Merciful escape as Cook finally retreats from his traumatic Ashes tour

Alastair Cook must be relieved to be back in the cold and grey of an English winter. He can finally relax after escaping the furnace of a red-hot Australian summer.  His every move will not be scrutinised and monitored as he goes about his business back on Civvy Street, well away from the cricketing nightmare that he has just endured at the helm of a truly calamitous English tour. With the Ashes meekly surrendered during a Test series where everything that could have gone wrong, generally did, then a painful 4-1 loss in the one-dayers, he will be glad to escape.  What happens after this, who knows…  At least he will have time to reflect on his next move. Cook must wonder where it all went wrong. On the opening day of the first Test in Brisbane, his English side had seemingly done all the hard work with the Aussies labouring at 132 for six. Then came the Brad Haddin-Mitchell Johnson recovery act and it just seemed to happen over and over again. There was no let-up in the one-dayers.  How England managed to lose in Brisbane and Adelaide when they had things under control, is beyond me. It’s been a long, hard journey. And certainly one that nobody could have realistically predicted back in November.  To be a cricketing tourist on the wrong end of a hammering – no matter where you are – must seem like an endless  chore.  A few things have been brought home to me as I find myself halfway through a captivating autobiography written by another former England captain with choirboy looks and an elegant batting style. David Gower’s book was published in 1993 in tandem with Martin Johnson and it makes fascinating reading.  For starters, it brings home the fact that it is not the norm for an English Test team to be successful.  I must have air-brushed all the bad memories aside cos I had forgotten all the pain of the 1980s when as well as being humiliated by the West Indies when they ruled the cricketing universe, we had rough results against Australia.  Gower also recounts surprise hiccups against Pakistan and New Zealand during this topsy-turvy era.  I can only instantly remember the heady days of the 1985 Ashes triumph on home soil, where Gower played an intrinsic role, and the subsequent 1986-87 reverse success in Oz.  But you wonder how that ever happened because in Gower’ s tales, the tour seems a total fiasco. Yet somehow, England came though. After soaking up Gower’s book I suddenly feel that down the years, England don’t actually know how to channel a winning feel. It’s as if when a peak is scaled, it is “job done’. It happened in 2005 and now it’s happened again.  More realistically, par for the course seems defeat – often in ugly circumstances, followed by much inward recriminations as part of the blame game. Gower’s years at the top were in an England side that featured such legends as Graham Gooch, Ian Botham and Allan Lamb. But there seemed to be more bad times than good.  The 1989 Ashes series defeat in England – starting with the horrors of Headingley – was even more galling than this current shambles.  And in both case, the eventual one-sided outcome was totally  unexpected. So as captain Cook settles back on home soil, the one consolation he can have is that this has all happened before. Not much to feel cheered by, true, but it wasn’t all his fault.  There have been other victims along the way – notably Jonathan Trott and Graeme Swann.  And even Steve Finn was sent home for early rehabilitation after a non-playing role. It was like a wagon train struggling through hostile Indian territory with one victim being picked off at various stages by a horde of ruthless Comanches.  At least the retiring Swann has stood by his erstwhile skipper.  Swann reckons that he and his England team-mates were so “terrible” throughout this traumatic Test series, that nobody could have made a decent job of captaining such an under-performing bunch. Let’s hope better things are round the corner. Even in Gower’s years, the rollercoaster ride was always just that.

