Ashes Poetry

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.

All London seems sleepy, it’s Sunday and no one’s rushing to work between school-runs and night-outs. I’m excited, nervous, for the first time in almost forty years of going test matches I could see England beat Australia. Didn’t do it at Old Trafford 2005 where in the midst of the Barmy Army all were standing, cheering England on. Ponting played almost the entire day through, where at its end Lee and McGrath did a prototype Anderson and Panesar to deny Albion the spoils, and my virgin victory. I’m excited, like going out on a date.

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.

At ten-thirty today I’m to be interviewed by Ronnie Barber of BBC Radio about what words poets don’t like. Any that end in -ly except sly, since they’re adverbs which means the verb isn’t doing its job well enough, and generally used by politicians and the like to evade rather than seek truth and meaning (”Basically” “Absolutely” “Honestly” “Categorically”…) Here’s a list of those phrases I’m tired of hearing in and on cricket. It’s almost a poem:-

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.

It is one of those days: from the top of a 13 bus observe the increasing pavement rain dapples down the Finchley Road. Nearly didn’t get this far as a silver Honda Jazz driven by a bitch of a silver-haired hag tried to total me crossing the road just because she wanted to turn right without waiting. FR05TWAT you need to grow up, get some manners before no-one bothers to come and wipe your arse in some old folks’ home, while you spend the rest of your misbegotten days rushing towards your own death, not mine.

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

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

On the way here a bus advertised the remake of Taking Pelham 1,2,3 where a runaway NY subway train has to be, well taken. Which is the task facing the England attack, Taking Aussies 1,2,3. The theme continues within. Marston’s declares “England has history, Australia previous.” Who has the courage of their convictions? The food and drink seems reasonably priced (£3.30 a pint of chemicalified ersatz whallop can’t be termed ’surprisingly cheap’) and the queues not too long. I look for my old mates, t-shirted Aussies declaring their members of the David Boon Drinking Academy. ‘Sad,’ I told them in Cardiff ‘Never thought I’d see the day Aussies advertising they needed lessons in drinking.’ Boonie famously drank 23 tinnies on the flight from Oz to Pomland, which demonstrates the weakness of Aussie beer as much as the stomach of their men. It’s all too civilised here. Why, they even let spectators take in a modicum of alcohol – two pints of beer or a large glass of wine. Helps keep the in-house prices down, I guess.

England won the toss, elected to bat. Teams as printed on the card. Better go and get one then. Strauss clearly knows his onions since he’s picked him. 90 for 1 at lunch will be cool. I’m in the Compton stand, and apart from the Pavilion, and the slope of course, the entire arena changed since I was last here in 1976, watching David Steele disappear into the pavilion basement before facing the wrath of Lillian Thompson. Boycott’s going to ring the five minute bell, and at the speed he scored at, he should have started the night before. His highest test score, 254, against NZ, led to him being dropped with Ken Barrington for slow scoring. On the tickets and around the ground are banners declaring the best international performances at Lord’s. Part of me wants to know the worst – Gooch bagged a pair in his first test, wasn’t it at Lord’s. It’s not just mockery. Quite the reverse, you have to be good to fail at Lord’s, just to arrive. The crowd are reflected in the ET media centre window, Rudi Koerzten’s 100th test, all England pray he’s not troubled to raise his finger before lunch. 90-1 fingers crossed.

