cricket

Welcome to the End of Everything.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

It rained. Like biblically. And then it was clear and bright – IS clear and bright as I write – for a big lump of time. Others, notably my hugely esteemed friend Mr G Dobell, Esquire, expressed immediate concerns about possible errors/omissions/slacknesses from the groundstaff because the match was abandoned surprisingly early, given the medium-fab conditions which followed. In short, (dare we ask?) did the venue staff cock it up, allowing the devilish downpour to seep through into critical areas of the pitch? (Because it didn’t look right).

And then – factoid – it *really was* balmy, or at the very least pleasantly helpful, for a prolonged period, immediately after the deluge. And, yaknow, this was an international match, in which England were in real danger of eviscerating the record books. So questions.

It may, however, be foolish to let hard rain be the story when the story should be Salt, or Duckett, or the cruel tribulations of the Irish seamers. Some extraordinary cricket happened.

Here’s how the action we saw felt, live:

Don’t ask me; just don’t ask me. I have no idea what triggered the enduring JD earworm. Was it Brizzle in the drizzle, being overcoatastically moody? Maybe. Maybe the (very temporary) greyness pointed my soul back to the Boy Curtis at his poetic/philosophical peak?

Existence well what does it matter? We live in the best way we can.

The past is all part of our future. The present is well out of hand.

Welcome to Gloucestershire County Cricket. Where Salt is facing Adair and Jacks is quietly pacing and Crawley – probably not a JD man – is England skipper. (I nearly wrote ‘incredibly’, here). Oh – and Salt has now taken 18 off the first four balls. (And then then the fifth was a wide). So my earworm thing was a portend. The world is ending. Welcome.

Jacks shows a greater degree of mercy than his partner; partly because the second over, from the spirited Little, is goodish. The poor fella Adair, meanwhile can’t find a wormhole quick enough or fast enough. England are going waaaay beyond that routine making of statements thing into a brutal humiliation zone. Jesus. Jacks joins in. England are SIXTY for 0 off the first FOUR OVERS. It’s an all-new, ridicu-level battering. This is happening despite the *bowler-friendly conditions*. Go figure: both Little and Adair are getting some swing and some movement off the pitch.

I’m trying hard not get distracted by a particular journo who is talking on the phone. It’s work-talk, and he’s not (now) doing that loud self-important thing (quite), but it is a pain in the arse. He ain’t gonna read this, so I will add that a senior colleague of his views him with deliciously real contempt… cos that feels like some kind of silent retribution for the last twenty minutes of infringement.

Salt has got 50 and then 60 before we get through 7 overs. Everything is ‘going’. Then he is, caught skying to mid-on. Cruelly thrilling stuff. Crawley marches out with England on 87 for 1, and McCarthy replacing Little, at the Ashley Down Road End. Jacks welcomes him with a six then four.

100 up on the 7 over mark. Perversely, Crawley gets England there with a gently steered straight drive, after having played a straight-batted defensive shot(!) to the previous ball. Jacks – fishing or fending(?) – is fortunate to escape as he edges towards short third, but Young bowls him with a peach the following delivery. 104 for 2, off 8. Duckett re-forms the Little and Large partnership with the towering captain. The skies have lowered a wee bit… and then cleared and brightened.

There are ironies in play – maybe there always are? Here they concern the noticeable softening of urgency, as the two notably urgent England Test openers see out a regression into Proper Cricket. The expectation for endless violence has retreated, somewhat. This gentility may be temporary.

Crawley drives straight and hard, at McCarthy. Classical. Four. But the recent #bantz in the press box includes the idea that England were ‘on for 700’. So even assuming a good wedge of stoutness and application from our Irish brothers, a massacre, possibly of historic proportions, seems inevitable. As if to reinforce that, Crawley hoists dismissively, for another six. 136 for 2, off 14.

Curtis Campher may be forgiven for drawing plenty of ujayii breaths, (for yogic comfort), before joining us – despite that slight tapering of violence. He gets off fairly lightly and can inhale further, over drinks. Ireland need drinks: short, nasty fekkers, probably.

Adair returns from beneath us. Goes too full. Cuffed through midwicket. Then Duckett absolutely clatters Campher, pulling just in front of square. Gleeful and violent again. When the batter tries to repeat – albeit with more of a cross-court top-spin drive, Nadal-style – mid-on bravely gets a hand there. Good, if symbolic stop.

Sit back briefly, to reflect. A re-cap should probably include the idea that Ireland haven’t necessarily bowled that badly. Feels more to me that England simply have better players. Salt (in particular) then, and Jacks were enabled or freed towards that killer explosion from the off. Duckett’s swing at Camphor suggests that he’s ready to launch, now, too: fabulous, skilled driller goes flying between the bowler and the ump. Four, and now 176 for 2, off 20.

We have our first sight of spin, from what (I’m going to call) the Media Centre End. Van Woerkom (born Christchurch) is a left-armer. The batters don’t let him settle. Little’s authentic Irishness serves him no better, on his return to Ashley Down. Crawley blasts to 50 in the over, which includes a crunching six over long-on.

200 come up in the following (23rd) over, with the light now brilliant and Duckett’s sweep joyfully extravagant. He also has 50, now.

Crawley goes. VW gets some turn away from him and the ball flies to short third. Sam Hain (born Hong Kong) will replace him. Duckett is pulling hard, at Little, who seems happy enough to proffer that gamble. Slight miscue, safe and good running brings three. Ireland cannot afford any misfields. There have been a couple. England’s leftie slog-sweeps, and times, to go to 68.

I think George Dockrell has just become Ireland’s seventh bowler on the day. No issue with that: why wouldn’t you cast around to seek some change or respite – or luck? Hain looks settled, early but it’s Duckett again who catches the eye. Another fabulous, liquid sweep rattles the boundary fence/rope/toblerone-thing. Hearing various numbers quoted here: all suggest this is a world-beating, record-breaking score (for England’s second team).

Oof. Adair has fallen heavily into the advertising-boards. He may wish it happened after his first three balls… but he will carry on.

Hain is plainly a man who can launch, but currently I’m enjoying his late-playing, soft-hands vibe. He’s guiding the ball around, seemingly untroubled, seemingly waiting. Ah. Until that. A rather ugly swipe towards cow – top-edged. He’s fortunate. There may be a team policy to pull the seamers hard, perhaps to expose and even demoralise the (mere) medium-quickness of the visitors. Cloud is in-filling, as Duckett slaps Dockrell for six, to go beyond the ton. (Off 72 deliveries; lots and lots of ver-ry well struck and well-placed shots).

14.45. Rain feels possible – maybe imminent.

I thought Hain was looking good, early doors, but his frustration may have grown. As it gets *really dark*, he slaps hard at another shortish one and clubs it to mid-wicket. Just as the rains starts.

Wow. It rains hard. On a ground where there’s not a huge amount of cover. (Not a complaint, just an observation… and possibly borne of the fact that my son is out there, and I’ve got his coat. Insert appropriate emoji). It’s rained HARD. To the extent that we wonder if this is over… at 15.02.

15.12. Clearer and brighter to our left. But is The Damage already done? Not heard any announcingments yet…

MATCH ABANDONED. May add more thoughts later… or may go the pub with my son, who leaves for Thailand/Aus (for SIX MONTHS) tomorrow!!

Welcome to the End of Everything.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Don’t ask me; just don’t ask me. I have no idea what triggered the enduring JD earworm. Was it Brizzle in the drizzle, being overcoatastically moody? Maybe. Maybe the (very temporary) greyness pointed my soul back to the Boy Curtis at his poetic/philosophical peak?

Existence well what does it matter? We live in the best way we can.

The past is all part of our future. The present is well out of hand.

Welcome to Gloucestershire County Cricket. Where Salt is facing Adair and Jacks is quietly pacing and Crawley – probably not a JD man – is England skipper. (I nearly wrote ‘incredibly’, here). Oh – and Salt has now taken 18 off the first four balls. (And then then the fifth was a wide). So my earworm thing was a portend. The world is ending. Welcome.

Jacks shows a greater degree of mercy than his partner; partly because the second over, from the spirited Little, is goodish. The poor fella Adair, meanwhile can’t find a wormhole quick enough or fast enough. England are going waaaay beyond that routine making of statements thing into a brutal humiliation zone. Jesus. Jacks joins in. England are SIXTY for 0 off the first FOUR OVERS. It’s an all-new, ridicu-level battering. This is happening despite the *bowler-friendly conditions*. Both Little and Adair are getting some swing and some movement off the pitch.

I’m trying hard not get distracted by a particular journo who is talking on the phone. It’s work-talk, and he’s not (now) doing that loud self-important thing (quite), but it is a pain in the arse. He ain’t gonna read this, so I will add that a senior colleague of his views him with deliciously real contempt… cos that feels like some kind of silent retribution for the last twenty minutes of infringement.

Salt has got 50 and then 60 before we get through 7 overs. Everything is going. Then he is, caught skying to mid-on. Cruelly thrilling stuff. Crawley marches out with England on 87 for 1, and McCarthy replacing Little, at the Ashley Down Road End. Jacks welcomes him with a six then four.

100 up on the 7 over mark. Perversely, Crawley gets England there with a gently steered straight drive, after having played a straight-batted defensive shot(!) to the previous ball. Jacks – fishing or fending(?) – is fortunate to escape as he edges towards short third, but Young bowls him with a peach the following delivery. 104 for 2, off 8. Duckett re-forms the Little and Large partnership with the towering captain. The skies have lowered a wee bit… and then cleared and brightened.

There are ironies in play – maybe there always are? Here they concern the noticeable softening of urgency, as the two notably urgent England Test openers see out a regression into Proper Cricket. The expectation for endless violence has retreated, somewhat. This may be temporary.

Crawley drives straight and hard, at McCarthy. Classical. Four. But the recent #bantz in the press box includes the idea that England were ‘on for 700’. So even assuming a good wedge of stoutness and application from our Irish brothers, a massacre, possibly of historic proportions, seems inevitable. As if to reinforce that, Crawley hoists dismissively, for another six. 136 for 2, off 14.

Curtis Campher may be forgiven for drawing plenty of ujayii breaths, before joining us – despite that slight tapering of violence. He gets off fairly lightly and can inhale further, over drinks. Ireland need drinks: short, nasty fekkers, probably.

Adair returns from beneath us. Goes too full. Cuffed through midwicket. Then Duckett absolutely clatters Campher, pulling just in front of square. Gleeful and violent again. When the batter tries to repeat – albeit with more of a cross-court top-spin drive, Nadal-style – mid-on bravely gets a hand there. Good, if symbolic stop.

Sit back briefly, to reflect. A re-cap should probably include the idea that Ireland haven’t necessarily bowled that badly. Feels more to me that England simply have better players. Salt (in particular) then, and Jacks were enabled or freed towards that killer explosion from the off. Duckett’s swing at Camphor suggests that he’s ready to launch, now, too: fabulous, skilled driller goes flying between the bowler and the ump. Four, and now 176 for 2, off 20.

We have our first sight of spin, from what (I’m going to call) the Media Centre End. Van Woerkom (born Christchurch) is a left-armer. The batters don’t let him settle. Little’s authentic Irishness serves him no better, on his return to Ashley Down. Crawley blasts to 50 in the over, which includes a crunching six over long-on.

200 come up in the following (23rd) over, with the light now brilliant and Duckett’s sweep joyfully extravagant. He also has 50, now.

