attack at Cardiff was still in their minds, but it wasn’t Cardiff at Lord’s. Overcast, the ball moved around a frac, not best conditions for cross-batted shots. Six were out to pulls or hooks. After that the result was pretty well inevitable.

Okay, Strauss could’ve enforced the follow-on, which would have left England needing to make around two-hundred in the last knock, had Australia batted as well in a third innings as they did in the fourth. Strauss could’ve declared later than he did, but five-hundred’s plenty enough in the bank, even if someone sooner or later will chase down five-hundred last innings to win a test. As it happened it allowed both for poor weather and better Aussie batting – a two sessions hundred run plus margin of victory plenty enough when a win is a win. Neither captain is – yet – a Vaughan, Taylor or Brearley, but Strauss must be gaining in confidence, while Ponting seems to be losing his. Ricky’s a decent skipper. Anyone who, after losing at home to South Africa, goes to their patch and thrashes them is a leader. However he may be missing a Gilchrist, Warne and the other senior pros to help with ideas when they are needed to turn things round.

Individually Australia have more worries. Not in their batting where Hughes is the only serious doubt, a left-handed Dougie Walters in the making - but bowling, particularly Mitchell Johnson who in two tests has gone from hero to zero. Haddin’s batting is a plus, though his keeping seems to make the Green Baggies look altogether less than unusually excellent in the field. I like Horitz as an offie. He’s learning to flight the ball – he did Strauss again at Lord’s, and offers a measure of control. Hilfenhaus bends it both ways, and is the most difficult if the slowest of the quicks. Siddle seems to like the short-stuff a bit too much for English conditions, although it may set up victims at the other end. They miss Warne, big-time. At present only Flintoff is a bowler to be feared on either side.

For England, victory may be papering over cracks. Bopara’s yet to reassure still less be secure at No.3. Pietersen on one leg isn’t good enough to merit a place, while Prior looks a murderous test number seven yet a dodgy number six: at least he kept fairly competently, and England were good in the field, hardly spilling a chance, even if they took some which some would say weren’t. Bowling? Jury still out. The attack relies on Flintoff, who from a tired Sisyphus at Cardiff is a hero reborn now he has a mission with an end – win back the Ashes and retire – the ODIs and IPL offering him a life-line to end his test career on a high-note (see http://www.ashespoetry.net/2009/07/21/lords-reflections-beyond-boundaries/) His final day performance at Lord’s was an unstoppable force; fast, ferocious and smart – close to the stumps angling it away, setting up his victims for the one that jags back. On current form he and Ponting are the two world class performers in both teams. Anderson gets better, but still looks hittable once the ball stops doing anything. Broad bowled better than at Cardiff too, his ardour for the short-stuff cooling – too far down the wicket and too easily spotted too early to hurry a decent batman into error. He doesn’t yet have the guile to go with his height, and doesn’t seem to have a clear strategy – either to blast or bore a batsman out. Onions crooked his elbow and knee so a tad hard to judge; more accurate, less quick – England need someone like him to contain if Flintoff is to remain fit as the strike bowler. Swan had a mare at Cardiff, and Clarke  during the second innings at Lord’s drove and drove to which Swan dropped it down and pushed it through, precisely what the batsmen wanted. However on that final day he did the Pup with a wonderfully flighted off-break, which had it not bowled Australia’s putative saviour would have offered Prior the opportunity to demonstrate just how good – or bad – a stumper, rather than keeper, he is. (Because I couldn’t see the wicket itself I did him a disservice at the time seeing the ball evade his grasp, its evil done, ‘Stump ‘im!’ still on my lips.)

Set up nicely for Edgbaston. English and Australian fanatics calculate chances.

Perhaps it’s become too much of a habit. Watching this test match – packed house all five days, the keenest of matches watched and reported worldwide, front page news in each antipodes - you’d have no idea that the very existence of test match cricket is under threat. You’d think it was the only form of the game played, and the limited over stuff (what Brian Close memorably called ‘Slap and Tickle’ at its start) had the limited life-expectancy or consequence. Nothing could be further from the truth. Freddy Flintoff, Ashes hero incarnate, is giving up test cricket at the end of the series to continue One Day Internationals and T20 leagues, which is more than fair enough given the punishment his body’s endured for the sake of England, but this option would never have available to a generation ago. The fact that India is the world cricketing power on and off the pitch is also quitely forgotten while this Ashes series is on – ‘How do you feel about the two next best sides battling it out in Wales?’ I asked Vendat who served me in M&S Just Food outlet next to Cardiff Rail Station. He smiled.

