Our expectant mother country confident of another successful delivery
Andy Murray delivered. So did the British and Irish Lions. Chris Froome might, and Kate Middleton is about to, any royal minute now. This is a fecund time in the United Kingdom. Now all eyes in this now permanently expectant country will turn to the Ashes series, to see what Jimmy Anderson delivers.
Or will they? Public transport, public squares and public houses hardly constitute a rigorous survey, but the English on Monday did not seem so much a people feeling their oats as one lying back in a kind of post-orgasmic stupor, deliriously spent.
By Greg Baum
Not for this Australian visitor was there one provocation from a ticket collector, cabbie or barman, good-natured or otherwise. If anything, there was patronising sympathy – ”you never know”, ”it might rain”. They had it, but were not flaunting it. This is not the form of the ascendant British down the years – not as far as anyone can remember.
As for the Tests, Nottingham scarcely is heaving with excitement. An hour’s walk around the city centre evinced no awareness other than some hoardings belonging to the series’ sponsor.
Generally, the smaller a city is, the more a big event in it stands out in proportion. In Australia, for instance, you might not always know that there was a Test match on in Sydney and Melbourne, but you cannot help it in Adelaide.
Nottingham is a quarter the size of Adelaide, but its Test match is invisible. There wasn’t even any Murray-mania on display. Two betting shops were touting not for Ashes business, but for wagers on next season’s English championship, the second tier of England’s football hierarchy, in which Nottingham Forest plays.
Of course, it might not be apathy, or even sleepy post-coital inertia. Rather, it might be that sporting England is like Kate, at the radiant stage. Not gloating, glowing.
The time of telling people about the good fortune is long gone; it is abundantly obvious now. The morning sickness has passed, the scans show no abnormalities – though a watch will be kept on the effects of a rogue gene called Pietersen – and the nursery end is ready. Murray is the national pacifier, an exceptional tennis player, but capable merely by talking of putting to sleep Winston Churchill, England’s most famous insomniac.
The father is easily identified; it is Lord Sebastian Coe. The charts show that conception occurred during last year’s London Olympics, which were successful beyond the wildest imaginings. Passions were unleashed. Now no one can get the smile off Great Britain’s face.
Though the family has fallen on hard times, at least it has this bundle of joy called sport with its beatific smile. Next, it will be England for next year’s soccer World Cup; you know the way new parents carry on about the genius they have on their hands.
What hope for the poor Australian cricket team in this scenario? It is cast as something akin to polio, once deadly to England’s young, but no longer even a threat. It has mutated, and is unstable. But one who might be called a strain has been rendered dormant.
That is how it looks to the naked eye. Examined microscopically, the dysfunction is not apparent. The individual cells go about their dutiful business, batting, bowling, toiling in the gym. From accounts, morale has risen since Darren Lehmann replaced Mickey Arthur as coach. The new coach syndrome – the way merely changing coaches often inspires a spike in performance – is well recognised in sport. On the face of it, it is the best that Australia has going for it.Meanwhile, the English continue to behave with suspicious magnanimity. The Age was ready with its defences – Murray is a Scot, the cricket team is largely South African, the rugby team is almost entirely Welsh – but they weren’t called upon. England appears to want not to gloat, but to dote.
Of course, that will change at Trent Bridge. Ashes series always are keenly anticipated, by the ascendant country, of course, but also by the underdog. Tyranny demands overthrow.
Before Australia’s two decades of dominance of world cricket, the West Indies ruled. In that time, cricket grew rather than diminished in Australia; the mission to topple the Windies became a national cause. Hopefully, a similar sense of vocation now applies.
As for an omen, try this: Australia, when it was on top, staked out the high moral ground so assiduously that it banned Barmy Army trumpeter Billy Cooper – hardly a hooligan – from playing at Australian grounds. It was haughtiness preceding a fall. As Australia declined, and suddenly needed to be loved, Cooper was allowed in.
Courtesy TheAge
(This article was written before the beginning of the first Test)
Follow @timesonlinelk
comments powered by Disqus