Crawley goes. VW gets some turn away from him and the ball flies to short third. Sam Hain (born Hong Kong) will replace him. Duckett is pulling hard, at Little, who seems happy enough to proffer that gamble. Slight miscue, safe and good running brings three. Ireland cannot afford any misfields. There have been a couple. England’s leftie slog-sweeps, and times, to go to 68.

I think George Dockrell has just become Ireland’s seventh bowler on the day. No issue with that: why wouldn’t you cast around to seek some change or respite – or luck? Hain looks settled, early but it’s Duckett again who catches the eye. Another fabulous, liquid sweep rattles the boundary fence/rope/toblerone-thing. Hearing various numbers quoted here: all suggest this is a world-beating, record-breaking score (for England’s second team).

Oof. Adair has fallen heavily into the advertising-boards. He may wish it happened after his first three balls… but he will carry on.

Hain is plainly aman who can launch, but currently I’m enjoying his late-playing, soft-hands vibe. He’s guiding the ball around, seemingly untroubled, seemingly waiting. Ah. Until that. A rather ugly swipe towards cow – top-edged. He’s fortunate. There may be a team policy to pull the seamers hard, perhaps to expose and even demoralise the medium-quickness of the visitors. Cloud is in-filling, as Duckett slaps Dockrell for six, to go beyond the ton. (Off 72 deliveries; lots and lots of ver-ry well struck and well-placed shots).

14.45. Rain feels possible – maybe imminent.

I thought Hain was looking good, early doors, but his frustration may have grown. As it gets *really dark*, he slaps hard at another shortish one and clubs it to mid-wicket. Just as the rains starts.

Woodentops.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

I left early, exhausted and *concerned with travel*. Strode manfully back to Cardiff Central and waited, patiently. I can do patient.

Then A Journey.

I got home, ok, about 11pm, only about half an hour late – a result, given the circumstances around and behind me. My train had waited for some time yn Abertawe, to allow other delayed passengers to catch us up and clamber on board what may then have been the Last Train West.

I knew it would happen but during that pregnant pause in Swansea’s fair city the extended family group I’d seen at Haverfordwest at 9 am – all male, aged between 14 and 74 – bundled into the carriage and sat close to me. (Genuinely being exhausted, I’d done that sit right in the corner, feign sleep and almost disappear-into-the-walls thing but such was their level of intoxication (and general stupidity) these disparate gentlemen, united in their dumb, beery haze, failed to either notice my aspiration for quiet seclusion or respect it. Worse still, they failed to respect the young woman sitting more centrally.

They ‘sang’. Bad versions of Barmy Army songs, ill-remembered. Snippets of anti-German, pro RAF choons, fer chrissakes(!) But they also sang foul, repeated, endless, and pretty unfunny wee ditties about ‘The Girl in the…’ The kind of feeble, crude, dumb songs you can only sing when you’re a dumb, drunk bloke.

All this whilst they were force-feeding each other more, plainly unwanted beer – because you can’t be seen to ‘dip out’, eh? I’m sure they thought they were being ‘good-natured’ and it’s true there wasn’t the faintest whiff of violence or truly ugly, physical behaviour… but or except the songs… and the intrusions into other peoples spaces and faces… which were palpably offensive.

To cap it all, the only moment of coherent conversation between them featured Young Buck X telling Grandad(?) that he was planning on joining the police force and Grandad advising that he should try to ‘aim higher than Hendon’, which is ‘where all the Woodentops go’. Laugh? I nearly bought a round.

Here’s how the cricket felt:

Let’s shed the minor disappointments. One: the boardwalk was shut, denying your scribe the *full effect* of the Cardiffian yomp, from Central to Glam. (For aliens, the boardwalk hugs you against the Millenium Stadium – yeh, yeh, I know – and alongside the canalised river. It’s groovy). Then, arriving in a pool of sweat, and after a battle with the wifi, when one settles in to the view, it’s clear the ground is well short of full. Scandalous. Happier and medium-pointed news is that Brook is opening, with Malan. It’s a magbloodynificent day.

Southee and Henry, for New Zealand. The former is in from the River End, looking taller and maybe more disproportionately long-legged than I remember. Or maybe it’s something about that tightish, slickish kit: or his electrifyingly white trainers. Or maybe he’s had shin-lengthening surgery? Maybe a little more bounce than some Glam pitches(?) Henry beats Malan with a beauty – looked quick from up here.

Two very different fours, from Malan, in quick succession. Stylish cut and then workmanlike bundle between the bowler (Southee) and mid-off. Five overs done and England are 21 for 0. Henry beats Brook. After the scoring rate *everywhere else* of late, Brook having 9 off 14 and Malan a few more off 20, feels bit tame… but maybe that’s my heart still racing post the necessarily swift walk in. (Love 50 over internationals: for the record).

Southee goes tad over-full, to Malan. He leans beautifully over and into it: scorches square, for four more. Then weirdly – cos this is short-format – the next ball Our Dawid swishes agriculturally across the line but fails to make contact. Soon he will find those hands again; skilfully guiding Henry off the sweet spot, towards a wide third man. (Only one but bloody lovely. Eased, softly). Then Jamieson is creeeeeeemmed through extra, to welcome him to the game. Stunning: Malan looking ver-ry good. (*Fatal, usually)*…

Be honest, you had absolutely no money whatsoever on Malan scoring three times as quickly as Brook. Me neither. But it’s happening. Henry is still with us and bowling with notable determination. The England fifty is up, pleasingly symmetrically, on the 10 over mark. No loss. Malan has 34 of those runs.

Jamieson slaps one in… and Malan smashes it in front of square, emphatically. It’s a Statement as well as a boundary. More pace as Ferguson comes in to replace Henry, from Cathedral Road. Thick edge flies fine through third man. Brook, meanwhile, is sitting. Really interesting, considering recent flim-flam. The bloke could be forgiven for exploding wildly into this, on some Mission-to-Prove. But nope. Malan’s doing the walloping. ‘I’ll just sit’.

Finally, the Real Brook (of boomtastic urge) emerges. Clatters Jamieson through mid-wicket. Then again goes hard, and is maybe fortunate to inside edge for no damage. 76 for 0, after 13 overs, with Malan 52 and Brook 23. The visitors, it should be said, have had no luck. Now Ferguson zaps one passed the outside edge: looked sharp – maybe even gathering off the pitch. 

Drinks (for me) means I miss the demise of the mostly-imperious Malan. Some bloke called Root walks in. Air-con working a treat, in the Media Centre but I’m loading up on instant coffee!?!) and water. Oh – and there are about twenty-five journo’s and media-peeps in the house. For the women’s equivalent there would be eight. One brings two: Brook nibbles a bouncer behind. Gone for 26. (It was Ravindra that snared Malan. Dunno how, yet).

Blimey. Stokes nearly follows Brook. Lucky his fend from Ferguson loops cruelly over gully. (Some sense the fielder may have misjudged that, early on. Was airborne for an age – even at ‘live speed’). The game is changed, somewhat. England are now 85 for 2, off 17. Plenty short stuff happening. A decent challenge for these two youngsters at the crease. (Root… and Stokes). 

Ground fuller now than at the start of play; which is nice. 

In fairness I know plenty of folks who work at this ground. They will have been working hard for months trying to sell this fixture. They know they are often grafting in a relative vacuum, because the fan-base is arguably smaller than they ‘deserve’. It’s tough filling this ground. And this means prices are now as big as they are elsewhere… which doesn’t help filling the stadium. Not sure I know what the answer is.

Steady start from Stokes and Root. That is, until Root tries to slog-sweep Ravindra and miscues. Maybe the ball was too full? Whatever, he skies it to the man retreating man from the circle. Easily caught. 101 for 3, as Buttler joins Stokes. Not seeing anything that special from the bowler – he produces a right pie to Buttler, first up – but he has 2 for 8 from 4 overs as we stand. 103 for 3, off 21. Jamieson has changed ends.

This is shaping up ok. Spectacular day, competitive cricket. Bowling’s been good but the locals have two genuine worldies at the crease, approaching halfway. Run-rate is below 5, suggesting a fair contest twixt pill and the willow, yes? Buttler drives the first six, straight: Ravindra. Glen Phillips, entering from the Cathedral Road End, will hope that his own spin proves resistant to that kind of biffery. Just the one from the over.

Phillips has bowled a little straight, and a little short, early doors. Relatively unpunished. Now Stokes rocks back and clubs him for four, through mid-wicket. Easily. Largely, both batters are taking the easy ones, from both spinners. Two hours done, fourteen overs an hour. I may have to scoot before the end of this…

Henry, at Stokes, from the River End. My wifi resolutely not updating. On either of the two feeds being offered to me. #FirstWorldProblems.

Both batters are in; 150 for 3; can only be a matter of time before they feel a gear-change is necessary. Off for a walk, to check out the hwyl and to see if that sorts the f**king wifiproblem…

Refuse to let the DEAD WIFI to ruffle my feathers. So will carry on ‘live’ and report on Buttler’s fluky toe-end, which somehow evades the bowler as it doinks bowlerwards. Southee returns, and immediately tests Stokes with one that bounces. No dramas. But then England’s superstar (well, one of) pulls away with absurd comfort, to the legside boundary – bit ominous that, for the bowler. Cannot be long before one or both of the batsmen engage Smash Everything mode. The peach of an off-drive from Buttler, against Ferguson, suggests we may need to add ‘Stylishly’ in to that description. He now has 49, and Stokes 43, as the 36th over is completed. 179 for 3.

Ravindra has changed ends: Stokes doesn’t care. He gets to his fifty with a clumpiferous sweep, over square leg. Hah! Before tamely cuffing it to extra cover, that is. Infuriating end to a goodish-but-somehow-not-entirely-convincing knock, from the English gladiator. Enter Livingstone.

The thought strikes me that it’s rare, indeed, for a fixture in Cardiff at this level to feature so few confident clatters downtown – to the river. So plainly the pitch is either a bit more two-paced than is immediately apparent, or the bowling has been better than it seems from 80 yards away. (It’s seemed competent rather than unplayable, from up here). 200 up, from 39.4 overs. So ver-ry close to five an over, still. Less than you would think this England line-up would score, on a fabulously sunny day, in the capital.

WOW. Livingstone has pressed the boom button. Three consecutive sixes, off the unfortunate Jamieson. Twenty from the over. Here we go?


Yes – pretty much. Meaning Buttler and Livingstone find big chunks of their limited over mojo(s). The stadium gets the lift it needed, as does the England run-rate. (I bin the laptop and surge on, like the batters, upping the ante &/or seeing this baby out on my i-pad. Heroically). 300 seems thinkable, if ambitious.

Livingstone gets beyond fifty. Southee comes in from Cathedral Road. Livingstone falls, driving high to long off. As Woakes comes in, 280 seems likely. I hope I’m smelling food.

Buttler goes, for a solid 72; mistiming, to mid on. Southee the bowler. Willey has the unenviable job of cracking a few with little time in the game. He starts outstandingly – a clean pull middled to the rope. Henry will come round to England’s left-hander, for the penultimate over. Quietish.

Woakes can’t connect with Southee’s slower ball. Then Willey heaves downtown – four. Helpful cameo, from Willey, as some clean striking and quick running get England to 291 for 6 at the close. Unclear if that’s par. We’ll see.

THE REPLY.