The MCC World Cricket Committee calls for a test championship http://www.lords.org/latest-news/news-archive/wcc-call-for-world-test-championship,1377,NS.html not so much as because there should be one but because of pressure without…

“The committee is deeply concerned that the proliferation of lucrative domestic Twenty20 leagues, such as the Indian Premier League, will lead to the premature retirement of quality international cricketers.”

Qua Flintoff. Pink balls, day-night is all fine and dandy, but what of the championship itself? No one’s clear on that, but it seems they reckon on something like a World Cup… why not a league, with divisions, and each game scores points – one for participating, two for a home draw, three for away draw, four home win, five away win.  This would ensure teams went for victory, and encourage participation – why not Wales, Scotland and Ireland, not to mention Holland, playing in lower divisions.

There is a deeper concern if not threat, if not to cricket, then to Lord’s and the MCC.  Suppose you’d like to become a member of the Marylebone Cricket Club? http://www.lords.org/mcc/membership/ Unless you’re a pretty decent player it’s a seventeen year waiting list, starting at 17, which means the minimum age of members is 34. There is no junior MCC, unlike county clubs for countless years - I became a junior A member of Gloucestershire at the age of nine in 1962 for 10/6d or half-a-guinea if you were posh. You also need to be nominated by four MCC members, so if you don’t know any, tough. Given we’re all living longer, so too the waiting list and age of the membership. It’s hard to see how the MCC will garner new blood, which is fine, but doesn’t sit too well with its self-proclaimed title of ‘home of cricket’ while the pavilion as ‘the cathedral of cricket’ is a poor joke – anyone may enter a cathedral.

Anyone can enter Harry Morgan’s, the best New York deli outside New York. Just round the corner from Lord’s on St John’s High Street, it’s been done up. For the Russians apparently, who like a decent blini or two. In the Australian team are Hilfenhaus, Horitz and Kadich, all good central European names. While England have Strauss, Pietersen – South African – and Flintoff – Viking, name me an England or county cricketer from central Europe; Dimitri Mascarenhas of Hampshire is the closest. And if you’re after dosh, why Sir Alan Stanford, while loads of loaded Russians are already here in London?

If you’re poor it’s different. There are many parts of London which are no-go areas from other areas, especially if you’re young. Either through fear of gangs or other gangs or the police moving you on. It might be West Side Story in txt, mobile phones and rap but it isn’t Lord’s and it’s certainly isn’t cricket. If you wore a hoodie, how would you view those who wear the bacon and egg stripey ties in NW1? An anthropologist may draw no difference between the MCC and a street gang, perhaps noting that the MCC is more enduring due to a written constitution, ability to be socially accepted and control of assets.

This article might well have barred my ever becoming a member of the MCC, if not a street gang, (though I’d probably play the Groucho Marx card of not wishing to join a club which would have me as a member) and I’d probably forgive Marylebone Cricket Club pretty well everything if their members understood the basics of the game. One asked me after turning up after lunch ‘How many overs is it to a new ball?’ ‘Eighty,’ I replied. Should have said 98.6 or the sterling/euro exchange rate, whichever’s lower.

Maybe I’m too prissy too. A joy of going to watch cricket is meeting other cricket-lovers, but the English, especially the middle-class, especially in London, find it hard to talk to people they don’t know (and for all I know they find it just as hard to talk to those they do.) After five days I found myself slipping into the habit. A simple start to making the home of cricket more homely would be for the announcer to announce near the start of play, ‘They’ll be people around you who you don’t know. Why not say hello, shake hands, and enjoy each other’s company as part of your day at Lord’s?  Feel at home at the home of cricket.’

Confiscate all flags, banish their bunting,
kneel to annoit tasks’ end, of labour and doubt.
Warrant and forget. Move on, tests will out
play themselves were celebration-hunting
an honest globe; charted proof maligning
forg’d valour tarnish’d triumph’s petty shout
bought, not earned: mass’d media atout
yells, gawps, misbegotten cousins gloating
dumbs the morrow while the morrow shall beat
each win too vainly commemorated
till the game’s bones break. All brave teams eat
at the same table. Their contest sated,
there will be more, if not more to meet
before time’s great door bequeaths the departed.