Dual defeats for Rovers and England fuel misery of the sporting kind

Sometimes I envy people who are not interested in sport.  They seem to be few and far between but now and then you run into someone who would think that the Ashes is a brand of firelighter or would be totally oblivious to the build-up  to a footballing World Cup.  What a cushy life.  It simply cuts out all the suffering from defeats that your team/country has to inflict on you. The only stress you have to endure as a non-sporting person is what kind of salad to take to an Aussie barbecue.  I do actually morph into indifference when it comes to “solo” sports. Rafa Nadal seems a nice bloke but I don’t go into emotional meltdown if he loses during a tennis grand slam. He doesn’t represent me.  Or where I am from.  Meanwhile, Tiger Woods is a rich and obnoxious human being but he won’t go without if he misses the cut of some obscure but well-funded golf tournament in any particular money-crazed outpost of the modern world.  There are also some team sports that leave me cold. Basketball. What’s that all about? Points a-go-go every single second. American overkill. Much ado about nowt.  So if that’s where it finished, I’d be fine.  But no… All my life, the big two – football and cricket – have loomed as emotional thermometers. I would love to work out a graph of how joy and suffering have scored during my sporting dependencies of Blackburn Rovers, Lancashire and England. There are cursory diversions such as Aussie Rules sides Sydney Swans, Norwood Redlegs and, in baseball,  San Francisco Giants. But they don’t count in the big picture. I even used to watch Balmain in Sydney where rugby league reigns, via the Orange Grove pub in Leichardt. But they were forced into amalgamation with the Magpies of Western Suburbs. It was never the same for me. It is wacky though how you seem to remember the bad days rather than the emotional victories. This week has been a classic. Despair with bells on. Rovers made a rare appearance on Setanta in the FA Cup replay with Manchester City. I loathe City for reasons which I may explain at a later stage.  I tuned in and had to witness a 5-0 mauling. It was not unexpected but very unfair. Under our idiot Indian owners, Rovers have gone from a stable Premier League club to a Championship basket case within no time at all. Only now are we heading towards some form of stability. City were kept out until half-time stoppage seconds. After that, things fell apart and City looked like they could go further ahead at will. It was awful. Rovers had actually played okay, but it doesn’t read like that. 5-0 is not good. And neither is 4-1. That was the next rout at Nottingham Forest over the weekend. I only have those highlights to look forward to on Setanta. Nine goals leaked  in a week. We are on the road to recovery – I think? However, the play-offs may have to wait.  I was pretty distraught. But the real mood churner was still to come after the City carnage. I have been down-playing the England one-day cricketing campaign in the wake of the Ashes surrender. But I still care. And there we were in Brisbane on Friday night. A win at last within our reach.  At 244 with just one wicket to fall, chasing 301, surely England would wrap up a long-awaited minor success. What James Faulkner did thereafter left me in a state of disbelief.  In an Aussie summer of one disaster after another, I was experiencing a new form of numbness. Losing is horrible I know, but losing when it seems impossible to do so is detrimental to the thought process.  I’m sure the England one-day squad are now as mentally shattered as the Ashes fall guys. It’s been a sudden and painful experience. The ensuing Sydney slaughter was so predictable I agreed to turn over the TV to watch Midsomer Murders instead.  The series which makes murder totally trivial was more preferable to a real life working-over. To see the intellectually-challenged David Warner in full flow was too much to take.  Watching someone be bludgeoned to death by a gigantic piece of cheese was lightweight by comparison. There seriously can’t be many people left in those idyllic villages around Midsomer. So if has come to this… Just two one-dayers to go. Oh, and the Twenty-20s. No wonder Kevin Pietersen looked quite at ease in the stands at the Chelsea v Man United  game. Well out of the way. Trust him to go and watch two poseur clubs. Out here,  I foresee more suffering. The final one-day episode will be in Adelaide.  I s’pose I had better go. Just to show loyalty to a losing England cause. Sport eh, don’t ya just love it…

Post-Ashes one-day encounters would gain some real meaning with schedule switch

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The one-dayers are suddenly upon us. So the English suffering may go on at the hands of the relentless Australians at the MCG on Sunday. But who cares? That’s not being sulky just cos we got obliterated in the Ashes. It’s just how it is. Even the endless columns of Aussie gloating in the print media appear to have dried up – for now. It just seems exhausting having to put up with more cricket  after the main event has left town. And most of it will be meaningless. And very soon forgettable. The Aussies have done their job – and done it with ruthless intent. Now they are looking ahead to the mega-series away to South Africa next month. Even I will be more interested in that coming combat than the imminent incursion of one-day slogs. It’s a shame cos it doesn’t have to be this way. If the…