Is steady. More cloud cover and more shadows – not sure how that works. Topley struggles for line and Woakes is unable to threaten. Willey joins us but Conway and Young proceed well enough – and occasionally sparkle their way – to twenty-odd apiece. England may need to play the long game. Big Name Journo’s/Meedyapeeps doing that thing where they pronounce powerfully about such-and-such, relaying stats and opinions to the faaar horizons. Yes. I am bored by that stuff. Meanwhile Woakes beats Young with a beauty: done for length more than by any cut, I imagine. Maiden gets a polite ripple.

The over rate has been poor, today, though I should’ve built that in to my planning. Chez moi is 100 miles west of Cardiff, so gonna leave just gone 7pm to get the train. (Later train gets me home at midnight; current option reduces that to 10.20 in Haverfordwest. Late enough for me, as I’m playing two games of cricket this weekend: only survivable if I pace myself).

Rashid gets the breakthrough, bowling Young. Conjecture in the pressbox surrounds the fact that he bowled it from wide, thereby changing the angles. There was some turn, too – classic leg-spin. Nicholls joins Conway and Root joins us from the river.

At 76 for 1 after 13, the visitors are marginally ahead in the game. Root bowling from wide – notably wide – to Nicholls. There may be some grip for the bowlers. England need a cluster of wickets to really change this. It doesn’t feel *that likely*, so the guys in black have an opportunity, here. First game in the one-day series; would be nice, for them. Tidy over from Rashid, though.

Atkinson, from the River End. Confess it’s the first time I’ve seen him live. Lights come on, as if to focus on the wide he *just bowled*. Looks slippery-quick.

Root has changed ends. Atkinson flashes one past Conway, who has 46. Nicholls nails the hook shot, to go to 13. 99 for 1. Drinks. (18 overs).

Poor, tired ball from Root is clipped away behind square. Then Conway drives sweetly at a full one – too full – it’s drilled through the field, bringing the batter his fifty. But Willey gets Nicholls: could this be the start of something? (Hasn’t felt all that likely. This has been feeling like an orderly-enough grind towards an away-win, to me). England need that cluster. Plenty of runs to find, for sure, but Conway looking in control and neither seam nor spin too scary a challenge. (At which point Mitchell dispatches Atkinson truly splendidly straight, for six). 133 for 2 after 22.

Willey is a player. Bowling with skill and heart. Did okay with the bat, too. Great yorker for no reward.

Topley returns, from the River End: Conway spanks him behind square. England will work at this… but there’s that slight sense of resignation…

Livingstone will have a bowl. Decent call – ‘something different’, to break the proverbial log-jam.

On that bombshell, going to vacate the premises. May update on journey home: fearing a cock-up re my train ticket, so allowing a little extra time to show suspicious ticket inspectors emails confirming *my return journey*. Later, peeps.

Know what? Am going to chill, on the homeward journey. If I get second wind, I may yet add something. But let’s enjoy the frisson around that lush possibility, eh?

On my medium-traumatic journey home, I see that the visitors did indeed cruise to an eight wicket win. Fairly chastening week or so, for our men and women. Work to do.

He didn’t catch that?

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

‘What the? No. He didn’t. He didn’t?!? The ball was (f-word) behind him!! He didn’t (f-word) catch that. Nobody does! That’s ridicu(f-word)lous. He’s dived back to grab that. Ridiculous’.

So sayeth you, me, and Alexander the Great, if he’s watching. Because what else is there to say, what else is there to do but be gobsmacked in that timelessly, gormlessly wonderstruck kindofaway; like Bairstow; like Broad; like Wood; like most of Australia, for pity’s sakes?

Root: catching Marnus. Diving backwards to clutch a ball that’s gone so quickly past him, the bloke in row Z is putting his pint down before the incoming pill smashes his glasses. A ball that was so utterly uncatchable by mere mortals, so loaded with searing, malevolent pace that every sentient being watching live is still ducking, now, eight hours after the event. And the God of All England takes it at full stretch, behind him.

But it gets better. Like Nadia Comaneci doing high-bar stuff, on the frame of the London Eye, whilst supping a tequila sunrise, and doughnutting a Ford Capri, it gets better because Marnus is stomping away, bawling about the bad light, to the umpire, *after Root held the catch of the century!* Irony is dead; the shockwaves have gone viral and Labuschagne’s panties are down by his quivering ankles. For those who like their #bantz or their wind-ups, there is the Broad Bonus – the lanky one having switched the bails around, purely to get in Labuschagne’s head – the *ball before* the dismissal!

But the catch; the catch. It’s a moment of inviolable sporting perfection. The sheer brilliance. The profound-but-childlike joyfulness. Largely, or first, the shock. Then, The Achievement. Oh – and the beaming, beaming lols. The faces of the England players, all mad, all so cattle-prod-up-the-jacksie stunned, but all too innocently thrilled to be triumphant, and the thundercloud that is the Marnus Stomp. If yer a Pom, un-im-provable.

The fact that Bairstow (who admittedly is crocked) barely flickers whilst Roooot launches and grabs, is unimprovable. Mark Wood’s smiling fizzog, an age after the unquenchable fuss should have died down, is unimprovable.

For all the resonances, cheap or seminal and the tribal or historic matrices, this was a great, pure sporting moment. Root’s instinct, coordination and remarkable flair for that which is both simple and classic, is sensational, exquisite, wondrous. This catch is somehow calming – for its revelatory but obviously natural brilliance? – and deeply, deeply stirring. This catch is a f***ing worldie. Thank god for cricket; for Wood’s irresistible heart and for Root.

Taunton.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

So we’re done then. The #WomensAshes, I mean. Hard to gather it all in to a single event, to be honest – maybe that will come later. For now, as always, I include the relatively-stream-of-consciousness response to the action, live. The feel of what happened. I make no apologies for the distracted/abstracted nature of this ‘report’: most of you will know it’s what I do. I *might* apologise for traducing the level of support, at Taunton, initially; I am aware of the tradition down at Somerset for Proper Crowds. It’s just that for the start of the game, cocooned within the Media Centre, we simply did not know that hundreds (nay thousands) of folks were delayed in queues at the gates. Ultimately this was a strongly-attended, well-contested match. Now read on…

I banned myself from writing anything. Until now. 12.32.

So no mention of the annoying arse on the train… or the muggy walk in. Or the hugely tasty (and well-received, in this quarter) Indian fodder, provided by our friends at Somerset CC. Or the genuinely *really charming* ground-staff. Because this is a new regime. Sleeker; more Proper & yaknow, Growed-Up; less of the nonsense.

Won’t last: not meeee.

Australia have just won an amiably amateurish toss and chosen to bowl. Fair enough. Great conditions, with just a gentle breeze and plenty cloud cover. Kinda medium-bright. The kids are out, waving their flags, a-rhythmically. Think this has been pitched as a ‘sell-out’ – they often are, when they aren’t. This ground is currently (12.49) about a third full; or rather the seats are. (Transpires there are still biggish queues at the gates: fear of Just Stop Oil – whom I support! – has caused some delays. As I write, seats are filling. Ultimately, it may be at capacity.)

The trumpeter is playing a rather irritating ‘Jerusalem’ as Gardner finishes her first over to Dunkley. Then our brassy friend catches the mood rather better with the jaunty Steve McQueen number.

Schutt will follow Gardner, from the Marcus Trescothick Pavilion End. Dunkley is looking to hit hard but is mistiming… but no dramas. Australia’s quick is looking strong: built a bit more like a sprinter than a year or two ago. (Gym-work? Or is this another Waltonian fallacy? Dunno). I did note to the universe of twitterdom that Schutt is wearing a heavy bandage to support the right knee, but moving ok.

A quietish first 2: England 6 for 0. But no. A straight one from Gardner draws a heavy thick edge – Dunkley doing that trademark slash across the line. It steeples and she is well-caught by Litchfield, racing back from cover. Knight marches out early: Dunkley made only 2. She is a fine, attacking player but there are risks associated with that grip and that batswing. If she has a dip in confidence (and scoring), we’ll hear more about the relative extravagance of her technique.

Schutt is in to Beaumont. She gets that early swing (but it is early). Somehow the batter is either slipping or so badly out of kilter that she cannot get anything on a ball arcing at leg-stump. She’s out, falling over, bowled. Early trouble, for England, with both openers gone for a total of 4 runs accumulated.

On the plus side, this brings together Knight and Sciver-Brunt, arguably the best batting combo on the planet. (*Fatal*?) After 6 overs the home side are 19 for 2. Enter Sutherland. The ground is now somewhere between two-thirds and three-quarters full, I would say.

Sutherland goes shortish at Sciver-B but the tall all-rounder gets above the bounce and cuts, hard. Less convincingly, S-B inside-edges to fine leg for a streaky boundary. Schutt is bowling unchanged, from underneath us. Overdoing the drift towards leg – wide given. Attempted yorker then tucks Knight up… but missing: no dramas. Tidy opening spell from Schutt – 1 for 14 off 4. 67 mph, typically.

Sutherland runs in with purpose but Sciver-B biffs her straight for four. Good racket from the crowd, who are already into this. Suspect a good percentage of the noise is alcohol-free, too – schoolkids here in some numbers. Seats still filling, too…

Did I mention that both teams have stayed pretty close to their recent ‘first teams?’ Alana King and Charlie Dean both play, but I do wonder if the coaches might have rotated things a little more, given the last game/dead rubber scenario. Succession Planning; Experience; all that? A firework-deficient spell: Knight almost breaks out with a nutty, well-timed guide through point but just for 1. 47 for 2, after 11, as the aforementioned King joins us from the Trescothick End. It’s brightened.

Starts with an ambitiously full, floaty one: driven for a single. The bowler is looking for turn and getting a little. Beats Knight. But then Sciver-B can ease into a half-volley and drills elegantly for 4, taking her to 21. Knight is on 19 as Gardner returns, from the river.

Next over. Knight is advancing at King. Lofts with conviction for 4. Then there’s a stumping shout against her… but the foot had slid back promptly enough. The batters know they are at bare minimum, run-rate wise and are looking to raise it. Good contest(s) developing. King is clubbed over mid-wicket twice – the second crunching into the ‘rope’ – so 6. Ground full now and yeh, we’re all enjoying.

McGrath for the first time, from the River End. Run-rate has picked up – now level 5s. I need my shades, to look out from the Meedya Centre. Lovely. 84 for 2, after 17, as we have drinks. Feels like England’s Finest might be moving into Dynamic Phase: both batters beginning to strike with power and purpose…

Wareham. Sciver-B misses out on a drag-down. Knight doesn’t. Mixed over, from the bowler. Length offered and a little width, too. McGrath will look to haul this back in. Does okay.

Wareham’s right-arm leg-spin is back on track: that might have been a maiden(?)

Knight on-drives McGrath past the diving mid-wicket – just the 1. The bowler is mixing this, with back-of-the-hand following an injection or change of pace. Good work from Australia as the threat of momentum is stalled. Wareham now teasing Sciver-B, who is using her feet but unable to get the drives away. 100 up, in the 23rd for England but Aus have won this last five over mini-game on those proverbial points.

Now Wareham bowls a loose one – a big full toss – and gifts Sciver-B another (chanceless) 50. My god she’s good: tall; athletic; hard-hitting. She blasts one straight at me for another 6 in the Vee. Look out – now she’s flipping McGrath over her left shoulder. And Knight is following her to 50. Run-a-ball stuff, now, as the batters execute the Go Hard strategy.

Ooof. From nowhere, McGrath is putting down a relatively straightforward return catch. Juggled then dropped. Sutherland has changed ends. She’s got that fluent run-in going, to challenge Sciver-B. 68mph: beats the batter. A brilliant stop out at deep square: repeat – good contest.

