Sing When You're Winning

There were rare scenes of joy in our house this past weekend with the unexpected breaking of a longstanding drought; a sporting team I support actually won something. Despite over 25 years regularly watching all manner of teams playing a fair few different sports, I've never ever seen any of them win anything of note.

The team in question was St George Illawarra - the Dragons. Some of you may have heard of them. Most of you will not. They won the NRL Telstra Premiership, Australia's top rugby league club championship. They are the toppermost of their particular poppermost. Look, here's a picture of them... winning things... yay!

My long wait for the Dragons' win (11 years in my case, 31 in theirs) was just one part of what could be called the Custard Curse. At its most basic this means whoever I want to win, will not. In all my years watching Sunderland, they have won only the Coca Cola Championship - twice. I won't pretend I wasn't pleased at the time, but since one needs to be relegated to win this second tier trophy it's one I'd rather never win again.

Similarly with my oldest team Hull Kingston Rovers, the rugby league team everyone in my family was born into the misery of supporting. Their last moment on top was 1984, tantalisingly out of my adult memory's reach. Thankfully I do remember sitting in the hotel bar at my aunty's wedding two years later watching Rovers lose by 1 point at Wembley in the Challenge Cup final; the moment my sporting path was set.

Of course I have experienced the distinct pleasure of watching Ricky Ponting's face contort with rage and frustration at the hands of the English Cricket Team - twice. I've also had many happy moments watching South African, Indian, Sri Lankan and Kiwi players slap the Aussies around the park a bit, especially in the past few years. That said a few weeks in summer following national sides are not enough to wipe out the pain of following the fortunes (or unfortunes) of your own useless team.

So thank you Dragons for bucking the trend. I'm more grateful than you know. However, whilst I'm at it I should apologise to the newly formed A-League team Melbourne Heart. You see, you play in red and white and well, I need a football team to support over here, and I refuse to go for Melbourne Victory and I never really cared much for Sydney FC. So, well, I figure since you need fans and I need a team well... you know... how about it? After all you're only as good as your last game right, and tonight, for one night I am a champion...

Over and Over and Over

Interesting article by Peter Roebuck in The Age today about declining interest in One Day cricket, as demonstrated by yesterday’s 25,463 crowd at the MCG for the first knock between Australia and the West Indies. It’s likely the biggest factor for the low(ish) crowd was the 60,000+ who watched the Twenty 20 match at the MCG between Australia and Pakistan just two days earlier. Still as Roebuck notes, all the sporting factors were there yesterday for a good day out, but people - me included - voted with their feet.

This is not news; Roebuck’s piece is another in a long line of similar articles about the inevitable death of the 50-over game in favour of 20/20 cricket. He offers a few suggestions to refresh the format created by Kerry Packer et al in the 1970s but there is another bigger issue that he doesn’t mention: people like to see Australia lose.

Obviously I like to see the Australian cricket team lose – for me it’s akin to finding a dancing penguin in my fridge with a surprise cheese platter - but let me share a secret: I’m not alone. Aside from the many Kiwis, Indians and Sri Lankans who call Australia home, there are a great many cricket-loving natal Australians who like nothing better than to see Ricky Ponting with a grumpy face and the Aussies put to the sword.

Perhaps it’s a hangover from the all-conquering all-sledging-’bowled-Shaiiiine’-years of unfettered arrogance; maybe a reaction to the mindless Oi! Oi! Oi! support of the flag-waving-Southern-Cross-tattooed hoards, or maybe just Schumacher Syndrome - acute ennui caused by year after year of watching the same smug fuckers win. Whatever their reasons, each summer we all join forces like an unofficial and covert branch of the United Nations called People Who Hate the Baggy Green and cheer for whoever is playing Australia.

Whilst we approach each summer with a weary understanding that Australia will ultimately triumph, we are occasionally treated to scenes of unexpected delirium. Back-to-back visits by India and South Africa in recent summers were exquisite and even England’s 5-0 whitewash loss in the Ashes was unexpectedly followed by a bizarre yet welcome ODI Tri-Series win which left Ponting speechless.

Sadly this summer we have been sorely underprovided for. We’ve seen a decent but by-no-means brilliant Australian team win a test series 2-0 against the Windies before winning three tests, five ODIs and a 20/20 game against a Pakistan team who in the space of one month have choked more times than a British tennis player. The memory of five almost-perfect days in Adelaide in early December has been obliterated by a woeful Pakistan who haven’t recovered from the moment they allowed Michael Hussey to save the Sydney test.