2nd Test Lord’s England 425 & 311/6 dec  Australia 215 & 406 England won by 115 runs

Wandered through Hamstead Heath, getting myself thoroughly lost, (far better than losing, and a good thing to while walking in a park) before bussing down the Finchley Road. I miss the countryside at least as much as home – good to walk through grassland and watch a stag lead roe deer to graze. Of course back in the Peak District we hardly give a second glance to llama, alpaca, buffalo, ostrich (seriously, there may be no tarts in Bakewell, the last one retired about five years ago, more’s still the pity, but local buffalo, not to mention venison is definitely on the menu at the Farmer’s Market.) Almost bought a chopped liver bagel from Harry Morgan’s – my guts are 100% kosher, and yearns Yiddish scran – but settled for their latte. Somehow by lunchtime a chopped liver bagel would lose its appeal, win or lose. I walk through St John’s Wood graveyard and church. Thomas Lord was also involved in the graveyard too. The new pavilion at his new ground was used to celebrate the new cemetery designed to solve the problem of too many charnel houses within the city – London’s surburban sprawl was preceded by the disposal of the dead.

Disposing of the last five Australian wickets is England’s task at hand. I’ve a ground admission ticket which means bedlam to get a half-decent perch more or less behind the bowler’s arm. Behind me a Sheila complains that the MCC confiscated her flag to be returned at the end of play. After Clarke’s and Haddin’s resistance, the end comes quite quickly before lunch, but not before Mitchell Johnson smacked a smart sixty.  The missing flag flags at least the title of today’s poem to celebrate the contest as much as its outcome….

Confiscate All Flags

Confiscate all flags, banish their bunting,
kneel to annoit tasks’ end, of labour and doubt.
Warrant and forget. Move on, tests will out
play themselves were celebration-hunting
an honest globe; charted proof aligning
forg’d valour embreech’d triumph’s petty rout
bought, not earned: mass’d media atout
yells, gawps, misbegotten cousins gloating
dumbs the morrow while the morrow shall beat
each win too vainly commemorated
till the game’s bones break. All brave teams eat
at the same table. Their contest sated,
there will be more, if not more to meet
before time’s great door bequeaths the departed.

2nd Test, Lord’s England 425 & 311/6 dec  Australia 215 & 406 England won by 115 runs

Tweet by Tweet commentary

5-313, Confiscate all flags Celebrate the contest to banish sibling imposters to the lands of wilful ignorance, gloating and selfish rancour
6-313 Haddin edges Fred Supreme Super Centaur to doughty Colllingwood. Ablion Underground test escalators for reopening of the Victory Line.
6-314 Ubermenchpferd Flintoffen cracks Clarke’s bat, clangs helmet but yet to break his dutch boy finger in the dyke standfast resistance.
6-337 Johnson edges Freddie nearly makes it a catch, pitch getting lower and slower. Clarke’s cover drive stings Lord’s grass and confidence
7-356 Swann beats Clarke all ends up through the air, beautiful ball to end magnificent innings Escalators clunch and grind on Victory Line
8-363 Horitz leaves the censorious Centaur alone, off-stump disappears. Poms check back pockets for Victory Line oyster cards, 1934 vintage
9-389 The might of Fred wreck-balls Siddle’s stumps Kneels mid-pitch in five-for exhausted triumph. Johnson’s worthy fifty delays final roar
10-486 Johnson’s long handle bars entry to Victory Line till Swan dips below barriers and 75 year delay over. Wallace Simpson news to come

Albion Underground regrets to announce significant delays to the arrival of the next wicket on the Victory Line.

This is due to engineering works not following on and proceeding as expected, although we are doing as much as we can to rectify the situation by deployment of a new ball.

However Albion Underground would like to make it clear to all fare-paying passengers waiting for the next wicket, that it does not take any responsibility for the work of its principal sub-contractors Clarke Haddin (Green Baggy PLC) who have not performed as expected. They have refused to roll over and die in the face of a mammoth task at well-nigh impossible odds, and instead played out of their skins to place Albion Underground in a situation where we may have to close down the Victory Line completely, or only accept passengers travelling from the Antipodes.

Albion Underground wishes to apologise unreservedly for any inconvenience or heartbreak this may cause. Rest assured Albion Underground are doing their utmost to resume normal services as soon as possible, and would like to express our wholehearted gratitude for your forebearance and patience, especially those who have been waiting up to seventy-five years for the next Ashes victory on the Lord’s branch-line platforms.

In the meantime may we respectfully request that any passengers travelling today on the Albion Underground not to leave their hopes unattended since they are liable to disappear without trace.

Australia 5-313;  M J Clarke 125* B J Haddin 80* England five more wickets, Australia 209 more runs to win.