More changes, because Australia need the partnership broken (even though it’s not currently taking the game away from them). Gardner from the River End, turning that key, slapping it flattish. 130 for 2, England, off 27. Just under fives.

Sutherland’s natural length may be a tad short for Taunton: Sciver-B is pulling her away for 4, to deep square. Free hit: the bowler responds with a slo-mo wide of off but Sciver-B can only thick-edge it tamely to backward point. (No damage, of course).

If Knight and her partner can stay a while then what’s thinkable, score-wise? Towards 300, if they can launch? Capsey, Jones and Wyatt to come – all dynamic players. 270 achievable but there are caveats around Jones (always) and the relative lack of boom as we descend the order. In short, Knight and Sciver are The Finest We Have and have the skills and temperament to go deep and BIG. They are Option One: here’s hoping.

Sciver-Brunt sweeps beautifully, and hard: 4 more. Schutt replaces Gardner, as Healy again shuffles. Then we have King, and again Sciver-B lofts her precisely and safely over mid-wicket. Just the 1.

The change finally pays. Knight has been untroubled but for that nagging feeling that she/England have to raise this a little. She charges but loses her shape – her head – trying to cart through leg. Bowled, by a straight one. Good innings from the skipper, who made 67. Strangely, the loss of the wicket may offer an uptick in expansiveness, because now we have the precocious Capsey.

Schutt is in to Sciver-B but is short. Clumped to cow for 4. Schutt goes much fuller. 168 for 3 after 33. Level fives. I need some fresh air…

Our first sight of Jonassen – I suspect because they fancy her against Capsey. BIG MOMENTS, because both sides will know that Capsey can score quickly but there may not be *that much* beyond the next batter, Wyatt. So this could be 280, or 220 all out. Asitappens, Capsey is out; for a handful. Australia back in the box seat at 180-odd for 4, with 37 overs done.

Wyatt tries a ridicu-flip against King. Gets away with it, but it will hardly boost her confidence. Sciver-Brunt is into her 90s. And now 99. And now, off the hip, to 100. She really is quality. Fluent; ‘natural’; strong; ‘cute’. *And* she keeps doing it against Australia.

Our Nat aside, Wyatt is the best athlete in the England side: great fielder, has skilled hands with the bat, can really leg it. She gets a 2 that nobody else would chance, to bring up the 200. Still feels like 280 will be necessary to compete, against this lot… but 300 remains possible. Beautiful, deft late cut from Wyatt slides away quickly to third man; might be shot of the day. Then slaps McGrath hard through square leg for a second 4 in the over. 210 for 4, off 41. Wareham.

Wyatt is flying. In to out, as always, with lots of fade into (and generally over) extra cover. 24 off 15. All working, currently. Gardner returneth – she gets The Treatment. Wyatt goes smoothly but with consummate timing over and into the margins. Six! Now Sciver could just sit back and let her partner get on with it: Wyatt goes 6,4, off King. It’s absolutely thrilling stuff. 300 *should be* nailed-on…

Inevitably, Sciver-Brunt joins in. Another fabulous sweep, square. Australia have no answer, just now. Until Gardner bowls Wyatt.

I think it may be a fluke. Not convinced the bowler means to york her. It’s a floaty, looping one that Wyatt may just get an under-edge to. Whatever; she’s been tremendous. 43, in a flash. 250 up, in the 45th. Amy Jones has joined Sciver-Brunt. Jonassen returns from the Trescothick Pavilion.

Jones is lucky, hoisting rather lazily to deep square. Falls a few yards short of the fielder. Decent over for Australia.

Gardner is one the world’s great all-rounders. She will bowl the 47th. King is stooping to stop a reverse. The ball breaks through her hands and strikes her in the face. We break, whilst she retreats for treatment.

Ah. Jones is run out, by a mile, following a brilliant throw from the replacement fielder, Darcy Brown. It’s a pearler of a throw but quite why Jones dug it out thataway, (from her heels, when she might have clipped it away square) may be open to question. However a) brilliant fielding, with the option for b) malicious grumbling, coz King would never have done that! Ecclestone.

Sciver-Brunt, to a rapturous reception, is leaving us. Caught expertly in the classic Aussie style, above her head, fingers up, at the boundary. But *yet another* fine, fine innings. Against the Best in the World. She made 129.

You’ve got to love Eccles. She heaves one unceremoniously (but convincingly, too) for 6. Dean is in there with her, now. Late flourish and England will be close to that 300 mark.

There’s a review: first thought, live – down leg. No bat. Might be contentious, looking at the flight of the ball, but Dean is LBW, bowled Gardner, for 2. Enter Cross. The ball beats everything – four precious byes. England are 280 for 8 with one over remaining. Should mean we have a game. Jonassen, as so often, will bowl out. Clump to deep mid-wicket brings 1.

Ecclestone is not, for me, a batter *but hits nearly everything*. Cross, for me, could be a batter but she’s the one that misses: Jonassen hits. Innings closed at 285 for 9. This is poised, as they say.

You’d think I’d learn. Peaked tooo early again, on the energy front. So less constant warbling, from now on.

Great energy from Cross, as always: fine sight. But Healy nails a marginally full one – driven smartly through the covers. I need food, or drink, or something. The crowd nicely behind England: that could count.

Bell follows and has Litchfield caught behind; Ecclestone taking the catch rather awkwardly, at ground-level, at first slip. (Is she really a slip fielder?) Perry joins Healy. Briefly.

Cross has found a beauty to bowl the Aussie skipper – the ball nipped back sharply. Great start, for England: Australia 15 for 2, in the 3rd over. Delighted for Cross, a personal favourite for her big-hearted flow.

Best part of the day: brilliant light, with some breeze, crowd engaged, game on. It’s McGrath who’s joined Perry. Bell is getting this white ball to swing significantly and getting some bounce. (She’s ver-ry tall). Perry is fortunate not to inside-edge on. Sure she went for 26(?) in the last over of the last game but I like how Bell’s growing into the Strike Bowler role. I hope she’s demanding that ball first and *really believing* she’s the one. (Having said that, I think Wong may be)…

Not sure if it’s a plan for Cross to hang a few out wide, to McGrath, but she’s been crunched to the point fence twice now, so maybe change? Aus are 40 for 2, after 7. Ah. Bell did that hang-it-out-thing to McGrath. 4 more.

First change is Nat Sciver-Brunt from the River End. Perry is watchful. Ecclestone will come in from t’other end. She’s on it: powerplay done at 53 for 2. Australia up with the rate. Interestingly – or not – the breeze may have stiffened. Flags and trees to my right looking livelier. It may be troubling Sciver-Brunt, who has bowled a couple of wind-assisted legside wides. Maybe that fuelled the sharp bouncer at the end of the over? Jones did extremely well to grab that – high, to her left.

McGrath advances ambitiously to Ecclestone. Wrong! She is stumped, stranded and painfully stretched: Mooney replaces. 68 for 3, off 13.3. 1 for 3 off 3, for Ecclestone, at this juncture. Knight opts for Dean at the River End.

Greyer, out there. The heavenly arc in front of me is 82.4% cloud-cover. Should be of no relevance but Australia 30 runs behind the Duckworth-Lewis score, at this moment. But the atmosphere, meteorologically, is different. (I just went to look). Floodlights.

Capsey will have a wee bowl. Rain. Off they go. 97 for 3, off 19.2.

So a moment for a few #WomensAshes ‘conclusions’. Firstly, if I’m in the Oz coaching group, I’m not that happy with how they’ve gone. Absolutely not dominant: sometimes – in the wind, in Bristol – closer to messy, with the ball. Some of this is to England’s credit, of course: but not sure Australia have played to their maximum, on this tour.

(I interrupt this speculative opiningment to report that the whole set of covers is now being dragged on. And the shower appears to be passing… or not).

England, meanwhile will be clear and hopeful that they have indeed closed The Gap, on the juggernaut-tastic visitors. This series has been close. However, just me, or is it mainly the old(er) guard who have again been largely responsible for the local’s gain? Sciver, Eccles, Wyatt, Knight. Goodish contributions from elsewhere but the Dunkleys/Capseys/Bells, whilst contributing, have not psurged to another level.

But that may be a) inevitable, or b) unnecessarily negative. We’re closer, man! Bell is growing; Capsey is at the right level. Dunkley may need a performance to underline last year’s emergence but she is under no immediate threat. For me, ways forward include dropping Amy Jones, giving Wong more opportunities and persisting. Resources of all kinds are in reasonable order. Continue the hard work to improve fielding and the up-skilling of ‘non-batters’. Do that thing where you both reinforce confidence and make clear that there are good players knocking at the door. This is international sport and the non-negotiables increase and expand month by month.

18.21. We still have a little light drizzle. I’m checking train timetables. You?

As I write that it’s re-brightened. The Lads are removing the cover pegs, meaning they expect to haul them off imminently. A nod towards the scoreboard confirms Australia are 20 runs behind, on DLS, as the covers do indeed disappear. (With that, stadium announcingment: 44 over game, re-starting at 18.50pm. I take a quick wander; still raining but maybe improving from behind the Abbey, which is where the weather’s been coming from).

Update: Aus will need 269 from the reduced game. (Pleasingly, somebody ballsed up the maths, first time around. #humantouch).

100 up, for the visitors (also pleasingly) smack on the 20 overs. Dean.

Foolishly the off-spinner concedes firstly a no-ball and then a 6, to Perry, who goes beyond 50, again, again. This batting pair of Perry and Mooney may be Australia’s Knight and Sciver-B. Worryingly. Cross is in from the Trescothick Pavilion End – meaning she has changed ends.

Unknowable if conditions are tougher, post the rain – nobody’s wiping the ball. Perry may argue that case; she is caught off a leading edge, by Capsey, at point. Cross the successful bowler. Gardner joins us: the Gardner/Mooney partnership could be Australia’s Knight/Sciver-B combo. (Lols).

Dean is getting some turn, to Gardner. Australia are 120 for 4, off 23.

Cross strikes again! Full, at Mooney, who can only drive to Ecclestone, at regulation mid-off. Comfortable catch, big wicket. 120 for 5 and advantage England.
Two new batters, with Sutherland joining Gardner. Impressive, classical straight drive for 4, from the former, to get off the mark. Still a touch of away-swing, for Cross. Against the wind. Knight doubles-up on pace: Bell. It may be irrelevant but Australia are almost 40 runs behind the DLS target.

Good energy from the kids in the ‘schools only’ stand. Every half-decent bit of fielding gets a generous roar. Stadium announcer confidently booms out the 38th contradictory runs total needed. *Imagines both dressing-rooms going WTF, loudly*…

Gardner may be rising. Strikes Bell majestically downtown. 6. Then cracks her square to the same conclusion. Then 4 more – last two were short and too close to the hip. 155 for 5 after 27. Some signs of nerves? Cross has just bowled a dreadful bouncer – wide! – and followed it up with something eminently cartable. (4). The bowler tries a slower one; it’s boomed past her left hand. Gardner is rising. But not.

Criminally (arguably), the Aussie star is run out, despite diving about forty feet: Wyatt typically bright in the field. Wareham joins Sutherland, who has 8. Gardner made a characteristically dynamic 41. Sciver-Brunt replaces Bell at the River End, then Ecclestone is in front of your Honourable Scribe. England going for the jugular?