Despite the media hype before every game, it’s inevitable that two and a half months of Australian dominance would result in reluctance to fork out money to watch more of the same. The ranks of the People Who Hate the Baggy Green have been artificially swelled by temporary members keen for a bit of competition before summer is out.

I still think talk of the death of ODI is a bit premature. Despite what the media likes to tell us, many of us haven’t embraced Twenty 20 as a natural replacement. I’d also suggest that 25,000 paying spectators is better than the tiers of empty seats in a 100,000+ seater stadium makes it look. Further, instead of silly ideas like giving 8 runs for a 6 to make the 50-over game more exciting, I believe this summer might have been more interesting had the two ODI series been played as a Tri-Series. As we saw with the England–NZ-Australia competition in 2007, even a team which has been resoundingly thrashed by Australia can recover confidence if given the opportunity to do so.

It could be that Cricket Australia doesn’t want that to happen. They may be so bloody minded that they want their team to win at any cost, even if it means the death of the one-day game. However one thing is increasingly clear: the Australian public - wherever we come from, whoever we barrack for - does not.

More Kit and Caboodle

In a tradition that is becoming as much a part of Australian summer as flies in your salad and Ricky Ponting getting out for a duck (thanks for that by the way Ricky), Mr Daniel Kitson has just announced some more shows down under in 2010.

Already in Melbourne town to perform 66a Church Road – a Lament Made of Memories and Kept in Suitcases at the Arts Centre throughout January, Daniel has announced a short run of work-in-progress late night shows from the 18th to the 23rd January at the BlackBox just next to the Yarra.

Says the man himself “I, Daniel Kitson (32, balding and a surprisingly competent swimmer) invite you to the BlackBox at 10pm for larks, japes and work in progress towards one or more shows that don't yet exist. I'll be talking, reading stuff out, maybe playing some music (pre-recorded), there could be one or more guests who will talk or read or play music (live). There might be some stuff on film. And it will all be done by midnight. Lovely.”

Picture reproduced with thanks to the Arts Centre website.

Whilst admittedly more random, his similar work-in-progress shows at the 3RRR Performance Space last year were just as good as the higher profile October gigs at the Athenaeum, and for a mere $20 of your Australian dollars you might as well really because there’ll be nothing on the telly. Capacity is only 150 people so it’s sure to be nice and cosy too.

Tickets for the BlackBox can be purchased from the Arts Centre website here. Limited tickets for 66a Church Road are still available here. For more Kitson-themed Mint Custardry, click here.

Bumble Fever

I promise to stop going on about cricket but I couldn’t finish without a special mention for my man of the series. He wasn’t playing or part of the backroom staff, or even one of the decision-impaired umpires. He was David ‘Bumble’ Lloyd, former England coach and now (forgive me Richie Benaud) the best cricket commentator in the business.


Given Channel 9’s cricket broadcasting hegemony in Australia, those of us without pay TV have been denied the joys of a Bumble commentary. Cheers then to SBS for picking up Fox Sports’ broadcast from the UK, Bumble and all.

It’s not just Bumble’s droll Lancashire delivery that makes him so lovable. As a former England player and coach his knowledge of the game is superb. That’s to be expected from most commentators, but it’s the way Bumble shares his knowledge and love of the game through his commentary that sets him apart. He’s a bit like your favourite teacher or slightly deranged uncle – never patronising, always inspiring and generally fucking hilarious.

His spell gently mocking Freddie Flintoff’s lazy running on Saturday was quite brilliant. Super Fred, hero of all England in his final test match, about to have knee surgery and there’s Bumble laughing at him ambling about between the stumps. There has been much of the same throughout the summer with Bumble backing up his on-air antics with his first ever Tw*tter account – something akin to giving your grandad his first mobile phone with $50 worth of prepaid.

To add icing to the Bumble love-in cake he’s quite into his music, and is a big fan of The Fall and Half Man Half Biscuit. Compare that to Channel 9’s ready-for-pasture Tony Grieg and painfully parochial Bill Lawry and its clear that we’re going to miss Bumble when summer comes around down here.

For those already having withdrawals, here’s a compilation of some of his antics on Sky Sports, including his straight faced ‘pitch reports’ from a dry-ski slope and a wooded hillside. Not quite the same as hearing him in all his commentating glory but it will do for now.

Bumble, thanks for the memories and if you need showing round the local indie record shops next year I'll be glad to help out.

Rapprochement

It pains me greatly and my fingers are twitching like Herbert Lom's eyebrows as I type this, but I have to profess some grudging admiration for Australian cricket captain Ricky Ponting this week. This may just be a misdiagnosed case of pity resulting from the unusual sensation of seeing England beat Australia. However, his admission of tactical culpability and general refusal to blame the pitch, umpires or weather for his second Ashes series defeat raised Ponting a notch or two in my standings.

