Ashes 2017: Forget the Budget, the only red leather that matters this winter is the one Down Under
From the soothing sounds of Test Match Special through the night to the inevitable morning batting collapse, there's nothing quite like following the Ashes from the other side of the world
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Your support makes all the difference.Budget smudget. The only red leather that matters in the next 24 hours isn’t Phil Hammond’s briefcase but the Kookaburra ball that will be either slamming into the Gabba’s boundary boards or clattering into unsuspecting stumps. Like the budget though, it’s hard to know precisely what this winter’s Ashes will deliver.
One thing is certain though. Whatever the outcome in January, there is nothing that warms the cockles of an English cricket fan more than the sense of anticipation that precedes the first Test of an Ashes series Down Under. Whoever lines up for England, we will convince ourselves that we’re in with at least a shout. Even when Nasser Hussain won the toss and decided to have a bowl at Brisbane in 2002 I felt hopeful.
In any event, the particular joy of an Australian tour isn’t dependent solely on who wins and who loses. Rather, it is the sense that the latest clash is only a small episode in a relatively unchanging continuum.
Sure, the game has evolved in all sorts of ways – some for the worse, most for the better. But in its fundaments, test cricket – especially between these two old foes – is a bastion of stability in a topsy-turvy world.
That feeling is heightened for anyone who will follow the series from the UK, staying up till all hours to watch on television or to listen on the radio.
The BBC’s Test Match Special in particular exudes the security of permanence as powerfully as the cricket itself. The knowledge that even in the middle of our night, Aggers, Vaughan, Tuffers and the rest will be burbling away on the wireless – just as TMS commentators have done for decades – is a delight. These days, they are the only reason I might actively choose to be awake at two in the morning.
In fact, when England’s or Australia’s openers walk out tonight, my body clock will be naturally resetting to a rhythm which requires regular intervals of wakefulness through the night for the duration of the Test – and for the four which will follow. Headphones will be neatly tucked under my pillow so there is no scrabbling around on the floor in the dark and then, with a quick press of a button, it’s as if the intervening years since the last tour have never happened.
What’s more, the excellence of the TMS commentary provides a reassuring reminder that discussions about cricket can be intelligent. Given that the build-up to this current series has been dominated by Aussie trash talk on the one hand and the banal sound bites of England players on the other, it will come as a relief to listen to hear some genuine cricketing insights.
Of course, it will be even better if the insights accompany English success on the field. There have been far too many nights when the radio has been turned on to reveal a shocking England collapse or an Australian batsman on the brink of a century. My first experience of listening to an Ashes series being played on the other side of the world came in 1990/91 so it was two decades before I heard a series win.
Even so, the occasional bright spots kept me going: forlorn wins in Adelaide in 1995 (with a Gatting century), Melbourne in 1998 (Headley’s six wickets in a 12-run victory) and Sydney in 2003 (Caddick’s seven-for). Even draws would have been welcome during the worst of times.
As for what might happen this year, I have the same high hopes as ever – tempered by anxiety about a semi-untested top six facing a pace attack comprising Mitchell Starc, Pat Cummins and Josh Hazlewood. Will James Anderson and Stuart Broad be able to keep the advancing years at bay? Can Moeen Ali face down Aussie attempts to hit him out of the park? Will Ben Stokes join the party and provide salvation? Gun to the head, it will be tight – but let’s go for optimism and say 3-2 to England.
Whatever happens, winter nights will be filled with dreams of cricket and the sweet, sweet murmurings of Geoffrey Boycott in my ear. I’d have it no other way.
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