30 overs. England significantly ahead, surely – because of those wickets? Australia 6-down, needing either 93 or 103, from 14, depending on the next announcement. But Sutherland and Wareham can play.

Review for a stumping. Sweeeet work, from Jones, as Wareham misses a wide one. Sciver-Brunt delighted and the crowd all over it. (They’re loving Wyatt’s work in the field, by the way; she is, after all, the World’s Best). Jonassen will come in, with work to do. Interesting change: Charlie Dean.

It works. A voluptuously loopy one castles Sutherland. Game over – with apologies to Alana King and Megan Schutt.

Be nice if Lauren Bell can grab a couple of late wickets. Wild swish from King offers some hope. Steepler… but where’s it going? Straight, straight up… and into the watchful Jones’s gloves. Nine down, 194 on the board. Start the car: Jonassen is tidy enough but this can’t last, can it?

No. Dean has been spinning it. She finds the outside edge and Jonassen is caught with ease, by Sciver-Brunt, at point. A deserved win for England, who get a lovely reception as they march off. Australia have retained the Ashes but *this has been a competitive series*.

The winning margin here in Taunton was 69 runs (DLS). Compelling rather than inviolably brilliant? Maybe. But it’s important that Australia, unchallenged for so long, feel the squeeze from some direction: the world game needs that.

India, are you now ready to step up?

Could be my End of Season. Thanks for supporting; until we meet again. 🙏🏼 🏏 💖

Wild is the Wind.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

So. Kate Cross. Who knew? Some of us. She can bat. Sometimes looks like she *just can’t*… but that’s a blip in confidence – something she often talks about, openly – and she generally gets past it. Kate can bat. And she can bowl. She’s one of the finest sights in cricket, running in powerfully and fluently; when that flow is really pumping.

Crossy got England home – or rather Knighty the Indomitable and Crossy got England home. In an epic of sorts; a tense, somehow mis-shapen kindofa game. Lowish or mixed quality, often. Australia subdued and/or just poor, by their richly-developed standards. England’s catching poor – where have we heard that before? – and then stumbling over that metaphorical line. A daft classic, probably heavily affected by a strong breeze across the ground, Ashes Pressure and a pitch that may have been a little two-paced. But a match that brings the series alive, watched by a generous crowd.

Here’s how it felt live:

Arrive elevenish. Covers being removed and the super-sopper slurping hard, removing whole lotta recent rainfall: weirdly, dumping some of it rather carelessly inside the boundary-rope. (Can only presume the grounds-guys know it’s going to drain efficiently enough, out there). By 11.30 it’s visibly brightening and the forecast of no interruptions to play looks viable. On a practical note, for the players, this has all meant there is less time than is customary for their extended warm-ups but I reckon this is maybe no bad thing. Days are too long, for me, generally – too many hours of draining concentration, not all of it necessary. Nets are being erected and coupla players out there wielding bats, come 11.40.

Am set up, as close as possible to my fave behind-the-bowler’s-arm berth. Beaumont is out there with a coach; she’s playing top-hand-only drives, into a net. Sudden, heavy squall and everybody scrambles. Unfortunate. Might slightly delay my wander around the boundary. Covers being hauled back out there.

Ten minute burst, then notable improvement. Off for a wander: may try to get something signed, as a memento/prize for a player in our pathway game on the weekend. (U10s v U11 girls). Dunkley out, swinging a bat. Dean having a kickabout. Will still be damp underfoot. Minor winge: apparently the doors to the Meedya Centre have to stay shut, meaning we can’t wander out onto the balcony. Real shame, as one of the pleasures and privileges of attending these games is that bit where you get to take in the atmosphere from outside, above some of the crowd. (I know; #firstworldproblems! A-and they were opened later).

Am always interested in the various drills and preparations. Gardner currently striking full-tosses, straight – cack-handed coach throwing medium-hard from twenty yards. Fifty yards away, Beaumont and Wyatt(?) are drilling half-volleys, either side of a similar net. Most of the England Posse out there, now. 12.05. Significantly brighter, now; looks fairly set.

12.33. The Toss. Aus win it and choose to bat. Conditions good, now – by which I mean bright with some cloud. Stiffish, variable breeze, ground drying quickly. They announce the wrong England team, in the stadium, to some consternation (and hilarity) in the Press Box. Looks like Wong and Filer not involved; they’re walking round the boundary and/or talking to Aussie mates. As is Dean. Knight, Sciver and Glenn are bowling in turn on one of the practice strips. The goddess that is Perry is having a committed throwdowns session immediately below us. Exaggerated, straight bat-swings. That breeze billowing her (short) shirtsleeves.

The kids have lined-up. It’s a little cloudier, as we approach the magic hour…

Healy and Litchfield will open for Australia. Kate Cross will bowl at them from the Ashley Down Road End. First ball is over-full and a little wide. Eased out to the extra boundary, by Healy. Then a real gift, as Cross offers a full-toss wide of leg-stump. Poor start but we have a review: yorker-length, straightish.

Funny old game: Cross off-kilter then nails the Aus skipper. 8 for 1 and enter Perry. She clips one away for a two. Last ball is a genuine away-swinger but is simply too wide. Mixed start, then, for Cross, but BIG WICKET. Bell will follow.

The tall right-hander will be shaping away from the left-handed Litchfield. Then *lots of stuff happens* – including a dropped chance behind – but the ****ing wifi has dropped-out, in sympathy. Not infuriating at all…

#carryonregardless…

Bell goes across Perry. Too much. Wide. The wind is ‘helping’ Bell’s inswinger, blowing left to right as I look at the bowler. Tough for Bell to get any joy with her slower-ball/leg-cutter variation and may just be that the inswing is happening frustratingly early-doors, helping the batter, because of that breeze. 23 for 1, Australia, after 4.

Cross is running in hard and with that pleasing, trademark flow but goes over-full again. Litchfield on-drives nicely. Bell continues to battle against the elements – another leg-side wide.

Two slips in for Litchfield, for Bell, because of that swing/breeze combo. Meaning 6-3 field. Changes to 5-4 (with second slip removed) for Perry. Sciver-Brunt in for Cross; ninth over. That slightly forced arm-pumping. Vertical hands. Perry pulls her around to about forty-five, *interesting* Beaumont. But it’s four – not without some risk. 46 for 1 after 9.

Bell will bowl a fifth: clocks 72 mph. Highish. Good crowd in.

Exquisite cover drive, from the left-hander. Real quality. Brings up the 50. She repeats… but the connection is nowhere near as clean. No matter: Ecclestone has rather feebly dived over it. To make matters worse, Bell goes too wide outside off then too comfortably at the pads: both balls carted to the rope. Bad wee spell, for England. 62 for 1, with Litchfield racing to 32 and Perry on 18. Sciver will come round.

Coo. Perry bunts straightish but within teasing distance of the diving fielder. Fingertips job. Then Litchfield drives Sciver-B at mid-off. Ecclestone is The Most Surprised Person in the Ground to see the ball pouched – ’twas above her head, arm fully extended. (A-and… we all love her… but she’s not a great athlete). Bargain. Except that brings Mooney to the crease… and she is arguably the world’s best. After Ecclestone has bowled the 14th, from the beneath the media centre, in bright sunshine, Australia sit at 74 for 2. Honours even; five an over?

Am interested in how wide (in the crease) lots of seamers are bowling, at left-handers. Sciver-B doing it now, to Mooney. Broad using that angle a lot, against Warner: wondering how stat-based that approach might be? Obviously it’s ‘match-up’ based – everything seems to be these days – but should it be the de rigeur method or a method of variation, I wonder? We have a break: 79 for 2 after 15. More of the playing-area in shade… and then not. Clouds hauling past in that breeze.

Testing delivery, speared in by Ecclestone is met with an exemplary straight drive. Four; Perry; in much the same way that she was practising, earlier. Gonna be a long day. And driving home straight after. Off out for some air and a wee break.

I’m *out there*, on the balcony, as Glenn drops Perry. It’s a poor error – from both, in fact. But that very same Glenn claims the Aussie icon, shortly afterwards. Perry has clubbed a few, highish on the bat and finally pays the price, caught Sciver-B, at mid-on. She’ll be furious; was cruising (largely), on 41.

England’s fielding has been ver-ry mixed. Several straightforward drops. (Like the blokes, as one of my twitterbuddies chirped). But it’s been notably, importantly below standard. Like the blokes.

McGrath has joined Mooney. Aus are 125 for 3 after 24. Glenn is in from Ashley Down. She also bowls from relatively wide, to the left-handed Mooney. Some would argue that the ball has to do more, from there.

Capsey, from the pavilion. Draws a leading edge from McGrath. She’s not going to spin it much, but has Mooney missing; stifled appeal.

Glenn as the skies brighten again, but paradoxically with the outfield darkened by cloud. Then immediately flooded with light. Is that making the catching difficult? Is the wind making everything difficult? It’s a factor.

Mooney takes Capsey up and over cover – steered, with care – for two. Both batters into the twenties in good time. Signs of intent from Mooney as she comes at Glenn twice in succession, but can’t connect materially. 141 for 3 on 29 overs; level fives – ish. This is probably okaay, for England; it’s certainly not intimidating or explosive – not yet.

*Moment*. McGrath plays inside a straight one, from Capsey. Bowled, for 24. Gardner – a worldie – joins Mooney. Glenn can’t keep the pressure on: drags down to Mooney and is dispatched to the legside rope. Capsey, meanwhile, is drawing errors. Gardner edges, but no dramas. Ecclestone will replace Glenn at Ashley Down. Mooney goes at her and lofts comfortably over extra for four. Not much in this, you sense, but the errors and catches dropped feel important.

Gardner is a player; she booms Capsey stylishly over mid-on but it plugs, rather, and the fielder can gather. Was just going to write that this has been a good spell, from the young offie but then she bowls a legside wide. (Has been encouraging, mind).

Australia need to get into Expansive Mode but tough to do that against Ecclestone. Gardner goes and profits. Key part of the match upcoming. Run-rate must be raised; wickets bring tension and ratchet down any momentum. Capsey persists. 6 overs, 1 for 22 is a creditable effort. Bell follows.

She goes outside leg stump but Mooney can only take the single, bringing her within touching distance of another 50. But drama interveneth. Bell is heaved up, from high on the bat, by a slightly cramped Gardner. Sciver-Brunt turns and races back. England’s best fielder – o-kaay, aside from Wyatt – takes a difficult catch, with arms outstretched. When Sutherland is comprehensively bowled for no score, England are (as the Aussies rather irritatingly say ‘up and about’. Fabulous moment for Bell, who does appear to be maturing nicely, now. She’s clearly being preferred to Wong… and this Main Strike Bowler role does bring some pressure. Not long ago she could kinda hide a little, behind Brunt K and Shrubsole.

Mooney gets through to her 50 off Capsey but Australia are 188 for 6. Heather Knight would take this.

Two lefties in, with Jonassen joining Mooney. Both hugely experienced. But the visitors are still marginally below that 5 an over thing as we enter the last 10. Poised, as they say. Bell slaps in the first sharpish bouncer: Mooney copes and the 200 is up.

That same batter strikes Capsey hard and clean, over mid-on – perhaps the first time anybody’s really got hold of the young bowler. Four.

Sciver-Brunt returns and we have an *almost*. Bell is well in the game as the shot comes at her. It drops awkwardly in front – close. A brilliant fielder might have taken it but the ball rattles between chest and ground; not out. Ecclestone will bowl the 44th from the Pavilion End. 214 for 6. Australia will want (or have wanted) nearer 270/80 than 250.