Victory was still possible at the start of the fourth day at Adelaide, so I’m not going to get too cocky since the victory went to Australia, following in their final innings the worst display of any England team anywhere ever. In Adelaide this evening they’re mourning the death of the eight Australian to die in Afghanistan, the state-owned electric company are denying cover-ups, and the police are coming down hard on hoons who drive way too fast in the ‘burbs. The Aussie Rules footie team, Port Adelaide, still has hopes to make the play-off finals. Malcolm Conn, Adelaide Now cricket correspondent is sharpening knives “Ponting should’ve known better.” Adelaide is a beautiful cricket ground, matched by a beautiful city. By the time the five minute bell rings at Lord’s this Sunday, people in Colonel Light’s vision will be thinking about going to bed, lonely insomniac sporting tragics perhaps turning to the golf where Aussie Matt Goggin’s in the mix for the Open rather than the action at Lord’s. I can’t wait.

I tell a lie. Yesterday there were kids at the ground. About a dozen seats down from me in the upper tier of the Edrich stand after lunch a young boy gripped and polished his brand new MCC ball as though he was opening the England attack from the Nursery End. Never mind the ball was doubtless made on the  Indian sub-continent, probably by a boy or girl about as young and quite possibly for the sweatiest of sweat shop wages.

“Only connect” wrote E M Forster in Howard’s End, a novel about class as much as love, but I very much doubt if anyone else made this connection, nor want it made, because it frets at the image of Lord’s village greens, teas and warm beer, a picture of the summer game. I queue for my pre-play limber-up net regulation large latte in the Nursery Food village. It doesn’t take too long and the staff work really hard, not least because people forget what they’ve ordered. No one in the queue talks to each other, none of them of their own free will dare move outside the territory bound by a canvas cordon, despite the fact their squashed together, making a nuisance for themselves and everyone else, and there is acres of room beyond the boundary they’ve imposed on themselves. I wait outside them, and they look at me as though I’m an interloper. This is the boundary they want to impose upon all others. None of them say a word of thanks to those, all young, ethnic and working class, who serve, in their case, coffee. These same men who complain of the lack of manners in the youth of today. I feel ashamed and angry to be English. As D H Lawrence wrote “How beastly the bourgeouis is, particularly the male of the species.” Or as Barry Humphries’ Bazza MacKenzie put it, “I wouldn’t piss in their ears even if their brains were on fire.” Fat chance of that, they’re hardly ever used. Fuck ‘em.

On the pitch Cooke practices run-outs and catching, something Sam Loxton, the opener of ‘48 Invincibles, never did as a matter of course. Boycott marches to the wicket, smart in his dun-brown suit and fawn hat, doubtless cheesed underneath it as the hover-cover beats him to it, the threat of rain impending Sir Geoffrey’s pitch inspection. The weather and ground authorities should know better. Brett Lee walks past looking fit and cheerful in shorts, good-on-yer, Binger. The suited and gelled-up Warnie joins his suited and gelled-up first skipper AB to tell viewers in the Australian evening the latest. It starts to rain, heavily. Is there no end to the legendary leggie’s magick? Kick-off delayed till 11.15. On the replay screen I travel back in time to watch Horitz nab Strauss with a big loopy off-spinner, perfectly flighted and pitched to pick off the outside edge. Who said he couldn’t bowl, Sir Geoffrey? Panesar, please note. And Swan you should do least as well, as Strauss declares, much to my brother Paul’s surprise, reckoning he’d bat till Monday lunchtime, at least. Play!

 Lunch. An MCC member with immaculate tie and frayed collar shirt tells me he’s sure there’s yellow and red couture for female members before saying me his father saw the last English victory vs Australia at Lord’s in 1934, when Hedley Verity took 14 wickets. Nine years later he died at Monte Casino. Rain stutters from the sky as the five minute bell rings, sun tries to break through along with England. At first all goes to plan 5 down for about one-zip, then just for those who stayed up into the small hours back in Australia, Michael Clarke and Brad Haddin get together….

Albion Underground

Albion Underground regrets to announce significant delays to the arrival of the next wicket on the Victory Line.

This is due to engineering works not following on and proceeding as expected, although we are doing as much as we can to rectify the situation by deployment of a new ball.