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Post-Ashes one-day encounters would gain some real meaning with schedule switch

The one-dayers are suddenly upon us. So the English suffering may go on at the hands of the relentless Australians at the MCG on Sunday. But who cares? That’s not being sulky just cos we got obliterated in the Ashes. It’s just how it is. Even the endless columns of Aussie gloating in the print media appear to have dried up – for now. It just seems exhausting having to put up with more cricket  after the main event has left town. And most of it will be meaningless. And very soon forgettable. The Aussies have done their job – and done it with ruthless intent. Now they are looking ahead to the mega-series away to South Africa next month. Even I will be more interested in that coming combat than the imminent incursion of one-day slogs. It’s a shame cos it doesn’t have to be this way. If the 50-over format and Twenty 20 thrashes were switched around in the schedule, it would make far more sense.   Use them as an aperitif to the main course of the Test tussles. Even if the first Test had to wait until Boxing Day, it would add to the longing. That way interest would mount ahead of the glamour unveiling of the protagonists.  Fans would be able to look on and ponder who or who wouldn’t be in the running for Test places.  At the moment it’s just a bit too much to take. We all feel a bit full up. It must be like getting to the last course of a degustation (not that I’ve ever done one) and trying to open your mouth for one last spoonful. Come in Mr Creosote… It worked in England in 2005 when the Aussies were obliterated in an early season Twenty 20. Suddenly the natives were sensing that something good could happen in the Ashes … and it did.   I was on a Daily Telegraph early summer sizzle that day on the banks of the Thames and once the last beers and wine on the tab had been imbibed, wasn’t really interested in going to the pub to watch proceedings on my day off. But the early tumble of Aussie wickets changed my mind. Yet one-dayers really did used to mean something. In England it perhaps really started with the Cavaliers – a troupe of over-the-hill stars and imports who travelled the country on Sunday afternoons playing to packed marquees and BBC 2 television audiences. I used to watch the games with my dad at home when we were having yet another stodgy mashed potato tea. It was for people with supposedly short attention spans, which back then was deemed to be 40 overs. Then in 1969, came the John Player Sunday League.  Same format. But with limited, measured  run-ups for the bowlers. It was an instant hit. Bumper crowds and impressive TV audiences.  Even better, Lancashire seemed to embrace the concept better than anybody else. Jackie Bond’s team – with Clive Lloyd and Farouk  Engineer in the ranks – lifted the first two titles and should have collared a third but for late season cock-ups. My first trip to the “proper” Old Trafford was the 1970 game in August when we saw off the bad guys from over the Pennines, Yorkshire, to claim the title. Geoff Boycott of all people compiled  81, but it made no difference.  The crowds were incredible. It was estimated that 30,000 were on the ground that day with some lunatics scaling the walls to get a view. Hard to believe now.  I was hooked – a Lancashire fan for life. As I’m from Blackburn, it wasn’t hard. The Gillette Cup had begun earlier – in 1963 – as a straight knock-out format and that competition also drew great crowds. The sponsors changed over the years but the final at Lord’s was akin to the FA Cup final. In the 1970s when Lancashire made the venue virtually a second home, tickets were always hard to come by. And even in the latter days, 1990s trips to minor counties outposts like Hertfordshire and Berkshire filled me with dread. But luckily never any upsets for Lanky and generous quaffing in strange beer tents in alien countryside surrounds. The joys of an English summer… But since then the continual tinkering with the English fixture list and format of the competitions has seen whatever the tournament is called demoted to a sideshow. Sky TV tries to whip up some fervour for the Lord’s showpiece but when I was back this year there seemed plenty of seats to be had for Somerset v Nottinghamshire. The ultimate razamataz came with the Kerry Packer World Series of the late 1970s. Worth a book on its own.  Coloured clothing, floodlights and backing music.  But in this social media “me-me-me” age, the new “attention span” is Twenty 20. Frankly, it leaves me cold. But what do I know … I’m old.  In Australia, Channel 10 has wheeled out an all-star cast of commentators to add lustre to its coverage. Sir Viv Richards, Ricky Ponting, Adam Gilchrist and Mark Waugh give us their expert insights into what’s going on but it all still seems a little contrived.  Even so, I have enjoyed some of the games on telly.  Maybe I should learn how to “vege” out. After all, Twenty 20 is the only cricketing world title that England have won. There’s hope for us yet…