Knight has a challenge to squeeze this as hard as possible. Cross has been expensive: who’s gonna bowl ’em, other than Bell and Eccles? Sciver-Brunt is in. Those three will be the protagonists, no doubt.

Ecclestone to Jonassen; dot ball. Then single to long-off. Knight fizzes in a throw which hurts the bowler’s fingers, but makes a statement. Relatively quiet over. Bell, from Ashley Down. Brilliant running from the batters grabs an ambitious two.

Not sure if the fact that there have been a number of mishits – particularly those up towards the splice – is suggesting the pitch is a tad two-paced(?) Ecclestone won’t care: she’s just bowled Jonassen with one that turned significantly from out wide. Solid effort from the Aussie; she made 30. 240 for 7. Wareham is then rather fortunate to edge her first ball through the (absent) slips: four.

Mooney can only slug Bell for a single, first-up. And Wareham mis-times her pull. The trees towards Sefton Park are suggesting the wind may be increasing, if anything. 257 for 7 as we welcome Nat Sciver-Brunt back for the denouement. The light is as good as any time in the day. Maybe that helps Wyatt take Wareham’s clump out to the deep. But Wyatt takes most of them. 260 for 8 as Schutt faces another extravagant back-of-the-hand delivery from Sciver-B. Then another.

Innings closed on 263 for 8. Doesn’t feel over par, or un-gettable. But the dropped catches? Hmmm…

Brown will open to Beaumont. Off the hip for a single. And a no-ball. Dunkley profits from the free hit – four over cover. Then a wide, wide. Nine from the over; not great from Brown.

Perry will try to do better, from Ashley Down. She gets some swing, but it’s wide. Dunkley clatters it and mid-off misfields – four more. Again, it’s mixed and again we wonder what influence the wind is having. Two wides and a no-ball, from Perry. England are 20 for nought after 2 without hardly playing a shot!

Brown is bowling 74 mph but then bouncing too high. Wide. But Dunkley can’t connect at all with the stuff wide of off. She can, however just get something on a leg glance: four more.

Perry is slinging it almost everywhere but she has enough to trouble Dunkley. She bowls her, for 8. Capsey is in next; defends competently. It’s felt for some time that Perry has dropped down the pecking order both in terms of her bowling and her allegedly non-dynamic batting. She’s staying boldly full, here, as Cross did, on the edge of glory and the batter’s driving arc. Capsey gets one away, straight.

Beaumont seems strangely late on stuff. Almost castled. Then, slightly exasperated(?) she slashes and middles past extra. Hard. The next two balls are representative of what we’re seeing: first is edged past the keeper, the second is yet another wide. There have been 18 extras in the first 7 overs. It’s wildish – wildish in the wind – but England are notably up on the asking-rate. 69 for 1 off 8. Expecting a double-change from Australia. Here comes Schutt; the wind assisting that deadly inswinger.

Sutherland the next change. From Ashley Down. Capsey charges and gets two… and a free hit for the no-ball… from which she can’t profit. Then Beaumont absolutely thrashes a short, wide one through the covers. Australia in some bother, here. England are 84 for 1 after 10. The bowlers really can’t string more than two decent balls together. I might go outside and enjoy it for a bit… (cheesy grin emoji).

Three or four overs out there in the sun. Liking the crowd and Beaumont’s sudden explosion. But then she gets herself out to the worst ball in history (well, o-kaaaaay) and Aus may be back in it. But with England still above 8 an over… they shouldn’t be.

Capsey has bludgeoned a tremendous and tremendously bold six, off Schutt. Had to clear long-on; did. Now the skipper is in alongside her, with Sciver-Brunt to come, the home side are strong favourites. An England win here sends the proverbial message too: the message being ‘LOOK OUT!’ (Selfish though breaks through: might it be asking too much for Our Lot to brutally squish any resistance, storm to victory and thereby allow a certain medium-tired scribe to boot home at a reasonable hour?)

With that Capsey holes out.

That feels a little indulgent, in a sense but if Sciver-B goes on to dominate from here-on in in the way she can, then no issues. This is set up for Knight to bat through watchfully whilst S-B flashes *mindfully enough* to all parts. Sensible, Run-a-Ball Cricket would do it, from here. (But there are buts, right?) Howler, in the field gifts Sciver-Brunt a boundary. Thinks: what the hell are them Aussies doing, today?!?

Gardner may bring some Aussie-level quality. She has a BIG SHOUT, against Knight: the batter hit it. England are 128 for 3, after 18. So the run-rate has been throttled-back, somewhat.

S-B misses out on another poor, short delivery, from Wareham. It’s a quiet over – just the way Healy will want it. The slower bowling has definitely stilled the momentum. A reverse from Knight raises the crowd. Four.

Whisper it, maybe, but Sciver-Brunt has had a quiet series. Ditto Knight. They are both powerfully steadfast – can build. Is today the day?

S-B batters Jonassen to the square-leg fence. Her first shot of real violence. But utterly controlled. Like that, as did the crowd. 152 for 2 after 23. Still ahead.

Gardner draws a minor error from Knight – inside edge. But okay. And Jonassen gets some spin – almost unheard of. So these two batters must stay honest: for one thing there is the possible concern that beyond Wyatt, there is little to come. (Jones I habitually exclude, despite her ability. She is, in my view, concerningly prone to a pressure-induced scramble. Ecclestone is gutsy but clumsy, Glenn mixed but fairly untried, Cross can hold a bat but may not persist, and Bell is a bowler).

As Sciver-B has expired, reversing, we may get to see these various prejudices under Ashes conditions. Could be tense. Wyatt enters with England 163 for 4, and Knight on 16. Sciver-Brunt made 31. This is a ver-ry even contest, now. It may not, on reflection, be high on quality: could the drama yet compensate for that?

As we have further drinks, so the abacus is out. It’s only four and a bit per over that England need. So do the obvious. Play smart, careful cricket. Nothing needs to go above ground. Singles do it. Doubt it will be *that simple*. Schutt, from Ashley Down. Review, for a run-out. Now this would be craaaazy…

Not out.

Wyatt has certainly turned down the boom factor. Good. Wareham is on again from beneath us: think she’s bowled a lot of ordinary deliveries. The batters play tap-and-run – well. When the bowler over-pitches, Wyatt instinctively goes over extra, but with control; again taking the one. Sadly (for England) she can’t keep that discipline going.

Schutt is bowling very straight. Wyatt opens her body up to play inside-out and towards extra. Doesn’t get enough of it and it flies tamely to point. Unforced error. Brings Australia back into it. Jones must find something now.

Disproportionate roar as Knight finds the boundary, off Wareham. Then again as the 200-mark is breached. 64 needed, 90-odd balls to get them. Partnership imperative.

Knight (*fatal*) does seem to be seeing the ball better, now. More confident striking. Self-evidently, if both batters play within themselves, England should canter home. But there buts. Choice of bowlers and bowling changes critical, for Australia. Knight gets Schutt away to backward square: four.

Jones gifts her wicket. A-GAIN. (Those familiar with my views on this will… yaknow. Edited lowlights; I think she should have been dropped about three years ago). I am deeply unsurprised then, that Jones has biffed/miscued back to the bowler. Pressure back in the game. England are 203 for 6. 37 overs bowled. Knight has 43. Ecclestone.

McGrath rejoins us from Ashley Down. Knight takes the single – as does Ecclestone. Calmly. Twice.

*Absolute howler* in the field gifts Knight a boundary to midwicket. (Think it was Mooney again). Less than fifty needed. The England skipper gets to 50; HUGE in the context of this wildness and sloppiness. A further roar when Knight reverses Gardner for four more. Top player, top temperament.

Ecclestone is being commendably watchful. Gardner is testing her but the England spinner comes through. Now it will be Jonassen from in front of us. Single taken. Ecclestone goes hard across the line but connects well enough. Then the skip eases another nonchalant single.

Near-drama (is that a thing?) as Ecclestone slaps straight at mid-wicket, who threatens to make the grab at the second time of asking. But not quite. 227 for 6. 37 needed. More from Gardner. Wide ball!

Ecclestone is no batter. Otherwise I might be really angry that she JUST HOLED OUT ON THE BOUNDARY! Madness – but madness borne of pressure and lack of specific ability. She is no batter but IS the best bowler in the world. So forgiven. Meanwhile, the Ashes.

Sarah Glenn is pitched in there. She looks watchful against Gardner. 33 needed off 8 overs. So just over 4s.

Jonassen, from the pavilion. Good over. Healy has words for Gardner. Knight is facing. Ball is down leg, Knight reverses, clumsily. It’s safe. Unfortunately, Glenn can’t match that. Over-balancing a little, she drills at extra-cover. Caught. England are 235 for 8. They need 29, as Cross walks out there. A mis-field offers the one, but this will keep the incomer on strike. More Aussie conflabs, understandably.

Jonassen to Cross. The bowler cracks. Two poor balls, both short. Cross pulls one for four. Then when the ball is over-full, it’s dispatched genuinely splendidly straight for a crucial four. 20 needed. Gardner. Knight takes one. Cross does the same. The bowler changes the angle; comes around. KNIGHT HOISTS HER FOR SIX!! Bloo-deee Nor-ra!! 12 needed. Four overs remain. Proper tense, now.

Jonassen. Cross is making all the right moves. Fabulous in defence, pulling the marginally short one. Knight misses out, arguably, on a full-toss. But well bowled, Jonassen; just the two from the over. Ten required: HUGE CALL as Healy goes to Schutt – meaning more pace on the ball. Lights on and the ground in shade.

A single, ‘exposing’ Cross. She flips one over her left shoulder for four. Madness. Five needed. Schutt errs – too full. Cross classically booms her to the extra-cover boundary. One required. Extraordinarily, Cross follows a textbook forward defensive with a wildish swish, that almost offers a caught-and-bowled. Over to you, Knighty.

The captain slaps a full-toss out through the covers. Four. Job done.

Wow. A dramatic end… but what have we just seen? HUGE WIN, certainly, for England, re-balancing the Ashes series. Plus the moment Crossy crossed over into Free Beers for Life. Wonderfully, there are *warm hugs* between both sets of players and staff as they troop through the formalities. Great stuff, without the cricket being great stuff? Yeh. I’d go with that.

And talking of going. Longish journey and early start tomorrow.

Thankyou, as always, for your company.

Weaknesses.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Belief is HUGE, of course, but this isn’t just about belief.

‘Expressing yourself’, of course, is the aspiration but c’mon: saying that with little or no explanation or context is feeble, to the point of being meaningless.

The urge to entertain, is of course worthy, maybe particularly if you *really do believe* (as McCullum and Stokes just might), that it’s more important than winning.

Attacking or ‘being attacking’ is great. We all want to thrill people.

But there are buts. And those buts aren’t necessarily contingent upon the context and tradition of Test cricket, though of course this format *does have* particular, distinctive, possibly even special parameters. There is time; there is that different level of strategy, because of time/weather/the imperative towards resilience (over time) and the testing under pressure with tiredness and exposure. Mentality. Guts. Heart. Etc. Test cricket is kindof awesome…

But a note: few of us who would call out that England first innings as a kind of classic of Bazballtastic feebleness are doing so because of doe-eyed or rose-tinted nostalgia for Things Lost. We’re not delusionally adrift in our own memories. We are doing it because that baseball from Brooks, those errors from Root, Pope (and even Duckett and Stokes?) spoke to live, current falsehoods and weaknesses, not absence of ‘tradition’. We wonder who is taking responsibility?