However Albion Underground would like to make it clear to all fare-paying passengers waiting for the next wicket, that it does not take any responsibility for the work of its principal sub-contractors Clarke Haddin (Green Baggy PLC) who have not performed as expected. They have refused to roll over and die in the face of a mammoth task at well-nigh impossible odds, and instead played out of their skins to place Albion Underground in a situation where we may have to close down the Victory Line completely, or only accept passengers travelling from the Antipodes.

Albion Underground wishes to apologise unreservedly for any inconvenience or heartbreak this may cause. Rest assured Albion Underground are doing their utmost to resume normal services as soon as possible, and would like to express our wholehearted gratitude for your forebearance and patience, especially those who have been waiting up to seventy-five years for the next Ashes victory on the Lord’s branch-line platforms.

In the meantime may we respectfully request that any passengers travelling today on the Albion Underground not to leave their hopes unattended since they are liable to disappear without trace.

Australia 5-313;  M J Clarke 125* B J Haddin 80* England five more wickets, Australia 209 more runs to win. 

tweet by tweet commentary

0-8 Lord High Protector of the Common Wealth declares on 500+ foot high ground. No two gulllies for Hughes, de rigour for latter-day Walters
1-17 Super Centaur 91 mph Katich slashes KP catches No short-leg to the Tasman Dancer Mr Brearley to have words with junior boys after class
1-34 Hughes edges to slip Flintoff left hand’s fingertips. Impossible catch not made. Under sunhat looks a Lucy Mabel Attwell cherubic boy.
2-34 Hughes edge Super Centaur Lucy Mabel Attwell Cherub; LHP of Commonwealth catch referred upstairs, ground disappearing under Aussie feet
2-44 Onions first change ahead of Broad, Harmison 6 for not many yesterday, Super Centaur pavilions for more oats and fettling Broad bounces
2-76 lunch Five oceanic sessions 2 bridge for antipodean safety, eight brief wickets 2 sink Albion’s avowal Kwik-cricket leads 2 right stuff
3-78 Ponting inside edge twice, second time onto stumps No dispute, no referral, no match saving innings; captain last to leave sinking ship
3-106 Clarke drives 4 4s off 4-ball Anderson, a flurry to skip past worthy Mister Hussey becalmed on twenty. Swan comes on, to harness turn.
4-120 Hussey drives at Swan, slip Collingwood(!) catches edge through Prior’s gloves Suoer Centaur to thunderbolt havoc admidst dogs of war.
5-148 North goes west, done by Swanny’s arm ball. Stump-cam knocked to the heavens, surely single thing left to save flailing Australia now.
5-162 Clarke fifty. Won Aussies last test at Lord’s second knock, can he save them this? Swan guile, Flintoff chin music leads a merry tune.
5-172 Fifty partnership, two right-handers, two good timers,fields up, they’re sure to score runs without having to run In the long run? Tea
5-231 Century Partnership. London Underground apologises for the delayed victory. Normal service should resume with the new ball shortly.
5-252 Haddin’s fifty, Clarke’s century. Never mind kissing the gold of the green baggy, all Australia will love you to bits to pull this off
5-313 Bad light stopped play, England perhaps more happy to go off, since the new ball close to being seen off

ethereal, a slight aromatic
adrift in time, fainter than dew
left after blades flens sward
before its possibility

earlier days’ traces linger;
stale ales, linament,
sweat and certified under-arm deodorant
fails to mask an exotic musk,
rare even to memories, dreams
beyond experience

sniffed with leather
when it edges their bats
or pummelled by ours;
with luck to taste on lips
as they lick fingers
before each dries with anxiety

you’ll get there, don’t worry,
target set, linger in anticipation,
patient ardour will leave them broken
and down. no post-coital cigarette of a win
at the fag-end of a lost series,
breathe deep the heady scent of victory.

Phrases we could do without

The spirit of cricket
Playing with a straight bat
On a sticky wicket
The summer game
Test match minnows
Bowled the pm a googly
Put up the shutters
The home of cricket
Rearguard action
Stout defence
Play up, play up, play the game
A ripple of polite applause
Turn your arm over
Not troubling the scorers
The Golden Era
A captain’s knock
A batsman’s game
It isn’t cricket
Rain stops play

Departure delayed to evade Kamikaze Honda Civics, and also I still don’t believe the score. Fear is arriving at Lord’s to discover the Australians are 222 for 1, just as I wanted to go back at close of play in Cardiff to verify we’d super-fluked a draw. At baggage check-in I’m asked ‘Any booze?’ ‘No, just the scent of victory.’ In nearly forty years of going to test matches I’ve yet to see the Aussies lose.

