Cricket, Lovely Cricket

         Since our arrival in mid-December, the country has been abuzz about the Ashes, a biennial cricket match between England and Australia that dates back--well, a long time.  The “Ashes” refers to the burning of the stumps after England lost a match in the 19^th century, and the ashes--representing the “death of English cricket”--became the symbolic trophy that changes hands, depending on the winner.

The fifth and final round of the test match (yes, the duration of these events seems staggering by American standards, because each game can go on for five days) was to be held in Sydney, after Perth, Brisbane, Adelaide and Melbourne.  In addition to one draw, the English were leading 2-1 coming into Sydney, so the best the Australians could hope for was a win to tie the series; but even that would not be sufficient to recapture “the Ashes” (I guess a little urn passes back and forth at the end of the match--somewhat macabre).  Vodaphone, the Aussie sponsor, provided a free outdoor screen and seating down at Circular Quay for the faithful, and David watched some of the third day down there while Joan went shopping.

Alas for the Aussies, it was not to be; they were handily outplayed by the loathed “Poms”, and their defeat has led to bitter recriminations.  According to the Sydney Morning Herald, “Despair has descended upon Australian cricket.  Embarrassment has become an acquaintance.  Humiliation has introduced itself.  Calamity has piled upon calamity. . . . The Poms have dished out a fearful drubbing." 

Well, maybe, but it didn’t temper our excitement at being invited to attend the fifth day of the final test match at the legendary Sydney Cricket Grounds, the antipodean Yankee Stadium (Joan’s characterization—which David regards as heretical: there should be NO comparison between baseball and cricket). Although the Australians were already down 7 wickets in the second inning and trailing by over 100 runs (American translation: it’s like being in the bottom of the 9^th inning and trailing 10-0), the batsmen were warming up as usual in the nets before the start of play. Coaches were using those things you use to throw balls for dogs at the batsmen—something David had never seen before.

The game began at 10 am, with a noticeable disparity between the size of the crowd of English supporters or self-styled “Barmy Army,” belting out “You All Live in a Convict Colony” to the tune of “Yellow Submarine” (or, dare I say, “Shagging Matilda”), and the comparatively empty Aussie stands. I should say ‘totally empty,’ as the only two Australians there were TV cameramen.

For a time before the 8^th wicket fell, the two batsmen were doing rather well. One made over 50 and was making some very good strokes.  But the remaining 3 wickets fell by noon.

And the ceremonial urn remained in English hands, to the tune of “Jerusalem” and “Rule Britannia” belted out from the stand that held the huge contingent of the “Barmy Army.”

Oh well, there’s always Lords in 2012.