Brooks got fifty but it at no stage did his approach look like it was working. At. No. Stage. He was exiting stage left in order to club tennis or baseball shots vaguely down the ground. Fine, if that works. It didn’t. He looked ungainly and frustrated as much as he looked ‘carefree’. (Carefree is closer to indulgence at this level, than is healthy. He didn’t look ‘liberated’; he looked like a bloke out of his depth – like a walking wicket). Given that Brooks is a prodigious talent, this felt wild and wasteful: and it plainly encouraged the opposition, particularly their quicks. It was also the opposite of entertaining, for England fans.

Not blaming Brooks. We can only conclude that he was given license, with that specific plan to step away and then clout, thereby disrupting the Aussies and scoring quickly. For most of us, the period had a high cringe factor and it didn’t work – obviously. (It was streaky and demoralising, surely?) The extended plan, to clatter short balls, was exposed to the point of embarrassment – that word again – as English batters went ludicrously and loosely aerial, rushing towards that inevitably dispiriting end-point. Brooks’s own mode of dismissal was every bit as shambolic (and irresponsible, and unwise?) as expected. Caught, slapping woefully.

McCullum and Stokes are better than my anger suggests to me. They are deeply and profoundly Macho Men but they do engage brains, too. I am confident they talk with both strategic brilliance and philosophical heft, to each other and to their players. And they are almost certainly rather wonderfully generous. Love that.

However, in private you do have to wonder if they do crank out the cliches about ‘playing without fear’ glibly and without qualification. How else are these tactical clangers persisting? Can it really be stubborn-ness? Or some sort of perverse siege-mentality? We’ve seen that often, in sporting environments.

Bazball needs qualification. This morning, England were neither ‘entertaining’ nor bright, nor even committed. In the particular, inescapable terms of Test cricket they were WEAK. Weak strategy, weak execution, weak in relation to smarts and resilience and intelligence. This capitulation was not worthier or more entertaining than a slow death.


Pic from The Guardian.

I did warn you.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Tea, day 2. England are 503 for 2, leading by 331. The stallholders, barmen, security staff and grandees of the Home of Cricket have been charging the home balcony to plead the case for spinning this out, somehow, into day 4. Livelihoods depend on it. Relationships depend upon it. The ice cream parlours within the postcode depend upon it. ‘Steady on, Stokesy! Get the lads some batting practice – bring back Trotty or David Steele or somebody. Get Broady to extend his run. Get Stop Oil in to cause a ruckus. Just give us a fekkin’ fourth day!’

I did warn you. (Read yesterday’s post). Ireland had to do lots of stuff *ahead of* going after wide balls or ‘trying to be positive, form the get-go’. Firstly, probably, they had to be aware that – despite what the sports psychologist & the coach might have been saying – they had to give themselves some kindofa chance… by staying in the game. Priority Number One.

Instead, two or three of their better batters took on minor risks and paid a high price.

A brutalist view might be that the game was dead by lunch yesterday. And therefore England’s jolly romp (and Ireland’s wilting in the field) – whether that be through nerves, poor execution, or just the inevitable consequence of a strongish, in-form side meeting opposition of manifestly lower quality – has been a result of seemingly inconsequential, seemingly minor errors of choice. Cross-bats, slightly lazy movement, or unwise advances. (Bye lads. 20-odd for 3).

Now, live, Pope has smashed a six to get to the fastest double-ton by anyone, in England. Before dancing down and getting stumped; bringing the declaration, at 524 for 4. Meaning up to 30 overs of Broad, Potts and Tongue, tonight. It may well be thrilling – possibly even for the fans in green. But such is the squishtastic England advantage, any kind of restorative rearguard action from Ireland feels deeply unlikely. Sadly.

Broad starts with a maiden. No hooping; no real alarms. Then Potts.
Moor and McCollum are out there, trying to be grittier and doughtier than very gritty, doughty things. If you can separate things out, you might think that conditions are goodish, for batters. Lush sunshine, ball initially doing bugger all, pressure (bizarrely?) more off than on them. (The game IS dead, surely?) But clarity and separation and cool, cool-headed-ness are hard to find, eh?


Potts bowls an absolute peach for no luck. Then immediately McCollum whips to leg and misses. Concerning. Full enough and straightish but nipping too much. The Durham quick looks robust, skillful, sharpish: is he top, top level? (I mean in international terms?) Not convinced – but do like him. Time and opportunity will tell.

Moor is extravagantly ‘textbook’, in defence, to Broad. Good. Head, elbow, eyes. Forward when he can. McCollum follows the pattern, to Potts. Good. Some nip, for the bowler’s off-cutter; possibly tailing in, too. The openers reeking of watchfulness, encouragingly. McCollum breaks out when Potts offers a smidge of width – four. 16 for 0.

Enter Tongue, who gets Moor with his very first ball of the day: his pace telling. Maiden scalp for the bowler, who went well for no reward yesterday. Moor was late on it, but the speedo-thing is suggesting 82, only. Felt quicker to this viewer and was too sharp for the batsman.

Balbirnie, on a pair, drives Tongue smoothly enough… but then the Irish skipper gets a top edge to one and Bairstow can pouch. Two wickets in the over and a further sharp intake of breath for the Irish. They may not share the sense that the young quick *may have earned that*, with yesterday’s debut performance. They may just be crapping themselves.

A second look at that Balbirnie dismissal confirms the presence of what the pundits often call brain-fade. It was – for him, a seasoned international player – a bloody disgrace. Weak, lazy, glazed-over-eyes job. Unedifying.

If this was Newcastle or Arsenal, you might suspect that McCollum’s susbsequent, protracted injury was tactical. After all, Ireland need to ‘break up the game’ – ideally for about another 30 hours. But the poor bloke has twisted and fallen at the crease and is clearly in pain. We do lose ten minutes or so, before Stirling is whirling his arms at the crease. Tongue is fired-up and at him, slapping it in and drawing some cut from the pitch. Smothered. Ireland are 28 for 2 after 10 overs. With McCollum crocked.

Stirling is getting his eye in. Clubs Potts compellingly and boldly through the covers. He has 9 from 9, which is his way. He eases Tongue through point then takes on the pull next ball. Mis-times but no dramas. Drinks, a handful of minutes after that prolonged stoppage… in which everybody who needed one probably had a drink.

Leach will join us. Spearing with some purpose, again. Yet another good shout, from Stokes, you sense. Just looking to challenge, or re-challenge, at the right moment: spacing those changes immaculately. Leach rarely really turns it, we know that, but he’s extending that loop again, to get the ball right into the toes, or under the bat.

Tector, from nowhere, has had a thrash at Tongue. It goes for six, but heralds some testing short stuff. 58 for 2, Ireland. Big appeal, from Leach… but he will not push for the review: begging the question. Tector is notably fuller with his batswing, but mixing that with legitimate resolution. (Not sure the fella can bat, mind). 🙃

Bairstow and Tongue seem clear. Stirling has clipped it as the ball passes across his ribcage. Is it glove? It is. Gone for 15. 63 for 3. Tucker is welcomed by a real nasty one: Tongue, who now has three wickets, bending and slamming. Helmet. That’s an ugly, scary way to start your knock. Another interlude – understandably. Unfortunately for the newcomer to the crease, this will only encourage the chin-music.

Dreadful ball from Leach gifts Tucker a way in. Four to the leg boundary. Silly mid-off in, and slip. Lovely, evening light; rich shadows. Tector has battled to 23.
Tongue has three men back. Bowling about 84mph. Strikes me that though his movement has looked a tad restricted, Bairstow’s keeping has been good. Lot of leg-side takes as the quicks slap it in.

Leach has bowled one or two – and therefore one or two too many – gimmes, wide of leg stump. He concedes another boundary. Meanwhile Tongue has bowled eight overs ‘straight’, but this period has included those two breaks. Solid effort from the young fella. Has 3 for 27: looks bit tired, as he retreats to the boundary.

Finally, Leach rips one past the bat: Tucker helpless. Will we see late drama? Maybe. Broad is wheeling away, prompting knowing nods and approving gestures in the crowd. Here he comes. A thoughtful twiddle of the headband and he will come round, to Tector. Legside field. Highish percentage of bluff?

Two short ones, one duck from the batter. Then variable bounce becomes a factor – mishits or airshots. But no dramas. Two no-balls in the over as the old warhorse charges.

Things almost quieten. But then (of course) Broad makes something happen. Short ball, looks to have struck glove. But no. Chest: as you were. Tector can even respond with a smart pull, middled, to the boundary. 92 for 3, with the last over of the day approaching.

Leach is in again, bodies around the bat. Legstump line, by accident or design. Probing, but Tector and Tucker have manfully seen this out, with Ireland 97 for 3 at the close.

Decent and important effort from the surviving batters; just the small matter of 255 runs to find. With some luck we’ll see a meaningful lump of cricket on the morrow. Or, perhaps more exactly, the visitors might claw themselves towards respectability and extend the game-time. There is some value in that.

We are the crowds.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Life can be traumatic; we know this. Real Life and when we play.

Often, in the latter, we get sucked in to ‘traumas’ and ‘dramas’ that are so patently manufactured or disproportionate that we should be bloody embarrassed, yes? But hang on. Describing or critiquing levels of authenticity and place and value, as though there’s some hierarchy or league table of meaning? Na. We’re neck-deep in the febrile and the tribal, even us brainy-bums. We’re not gonna escape into clear philosophical waters – not whilst we’re bawling at the telly, coz those footballers are cheating.

It may be true that somehow the universe is conspiring more than ever towards some swamptastic mania, or that we’re falling into it more readily, but perhaps that suspicion is more revealing of my own relative superannuation, than any quantifiable truth? (You Statspeeps, am I right? Can we measure this out? Do ‘socials’ and the surge towards intense, short, highly-colo(u)rific events sling us with developing and increasingly irresistible force into the whirl? Are they doing it more than before? Is everything about lust and intoxication – was it always? Or am becoming a Daft Old Sod?)

Flitting between screens and sports over recent days, it strikes me that the roaring at Elland Road and Goodison, the insane closeness of mountain-stage fans at the Giro and the parallel, if changeful calm at many cricket grounds is an absolute wonder, in its breadth and its signalling of the human condition. We are mad. We are both unhinged from the actual sport and inseparable, just tossed into a capricious mind-stew. We are watchful and equitable and off our heads. We can judge with either crystalline brilliance or the feeblest and most outrageous dishonesty, the shift of a hand or foot. Depends whose team. Depends which player. Depends how many sherberts.

Everton, Leeds, Forest fans. Mad as a box of frogs – and also wonderful. But seething and on the edge, with that rather disturbing sense that they want something to hate. (That’s a bit dark, yes? Sits quite close to the fear that violence may erupt). On the footie scene, was it just me, or, at this season’s end, were there more players and managers conspicuously whipping up the crowd? Sure that’s part of the theatre but… is it a thin bit, a look-at-me bit, or something more unhelpful? Get that it’s inevitably of the now but is This Frenzy a concern – or when is it a concern?