Australia stuffed up. Great players however great need to accede conditions, yesterday wasn’t for cross-bat shots. Tiger Woods missed the cut in a harsh-skied Open, new hip oldie Tom Watson is a shot from the lead. Maybe he should think about starting to play cricket. The soap opera’s back story’s starting to warm up. Horitz, the Aussie only twirly-man, has a jiggered finger, the 75 year not losing streak at the home of cricket is about to go down the tubes, and the Ashes in jeopardy again. Don’t bother with Kim and Kath as the new pace attack, bring back Mr Peroxide, WARNIE!

215-10 yet another edge, another catch England field well but leave the field holding off disrobing the sheer silken allure of the follow-on. Lord High Protector of the Commonwealth definitely not tempted under a Simpsons sky – Bart would’ve made ‘em bat again, unlike sister Lisa, while Homer reckons cricket exists purely for beer drinking, like many in a crowd.

But we’re at Lord’s and everyone’s quaffing white wine, Pimms, spritzers and champagne. Which the cricket isn’t. 111-2 Horatio time, tightest bowling of the game, and twin dashers  KP Bopara still look like they couldn’t hit a barn door with a banjo. Bowl ‘em a piano, Australia, see if they can play that. Geoff Boycott will be enjoyin’ it, though, so it may be time for the Serious Cricket Watchers Association (Two Laws: 1. Watch cricket 2. Be serious. Any contraventions will be treated with the utmost levity) to launch into the SchizoCricket Hall of Fame, the two Sir Geoffreys. You need to imagine a world where two Boycotts spend all their time in each other’s company – a bit like Dennis Wise finding an argument with himself in a empty house cubed. “My granny could play that wi’ a stick o’ rhubarb.” “Your granny could play that wi’ a stick o’ rhubarb? Rhubarb, my granny could stick hersel’ on that wicket till cows come home an’ play it wi’ her eyes shut an’ a time-worn cliche.” “Put wood in hole, don’t wan’ it too draughty down corridor of uncertainty.” “Never mind the avenues of improbability.” “An’ the motorway of implausibility” “Aye, that where playin’ test match bowlin’ wi’ a stick o’ rhubarb gets yer.” “Aye” “Aye” “Aye.” 122-2, clouding over, do the sun-gods like sensible battin?

By the end of the day England are over five million ahead and Australia will have to bat out about two light-years to save the game. I smell something in the air….

The Scent of Victory

ethereal, a slight aromatic
adrift in time, fainter than dew
left after blades flens sward
before its possibility

earlier days’ traces linger;
stale ales, linament,
sweat and certified under-arm deodorant
fails to mask an exotic musk,
rare even to memories, dreams
beyond experience

sniffed with leather
when it edges their bats
or pummelled by ours;
with luck to taste on lips
as they lick fingers
before each dries with anxiety

you’ll get there, don’t worry,
target set, linger in anticipation,
patient ardour will leave them broken
and down. no post-coital cigarette of a win
at the fag-end of a lost series,
breathe deep the heady scent of victory.

 

Tweet by Tweet Commentary

At baggage check-in I’m asked ‘Any booze?’ ‘No, just the scent of victory.’
178-8 Jimmy gives Hauritz three inswingers, who edges the impending outswinger for four. Broad’s infatuation with bouncers knows no bounds.
196-9 Enter Onions more bounce than Anderson Horitz edges slip Collingwood pouch. Australia in a dill of a pickle one prawn shy of a barbie
204-9 Scoring by snicked fours through slips 22 follow-on target. “We’ll get ‘em in edges” Fred paws ground: Bold hero saved for enforcement
215-10 yet another edge, another catch England field well but leave the field holding off disrobing the sheer silken allure of the follow-on

61-1 Cooke lbw Hauritiz 32 playiing around pad again this time to a slow-mo slow. Lunchtime Lord’s still, a picture of satiated expectation.
72-2 Lord High Protector edges their spinner, enter El Pietersono Will he be all too cavalier or dulce doloroso? A lofted onside 4 tells all
88-2 Punter recalls Hilfenhaus to flamingo KP, good captaincy then spills Bopara, qua precursor Waugh 2 Gibbs ‘You’ve just dropped the Ashes’
100-2 KP and Ravi look right dodgy
111-2 Horatio time KP Bopara still look like they couldn’t hit a barn door with a banjo Bowl em a piano Australia see if they can play that
130-2 Bopara sent upstairs, catch not given 147-3 more bat than pad, caught at short leg Horitz taken all three wickets a spinner none rates
169-3 three foured full tosses loosen shackles within chains England’s Achilles achilles leads to limp twixt wickets limping towards victory
174-4 Pietersen goes fishing, caught behind. Prior edges then beaten as Siddle makes the ball leave both ways, but not at once. 391 ahead
215-4 Prior going like a train derails Aussie nascent hopes. Each run more ferries a terminal certainty of winning and losing ever closer.
253-4 Prior high speed fifty twist-drills hammer blows into green baggies heart & a planning application for new Jerusalem at Lords.
260-5 Prior run out 61. Planning application deferred
301-5 Five hundred ahead, ground emptying in the certainty of the future. Limited edition set of Green Baggy teapots for sale on field now.