England pain complete as Ashes rout finishes with recurring nightmare

It feels like a case of deja-vu… It feels like a case of deja-vu… It feels like a case of deja-vu… Er, sorry but to borrow a line from a King Crimson song of the early Eighties: “I repeat myself when I am under stress.”  That’s what England’s Ashes humbling has done to me. Watching the final instalment of the implosion on Channel 9 from the SCG on only the scheduled third day, I almost knew what was coming next as the visitors’ brittle batting folded hopelessly again. You didn’t need to be a clairvoyant or a fatalist to see what the script would be, it’s been like this since Brisbane it seems. I was almost anaesthetised to the chaos by the closing throes. And so, to grab another chorus from the 1980s, “We’re glad it’s all over.”  That was Captain Sensible’s  lament.  But over it is. Over and out. I no longer have to suffer repeated viewings of Brad Haddin coming to the crease at number seven to save a listing Aussie ship from submerging in a first innings sea storm. And I no longer have to cringe as Mitch Johnson roars in to inflict more wicket-taking and physical pain on England’s increasingly disorientated batsmen. It’s been a truly galling sporting event with five grisly episodes. I tried to think of any corresponding  disasters down all the years of following Blackburn Rovers on the football field, Lancashire in the cricketing arena or English teams at both codes. Nothing really comes close. Past Ashes landslides were almost expected cos of the respective personnel. This was meant to be close. These Aussies are good but not great. But we have elevated them to greatness now. I had originally planned to travel to Brisbane, Melbourne and Sydney. Thankfully finances dictated otherwise, so my live traumas in the torture chamber were limited to four days on Adelaide Oval.  Yet back on that first day at the Gabba, it seemed that all was going well with England’s bowlers making inroads through the Aussie top order. Then in came Haddin. Rugged in demeanour with a hint of impishness, and by the end of the series, totally irritating. One rescue act after another. It just kept happening. To me, he was the man of the series because he gave Johnson  the platform to perform on after Australia had amassed formidable leads. If Mitch had not clicked, one of the other Aussie quicks could have done the damage anyway. Our fast bowlers could not answer in similar style, though Stuart Broad revved himself up in a few sessions. James Anderson looked plain tired, while in their brief appearances, Chris Tremlett and Boyd Rankin exuded all the menace of a pair of enormous, fluffy cuddly toys. As the series unfolded, the more everything paid off for the swaggering Aussies and the deeper the hole England found themselves in. There were notable victims along the way – Jonathan Trott (remember him?), a retiring Graeme Swann and a plummeting Matt Prior.  We all know the story so I don’t need to re-tell it. Now we just have to stomach as Aussie victory parade on the TV tomorrow. I think I might give that a miss. I still find the Aussies very uncouth warriors, even though they were so much superior in all facets. As the ever-avuncular and gracious Sir Bobby Robson said after a surprise win by his Newcastle United side over Arsene Wenger’s Arsenal at the old Highbury stadium just before Christmas 2001: “Arsenal need to learn how to lose.”  Sir Bobby was referring to the petulant “we woz robbed” ream of excuses that the Wenger regime can sometimes spit out. Even now… I feel that applies in reverse to Michael Clarke, the squeaky-voiced Aussie leader and his band of boorish victors. As the Aussies chirped out their childish ‘five-nil, five-nil ’ dirge on the SCG presentation stage, watching Aussie fan Phil Spence, of the Maylands parish, said: “There is a difference between winning in style and being a bunch of smart-alecs. They should save that crap for the dressing  room.” But at least one English supporter, Philippa Chadwick, due to fly back to the homeland this week, disagrees. “We dished it out to them pretty badly over, there,” she said. Oh well, maybe I missed it when I was back in and around London. I do remember getting a host of email jokes about Aussie cricket after their second Test cave-in at Lord’s though. “What is the difference between Michael Clarke and an undertaker?” was one question. “An undertaker doesn’t keep losing the ashes” Uh, uh, that simply doesn’t apply any more thanks to the mind-blowing reversal of fortunes.  And to reiterate just what Australia owes to that first Haddin intervention can be gauged from the view of my Aussie physio, Andrew Zealand. “Haddin didn’t just save the first Test, ‘ said Andrew. “He saved the series and the whole summer.” Andrew reckoned that if the Aussies had have gone down then, that would have been the start of a whole different story and the home crowds could have deserted a losing team. Remember, England did start the series as slight favourites and no pundits or ex-players, including Merv Hughes, were tipping a home series romp. Depending which version you listen to, Australia were quoted as anything from 66-1 to 100-1 at the bookies to achieve a 5-0 clean-sweep. So well played, Darren Lehmann and co. It’s been an astonishing turnaround. I’m still spinning. For all the wrong reasons. There’s still the one-dayers to look forward to. There’s still the one-dayers to look forward to. Oh, I forgot – I repeat myself when I am under stress.