Many of you will know that I have worked in cricket, for years, as a coach. And that I follow the game – in particular England and Wales Women. I’m fascinated by the contraflows around that whole ‘traditional’ cricket narrative and the epoch-changing turbulence currently turning the game upside-down. Again the richness is extraordinary. Go to a well-supported county game at Taunton or The Oval or Headingley and soak up that restful vibe. Check out Glos v Glam, in the Blast, on the live feed. All will be well, in the moment. But wow, behind the scenes…

The times are impacting. Politics, economics, changing fashions, greed and maladministration internationally are impacting – or have. The madness and short-sightedness of (Indocentric), 21st century capitalism is of course the particular and extraordinary context. Some would say that big-money corporatism has replaced glacial imperialism as the controlling force, and that national and county or regional boards have been sucked-in or squished, in the race to provide sexier fayre.

Plainly, in the UK, the fabulous mix of Old Money, ‘traditional support’, exclusion, inclusion and the mass of what I’m going to call *actual cricket-watchers* has been (as they euphemistically say) challenged by the bolt into newness. Things are complex but also heartfelt – so simple. Most County Cricket fans are deeply insulted by the fact of and manner in which the Hundred was parachuted-in. They find the gaudiness offensive, the PR insulting and believe it was part of a plan to slim-down the Counties, by making the Blast non-viable. They think the ECB were suckered or bundled into changes which ticked boxes but utterly disrespected those who most obviously, in their view love and support the game.

The counter-arguments are that a) change had to happen because (for example) the County Championship (and therefore the Counties) is/are not sustainable and b) cricket must grow and find a new audience. In simple terms, not enough people go to watch Four Day Cricket and the game needs re-invigorating, to draw in a further wedge of TV money.

Few of us would argue that the status quo was entirely fit for purpose, pre- the Hundred, but this not the same as backing it. (Of course we live in our own bubbles but a strong majority of the Cricket People I know think it was not just divisive but flat unnecessary… because the Blast was improving and improvable at massively lower cost, both in terms of cash and goodwill). I would also place myself in the admittedly lower percentage of people dismissing the idea of growth itself. Growth in terms of inclusion – yes, absolutely. But think it’s unrealistic and unnecessary to think in terms of a HUGE GAME. Enough can be enough – not to exclude folks – but because cricket might just always have a lower profile than football. And that might be ok: make the game better, not necessarily bigger.

It’s possible that some of those who voted in the Hundred genuinely want more diverse and younger audiences for cricket, because they feel that is right, as well as smart. It’s possible that some just fell for an attractive power-point. Either way, it was a big moment; one that has not, because of the explosion in international franchise or short-format cricket, secured the future of the game. Far from it. The wider game – the world-wide game – has lurched into another crisis. Everybody wants to own, run, or play in an IPL.

The Indian Premier League is The Beast. Now featuring a women’s tournament, its seemingly undeniable clout and import have sent cricket somewhere else entirely. The money – because of the massive Indian cricket audience, largely – is colossal and life-changing, for players. Revenue from TV and advertising is stupendous. Owners and broadcasters relentlessly ladle on the noise and the colour. It’s febrile; appropriate to the age; possibly defining it.

This affects all of us in cricket. The young players on our pathways are aware of it, administrators the world over are trying to replicate it or ‘factor it in’ – whether that be to corporate planning or junior training. Elite players are right now deciding whether to go all in on ‘franchise opportunities’, ‘stay loyal’ to their national sides, or maybe burn out, trying to do the lot. Heads are being turned, by the numbers, the dancing girls and the dosh. It’s baseballification-plus, with different-level money.

We’re all different and all the same: rubbing shoulders, raising a holler. Being part of the tribe. It’s magic; it’s scary; it’s dumb; it’s wonderful. We all do it, and we sportsfolks do it compulsively. We ‘go ballistic’. It may even be a necessary part of the congenital daft-punkism that drives all games and supporters: essential to the energy and the craic. (And by the way surely something in that fervour drives performance – maybe as much as the eight zillion hours of practice?) I love the crazy difference between Evertonians and Glamorgan Travellers. I love that we both lose ourselves and yet we also have the power. Because we are the crowds.

Pic from Danehouse/Getty Images.

Binaries.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Let’s face it, friends, neither cricket nor the administration thereof strikes us (historically) as any kind of springboard for revolution. Not typically. (@StoneDunk may have a view on this; no doubt I’ll be hearing from him, shortly). But as I sit and write – 7th March 2023 – it’s difficult to escape the sense that everything’s gone next-level radical and colorific. As though high-octane reds and yellows are being catapulted over the barricades and all of us have fallen into a single, vituperative mode of exchange. Some folks find the fact that we’ve been #hashtagged sexy and invigorating: others park their banners only momentarily in delirious confusion, before hoisting their Shield of Incontrovertible Truth. Either way it’s unhelpful: The Horn versus yaknow, The Sacred.

To zone into my own, immediate experience, picture an I-pad, a fresh, understated but also zesty West-Walian café, a Sky feed from India and the best women players in the world – Lanning/Shafali Verma/Kapp, etc, etc – flashing their blades in the cause of… erm… Delhi Capitals. Meaning, amongst other things, cricket of a very high order and at an intensity unthinkable last Wednesday week.

The dawn (and endless re-dawn?) of ‘short-format/franchise/white-ball/baseball/circus’ cricket is swarming all over us, whether we choose to wallow in its stirring brew or fight it off like some pesky wasp. I get that it’s precisely this that challenges and indeed troubles many on the side of Counties and tradition. Is the world not dumber and less patient, more fraught and more bought – and less (not more) wonder-full – with the advent of the Age of Boom? Is that not our suspicion? I get that. We love cricket and that love is deep and complex and loaded. But how do we appreciate all things and avoid naff oppositionism? More difficult still: how do we do that when our crown-jewel-equivalents, our non-negotiables are apparently unseen, by them on t’other side?

I’ve seen the word ‘symphonic’ to describe whackin’ a cricket ball abart. I’ve heard the word ‘soul’, repeatedly, movingly linked to this leather on willow thing. I was there when Jimmy-Jimmy and Monty kept out the 400-year assault from our Antipodean brethren, at Cardiff. I saw Bob Croft clamber up the stairs at Glam for that final time. Part of my sexual-political-philosophical education shunted forward, in a good way, when I watched Anya Shrubsole bowl in an Ashes double-header at the same venue.

The essence of this cricket stuff is rich and nourishing and gloriously multi-dimensional, so god knows, we are entitled and even likely to be ‘precious’ about it. The hinterland of feelings and patience and faith-through-the-downpours is not reducible.

Having worked in Cricket Development for many years, I have some knowledge of the machinations of Corporate Cricket and a bundle of enthusiasms and opinions for and upon the game. Only some of these can I share, prompted by cricket on the tellybox – well, i-pad – right now this minute. What I’d like to do briefly is note to the universe some urgent thoughts, in the hope that this can in some way contribute to intelligent discussion: this may throttle back some of my own partisanship and even rage. What it probably won’t do is reinforce the allegedly binary nature of things.

(A pre-emptive strike: the next wee chunk, despite appearances, is *still about cricket*).

Many of us are neither conservatives nor free-market ideologues. We may both accept some things had to change and resent the direction, process, content, language and apparently narrow destination towards which we were suddenly being corralled. Despite being ‘all about growth’, this bright new colourful future might have felt weirdly fascistic and force-fed. As per the august world of politics, much has depended on whether us heaving masses were in a position to believe the guys (mainly) at the top.  (Just me, by the way, or do we sense some movement, on this? A more conciliatory approach? Or more respectful?  It’s a welcome development: the entrenchment into ‘betrayers’ and ‘visionaries’ was never a good look).

With that polarisation in mind, here’s a starter for ten, in the University of the Open View. With no conferring, how does the following land with you? (Because I was conflicted but this next sentence is, or feels true): today I saw quite possibly the finest gathering of female players ever – or certainly the most dynamic – going head-to-head, as the pundits probably said… in the WPL.

Okay. On a scale of one to furious, where are you?

(Note from the author: I mean the stuff about finest players; it may seem inflammatory but the athleticism, power and sometimes outrageous skill of the main protagonists was extraordinary. I had not set out to watch this fixture – for the record I virtually never watch the IPL – but from the first over it was tremendously watchable).

We can surely see (and surely say?) that this is good? Good that the cricket was about as thrilling as it can be – Ismail v Lanning; Ecclestone v Kapp – and that this monumental lurch, forward and up (in terms of cash and exposure, in the Women’s Premier League) may be triggering greater sport.

However… because this is something of a symbol, yes?

We all know that qualifications may be in order. The almighty powerhouse that is the WPL may or may not either be in itself sustainable, or support the women’s game more widely. Indeed – obviously – it may (may) patently undermine it, at both the international and domestic levels. Where there is unrivalled clout, there lurketh often the ‘brutal realities’ of capitalism. Good can be bad; answers can foist cruel questions upon us. Like this one.

How then do we stitch together the various needs, in the face of rapacious, diametrically-opposing competition… and in the Age of the Televised Auction? Are we, as some have speculated, watching separate games drift apart? If Those Who Govern are simply overwhelmed by Those Who Franchise does this leave the historic game fatally exposed? Might the fate of Kent really be contingent upon the good will of tycoons in Kolkata?

My ‘answers’ – responses might be a better word – are on the existential side: vague, perhaps. They come back to intelligent, generous, joined-up action: and I am realistic about this.

To bundle us forwards, let me throw you a curve-ball, or variation, because that word generous feels apposite and so do bigger abstractions. (In fact, re-reading, I am struck that live action on the screen stirred a minor revelation, which though it unsettles arguments for allegiance towards any particular format, needed to be in here. So sorry… and not sorry. Again we are going to be floundering around in territory that may stir the tribal within us. Look out).

It’s likely that the majority of you, my sagacious readers are drawn to Test Cricket – or should that be Test cricket? – and in particular to following England (and Wales). Me too. Whilst being massively conflicted about everything else, from choice of coffee to choice of barnet, I am refreshingly, reassuringly, spookily clear that there is somehow nothing quite like top-level five-day cricket. Even though I appear to be one of the dwindling number(?) of folks who also really love One Day Internationals… Tests are it.

This of course means that following your own tribe takes a kind of precedence – though fascinatingly, we may not be clear that what we might call the National Machismo is the sole driver, or even the main driver, for this. There are delicious complexities and possibilities in play, many of which contradict the notion at the heart of the following, bold statement: that there is nothing wrong with patriotically bawling your support for your own country. (Further note: qualifications are assumed). But…

Let’s get back to Sophie Ecclestone, and her side, UP Warriorz – yep, I know – versus Delhi Capitals. In a genuinely fabulous Capitals innings, one of the most striking things for me was the utter dissolution of national rivalries. The truly brilliant English left-arm-spinner could not have looked happier or have gotten heart-warmingly cuddlier than when her Aussie or Indian team-mates had their moment. Truth is, they (UPW) were getting battered around by Lanning in particular, but wickets were celebrated with notable, secular joy. This, surely, is good?

A world-wide audience – admittedly one paying for the privilege – was witnessing apex-predator-level sport shot through with colour-blind, one-world generosity. With full-on sisterhood. In an environment characterised and generated more by filthy lucre than political or cultural enlightenment.

Sport, we know, can do this. But challenging as it may be to our sense of pride and self-determination, we cannot – I cannot – escape my responsibility to etch into the cosmic tablet that the richness of this extravagant, heritage-deficient gathering may even have been exacerbated (not undermined) by the mix of nationalities on each side. Circus or no circus. The ‘Enemy’ or antithesis of (say) County Cricket can therefore deliver something profound (too).

Do I need to add that this is not an argument against either international cricket or our own, much-loved County format? Of course I don’t. Because you get that things, in their wonder and their many colours, are complex.