Talking of old folks, I’d reckon the average age of the crowd is higher than any batting average on either side bar Ponting, and it could be nudging Punter’s. It’s a bit sad and a cause of concern: the one thing I’ve not seen, and evident at Cardiff (and Edgbaston in the warm-up game) are kids with bats and balls, finding spots to play during intervals and were the weather to pause the main action. Okay, there’s the kwik cricket at lunch, but it seems awry that kids aren’t here to watch, learn and emulate. I’m in the Compton stand, and I’m pretty certain Dennis first learnt to be great by coming to watch as a short-trousered lad. Mind you, my seat, arguably one of the worse in the ground – cow-corner or third-man to a right-hander – is £95 sobs. Hard for a family to find this sort of dosh. Is this why the two big county ground-earners, Middlesex and Surrey, have consistently punched below weight in the county game. Are their youngsters coming through? Who was the last Surrey or Middlesex man to debut for England – Strauss, I reckon, brought up in South Africa, learnt his cricket in Australia, Radley Public School and Durham University.

You can’t fault the stewarding, though, you almost can’t move for them. Easily recognisable with their distinctive stripey red and yellow ties, for some unknown reason they seem to congregate around the pavilion, another of life’s little mysteries, but rest assured your ace cub reporter will sleuth the truth of the matter before long.

Sun’s out and Richie Benaud’s to ring the five minute bell. If this is the home of cricket, then passim Arlott, Richie is the voice of cricket. People forget how good a leg-spinner and captain he was – perhaps the best in Ashes series since he kept besting a technically superior England side. Shrewd should be his middle name. And he gives it a more dulcet clang than Boycs yesterday. I’m minded of Miles Davis’ great reworking of “If I were a bell” (Were I to believe in reincarnation, I’d return as a harmon  mute in his trumpet.)

Five Minute Bell

Play starts too soon,
too soon play starts.

Check pads, bat, box ‘n’ gloves
are where you last left them,
stretch legs, arms, tendons
and tie up laces again.
Re-adjust eyes to the light,
roll-up sleeves not too tight,
hitch up your whites
but try to forget
how play ended last night
for today’s the deepest of breaths
that flutter by -
- nervily.

after original ‘If I were a bell’ Frank Loesser, Guys & Dolls, jazz version Miles Davis

England continue to bat poorly, Strauss out second ball not playing a stroke, and the rest go for too few before Anderson and Onions put on nearly fifty for the last wicket. Still, out of 425 England openers made 256, the rest of the disorder 244. The ball’s swinging a little, but you expect class players to cope, straight bat next to pad, soft hands, elbow over ball. Hilfenhaus is the pick of the Aussie bowlers, and seems a good bloke. With his beard, stocky build and rustic gait, you can see him as one of the extras, member of the Amish community in the film Witness:-

Hilfenhaus

Brother Ben,
Life brings its own frustrations.
Eyes beseech the heavens
Leaves all in place as before.
Thy task is to dismiss by thine own labours
Without pleas to those with especial powers
To do thy humble work towards dismissal.
Here endeth the elders’ epistle:
Success shall come,
You leave no margin for error,
They shall succumb,
Thy will be done. ‘Tis enough,
Virtue is its own reward on this earth.