Ponting has always been an immensely unlikable opponent – arrogant, intimidating, overly competitive and of course, prodigiously talented. Anyone who has passed by this corner of the internet in the past weeks will know that the joy of seeing Ponting dismissed a few times was the most that I dared to dream for out of this Ashes campaign for a while. Memories of his face smug in victory over the past decade are still fresh, and as with all feared adversaries there is pleasure in seeing them lose.

'Punter' represents the last of the Invincibles-era; a time of unprecedented success and freakishly-talented individuals that is now well and truly over. In the history of test cricket Ponting, Steve Waugh, Matthew Hayden and Justin Langer are amongst the top twenty highest run scorers, Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath rank 2 and 5 respectively amongst test bowlers and Adam Gilchrist is the most successful Australian wicket keeper of all time. With such esteemed colleagues now long gone, Ponting has been left to oversee a wobbly handover to the next generation on his own.

Perhaps emboldened by the sight of a great opponent on the ropes, Ponting has been this summer’s pantomime villain for the English fans. There were boos and jeers from Cardiff to Leeds (and quite a few from our house). Almost in parallel the English press has maintained a series-long campaign in defence of the Australian captain. This might have emerged from an embarrassment that ‘the gentlemen’s game’ was being sullied by a yobbo element, but was mostly been built around the (admittedly true) notion that Punter is one of the all-time greats and deserves some sporting respect.

By mid-afternoon on Sunday, as he was trudging off the pitch having being run out by Andrew Flintoff, there was evidence of a noticeable thawing in hostilities towards Punter. The warm and generous ovation he received from the crowd surprised him as much as the jeering from the Cardiff stands had six weeks earlier. You could argue that all it took to see relations improve was for England to win for once. However I think that the sight of Ponting giving his all (including a brilliantly dramatic must-not-show-weakness stoic walk to the pavilion, spitting blood without so much as a flicker after receiving a cricket ball to the face) and producing another scarily good innings on a deteriorating pitch might have helped soften English fans' hearts. I even surprised myself.

Calls for his replacement seem sillier now than they did during the two series against India and it’s unlikely that he’ll be asked to go. The label of being only the second Aussie captain to lose the Ashes twice in England is an unfortunate irrelevancy – I mean, how many captains even get the chance to take a team to England twice? As for the future, well, statistics don't win matches but they don't look that bad for his young side. Australia scored more centuries, ran more runs and took more wickets than England. Ultimately it didn't change the result, but it just might offer some hope to a bruised and bloodied Ricky Ponting as he flies home tonight.

As for the unexpected rapprochement between me and Punter, well I'm sure normal service will be resumed soon enough. After all I have Pakistan and the West Indies to cheer on this summer and I'm sure he'll be back to his pugnacious old self. But for tonight Ricky, and only for tonight, Ricky - a tip of the hat to you.

...Funk to Funky

A funny thing happened yesterday… a sporting team that I wanted to win actually won. It was a novel and not unpleasant experience, currently being over-analysed in newspapers and websites across the world (well, in countries that give a monkeys about cricket).

More interestingly – considering my lack of expertise when it comes to the finer aspects of the game, and an innate belief that whatever can go wrong will go wrong - I actually called it right. Australia’s first innings collapse and second innings self-destruct seemed unlikely given what happened ten days earlier at Headingley, but somehow it just seemed possible - and so it proved.

Reactions to the result have been as notable as the game itself. The English press has inevitably gone a bit mad as happens in the rare instances when British teams prevail. Anglo-Australian one-upmanship brings out the worst in ‘journalists’ from both sides of the world. Over reaction is to be expected from the UK gutter press but I doubt that even they could be any worse than this piece from the otherwise unswervingly excellent Guardian coverage. In many ways I’m glad to enjoy this victory at some distance from lowest common denominator anti-Australian crap that will no doubt be filling British news stands this week.

Also, as lovable and iconic as he is, a bit much has been made of Andrew Flintoff’s contribution (positive and negative) to this series. England’s team rebuilding has been a team effort with just about everyone playing some part. Broad, Swann and Anderson all delivered spells of bowling that were as important as Flintoff’s Lords magnificent performance, even if they don’t have his train-thundering-down-the-tracks presence. TV and newspaper editors who know nothing about cricket tend to reduce team achievements down to the exploits of one man, and this was never more inappropriate than this summer.