Koertzen

to stand in judgement upon others
to view impartially
to assess the evidence
in the blink of a moment

before accession or denial of appeal
without expert witnesses
cross-examination
advice taken in chambers
whatever’s laid bare in camera

our aim is simple
to make most perfect the verdict
from the most imperfect of tasks
until all decisions are good
however badly they may be taken

on the occasion of umpire Rudi Koertzen’s hundredth test match

Strip low and flat, Johnson straying too much onto leg-stump. Onions could be a wise choice, Lord’s a-murmour in anticipation, waves against a distant shore. Not that Koertzen has much work to do, only a single appeal as England go in at lunch 120 odd for none, the tour-bus Aussies ahead perplexed that this wasn’t on their itinary, and yet nearly 200 for none runs out at 356 for 6 by stumps. Captain Strauss batting the entire day through:-

Strauss

no cavalier disposition
no frills nor fripperies

he bats round-shouldered
legs apart, more ready to shovel coal
than play straight in the classical manner

more relaxed and refined at the other end
weight on bat, one leg straight, other bent
at the knee, one toe to the ground, a yeoman farmer
lent on a gate turned a general of men,
he carries his duty from dawn till dusk
despite all who fall about him
or clamour his dismissal from post.

Lord High Protector of England
and the Common Wealth
He bends his knee to none
but himself

2nd Test, Lord’s Day One, England 353/6 A J Strauss 161*

And tweet by tweet….

4-0 Strauss wins toss, clearly knows his Onions since he’s picked him.Anxiety scuds between the clouds and the slope, all tasks start uphill
23-0 strip low easy flat, Strauss flashes, edges, slips through slips, perhaps Aussies scaled their Euro quota for slippery fish to barbeque
Buxton drinks England sip a rare crystal rimmed with fours no cracks crazes of needless wickets Such sweet cool nectar to parched lips
88-0 Cookie’s fifty 11 fours 1 just edged through slips. Siddle is the trickiest to middle and to be left at peril. Punter turns to spin
161-0 nosebleed time for Brits. All Lord’s a picture, contentedly murmuring a fat sleepy cat with a thick bowl of cream as Aussie faces sour
177-0 Sour faced Aussies turn butter fingers, Punter’s cheesed off by Albion milking them silly Green Baggies curdle gradually in the sun.
196-1 Cooke lbw Johnson, systemic failure feet in a bucket mind bewailing missed opportunity of century v Australia at Lords.Bopara 4 200-1
222-2 Double Nelson Bopara lbw Hilfenhouse trying to pull Aussies off the floor and from the ropes. Pietersen to deliver the knock-out blow?
267-3 Pietersen cHaddin bSiddle 32 Ladies pause their fans as wantoness leave. Captain Troy gone, enter Gabriel Oaks Collingwood to save day
300-3 Squire Andrew Boldwood considers valentining an ashes tempress. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, suitors for the perfumed urn
302-4 Collingwood holes out to deep mid-on Strauss leans on bat when not holding up innings and Australians as afternoon turns antipodean. about 5 hours ago
317-5 Prior plays around inswinging Johnson to bring Fred to crease. How to play? Cavalier to Strauss’s round-head or off-his-rocker ThorGod
333-6 Treble-Nelson Fred edges Ponting pounces, day all too soon turned on its head from heady morning – six wickets 137 runs Strauss solid.
360-7 Lord High Protector of the Commonwealth Cromwell Strauss 157* carrying his bat from the dawn to the dusk of play. 5000 career runs

to stand in judgement upon others
to view impartially
to assess the evidence
in the blink of a moment

before accession or denial of appeal
without expert witnesses
cross-examination
advice taken in chambers
whatever’s laid bare in camera

our aim is simple
to make most perfect the verdict
from the most imperfect of tasks
until all decisions are good
however badly they may be taken

on the occasion of umpire Rudi Koertzen’s hundredth test match

no cavalier disposition
no frills nor fripperies

he bats round-shouldered
legs apart, more ready to shovel coal
than play straight in the classical manner

more relaxed and refined at the other end
weight on bat, one leg straight, other bent
at the knee, one toe to the ground, a yeoman farmer
lent on a gate turned a general of men,
he carries his duty from dawn till dusk
despite all who fall about him
or clamour his dismissal from post.

Lord High Protector of England
and the Common Wealth
He bends his knee to none
but himself

2nd Test, Lord’s Day One, England 353/6 A J Strauss 161*