Second Test, Day 2, Lord’s England 1st innings 425 all out. Hilfenhaus 4-103

Australia reply before lunch. Two maidens, four, Hughes caught edging a hook. Enter El Punter. Hard tight cricket perhaps to determine coruse of  match, series and Ashes. Unlike CardiffAnderson and Flintoff finding swing to match Hilfenhaus. Ponting referred upstairs, given out caught when he was more likely lbw, walks slowly off. I’m reminded of a Jim Reeves number. “Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone, let’s pretend we’re together and not alone. Tell the bartender to turn the jukebox way down low, and your friend who’s there with you, he’ll have to go.” It’s Jim Reeves’ measured tones that run like honeyed balm over the strained vocal chords of the Aussie’s skipper’s squeaky querulous voice. The third umpire raises his invisible finger ‘Tell their captain, he’ll just have to go.’ Ricky had to go. Flintoff puts Katich through the off-stump wringer, bat left out to dry.  Hussey finding it hard to get forward. At lunch the Queen (HRH, not the 1980s rock band) meets teams, does she like cricket, will Ricky like talking to her after his dismissal? “Tell us, Mr Ponting, we would like to know, might only rain save Australia now?” The tribulations of test match captaincy: the Band of the Household Cavalry staying on the pitch far longer than the Green Baggies’ number three.

Overcast seamers’ conditions after lunch, a hunch Onions will do well. He doesn’t do badly. It’s Jimmy Anderson who cleans up between showers. The Aussies bat like dorks. Six out on the hook or pull, a crazy shot to force in these swinging seamy conditions. They must have reckoned they were still at Cardiff. England bowled and fielded well, not a chance dropped, and Broad’s salmon leap to swallow Katich was a work of wonder. Best ball was the quick one with a frac of inswing from Flintoff which Mr Cricket Hussey left alone to see his off-bail vanish. 95mph. Seriously quick. Freddie’s an effort bowler. He’ll strive to redeem the 5-0 strinewash in 2006-7 just as Ponting the loss of the Ashes in 2005. Great day’s cricket unless you’re Australian. Shame there were far too few small boys – and girls – there to watch.

Tweet by tweet commentary:-

364-7 Lord High Protector of England Strauss bowled second ball without playing a stroke. No need for Hilfenhaus to beseech the heavens
370-8 Swan edges Siddle to slip, Ponting doesn’t miss them nor likely Horitz in field. Enter Cardiff duckless duckling Jimmy to be a swan
378-9 Broad inside edges for four then onto stumps. Slack technique aided and abetted by Hilfenhaus swing. England quicks note with interest
393-9 Pantomime Villain Sid Vicious Siddle hits raw Onions. Last wicket pepper off-side of square to veer ECB FTSE index above the 400 mark.
419-9 late rally on stock market as last wicket adds forty and counting. Moneybags Ponting frets his financial minions to close out the deal.
425 all out. Johnson round wicket Anderson snicks obligingly England openers made 256, the rest of the disorder 244 Australia reply to a hush …

1-4 Hughes on hook edges Anderson. Flintoff emasculating Katich. Tight cricket to determine course of game. Ground packed hushed as a church
2-10 Ponting edges Anderson, caught Stauss, referred upstairs, an age of waits until qua Jim Reeves “Tell your captain, he’ll have to go.”
2-23 Flintoff testing Aussies to the extreme towards the vanishing point of searing edge. Heat in middle to hold back coldness of dismissal.
2-100 Inbetween showers and tea under a bright bright sun, Katich and Hussey rock solid left-hand bats show all Lord’s exactly how it’s done
3-103 Katich hooks Broad dives in the deep to take the catch, Onions springs with delight. Hussey unfussily accumulates at a profitable rate
111-4 Mr Cricket shoulders arms to 95mph to lose his wicket Suoer Centaur Fred roars towards the Ashes again
111-5 Anderson comes on to snuff out Clarke. Dark clouds gather over Australia, pom event-horizon indicate all too rare Lord’s failure.
139-6 North loses bearings and off-stump trying to pull the duckless Anderson for an half-hour duck. Jimmy, Jimmy Jimmy comes of age.
147-7 Johnson skies Broad, another caught in the deep, Ponting looks to the heavens. Floodlights on, Southern Cross dimmed 74 years awaiting
152-8 Happy Hookers go for blond Broad – Haddin the third Will England enforce the follow-on to break 74 year winless Ashes streak at Lords?
156-8 Bad light stops play, naughty-boy nets for Aussies in the morning?

Brother Ben,
Life brings its own frustrations.
Eyes beseech the heavens
Leaves all in place as before.
Thy task is to dismiss by thine own labours
Without pleas to those with especial powers
To do thy humble work towards dismissal.
Here endeth the elders’ epistle:
Success shall come,
You leave no margin for error,
They shall succumb,
Thy will be done. ‘Tis enough,
Virtue is its own reward on this earth.

Second Test, Day 2, Lord’s England 1st innings 425 all out. Hilfenhaus 4-103