Meanwhile the Aussie press is in mourning. Australians woke up to the bad news with their vegemite on toast and it left a bitter taste. Sour grapes about baked pitches, South African Englishmen, bad weather and unlucky coin tosses aside, the selectors are being called to account and tactics questioned. English cricket fans shouldn’t flatter themselves that this is all about them – the period of deuil has been going on since India and South Africa ram-raided these shores last Christmas. The loss of the Ashes is painful but slipping to an all time record low of fourth in the world rankings hurts more. English fans can add little to what the Australians already know: the Baggy Green, it ain’t what it used to be.

Fittingly, the best reaction came from someone who actually played in the bloody game. Andrew Strauss’s summary of his first series win as captain (“When we were bad, we were very bad, when we were good, we managed to be good enough”) was grounded, endearing and refreshingly realistic. Perhaps it’s born of the knowledge that he will have to lead his young team to Australia in 18 months time and the memories of the 5-0 whitewash he suffered as part of the last touring team. Strauss knows the job is only half done, but at least England have someone with a sense of perspective in charge (however many plums he has in his mouth).

For me, a strange and pleasant feeling of satisfaction and eighteen months respite from the taunts of my friends and colleagues.

For England, sweet sweet victory... and the sight of Strauss with the urn, the urn, and the rest coming home with the urn.

Ooh You Are Oval... But I Like You

After what seems like an eternity since Australia inflicted a drubbing on England in Leeds, the fifth and final Ashes test gets underway at the Oval tonight. It's winner takes all with both sides on a game each, although the Aussies have a bit of an advantage as a draw will be enough for them to keep their mitts on the little urn.

As a result of the Headingley thrashing few people are predicting an England success. This is a shame because not only have this English team already proved that they can win against this Australian side, but everybody knows that if you keep Ricky Ponting's young side under pressure, they will wilt. We saw it during India and South Africa's visits to Australia, and even lest we forget, off the back of the 5-0 Ashes thrashing in 2006-07 when a humiliated England somehow rallied to win the one-day series down under. Much has been said about the way the momentum has been passed to Australia throughout the series, but you can bet your arse that those young Aussie players will be bricking it just as much as the English who - now reinstated as underdogs - have less to lose.

The Australians have been far more profligate with the bat and that, combined with Mitchell Johnson and Stuart Clark's returns to form and the team respectively, is what makes them favourites. And yet, when the weather has suited them, the English bowling has been equally impressive, and it's on that point that my faint hopes hang. This is after all about one game. Everything else is past, these next few days are all. In footballing terms this is a Cup Final occasion. England's bowlers need to remember what they are capable of, and if they happen to be reading this whilst tucking into their Pop Tarts and bowls of Frosties, I hope this collection of the best moments from the previous four tests gees them up a bit...

Ricky Ponting's Ashes Tour Diary Update for People who Don't Like Cricket

Ricky Ponting's Ashes Tour Diary Update

Little Urn

"When Ivo goes back with the urn, the urn;
Studds, Steel, Read and Tylecote return, return;
The welkin will ring loud,
The great crowd will feel proud,
Seeing Barlow and Bates with the urn, the urn;
And the rest coming home with the urn."

… or so it is printed in tiny letters on a piece of paper cut from a magazine in 1882 and stuck haphazardly to the side of the most little brown jug in cricket. Yes, ladies and gentlemen... the Ashes are finally here. Huzzah.

Being English in Australia this will mean two certainties: continual sledging for at least a few months (and possibly another two years) from colleagues and so-called friends; and bleary-eyed mornings after a northern summer’s worth of late night sessions in front of the telly. What is not certain for once is who will win.

I shall ignore the rather stupid and rash news emerging from the UK press that England are the slight favourites following news of Brett Lee’s injury. This is partly because you can never ever, ever trust the Australians to lose when you want them to no matter how shoddy they play and how much you’d love it. Mostly though it’s because every time the multicoloured cowboy-themed weights of expectation are placed on the Buckaroo-like shoulders of British sport, they instantly flail under pressure, kick out their hind legs and drop the variously unattained trophies on the floor. Kind of.

Britain's Andy Murray in action at Wimbledon last week

So my hopes of an unlikely England victory will be resolutely kept in check until the whole damn thing is over. However, I’m already excited about the idea of seeing Ricky Ponting being caught, stumped or preferably bowled at least five times and hopefully ten over the coming weeks. For anyone who has forgotten the pleasures that brings, here are a few nice reminders:

As I know nothing about cricket, other than the fact that I like it a lot, I shall keep my online rantings to a minimum and draw my knowledge from the collective genii of Rob Smyth, Lawrence Booth and the rest of the Guardian’s fantastic obo team. For those who don’t like cricket, fear not. Mint Custard will continue to be as dedicated to this little Ern as any other…