England seek solace as Sydney Test brings curtain down on shambolic tour

And so to Sydney… Merry 2014. It’s certainly been a miserable end to the year just finished with England’s jangled Ashes campaign reaching a new nadir thanks to the limp and clueless surrender at the MCG over Christmas. All the post-mortems are in and it must be said they seem to concur that this was the lowest of the low. The Saturday batting debacle left me almost catatonic for my evening at Adelaide’s Hotel Wright Street. I hope the players felt as bad as I did.  And the suffering wasn’t over.  The Sunday shambles in the field at least kept the incompetence consistent.  And we have managed to transform the run-of-the-mill off-spinner who doesn’t spin the ball, Nathan Lyon, into an apparent world-beater.  At the moment, England would struggle to beat Salesbury third XI. But it’s all over now, so let’s look ahead. Can there be solace of any kind at the SCG? Well. Alastair Cook might win the toss, which would be a good start. But apparently the track is well grassed so if Michael Clarke makes it five out of five, he might invite us to bat anyway. He did put Sri Lanka in last year in their Sydney encounter. It might be another torrid experience. I still can’t believe how quickly things have changed. It was only a few months ago that I was imbibing with some esteemed Aussie scribes in the Argyll Arms in London’s Oxford Circus after the visitors’ batting horror show at Lord’s.  The connection was via Ian Fuge, my great Arsenal-supporting mate who steers the ship of sport at the Sydney Morning Herald. The Aussie press corps were low – totally down in the dumps. “We will have to get used to this,’ said one. “This is how Ashes series are going to be for a long time ahead.” I nodded politely but was quietly looking forward to the thought. How wrong we all were in our musings. The same writers are now having a field day rubbing in England’s hurting. Fair play to ‘em – grab it while you can. At least the English fans should try and enjoy the Sydney setting. The SCG is my favourite Aussie cricket ground. It’s just the right size and has the ambience to still offer a “big stadium’ feel. I always felt the gush about Adelaide Oval was over the top. It was more higgledy-piggledy than picturesque to me. Not that I have a degree in Architecture.  And the MCG is just too big. You can have 45.000 fans in there and it feels like there is no-one watching. The SCG is just right, though I believe it is suffering redevelopment hassles as well. But the location offers up ample pub opportunities. From the trendy watering holes of Paddington – the London Tavern and the Paddington Inn – to the equally accessible stopping-off points via Surry Hills. Is the Cricketers Arms still going?  And you can walk from the city centre without getting thirsty. Enjoy the occasion. Let’s pray for a sudden England turnaround. I know I have been saying that since the Gabba, but you can only live in hope.