Travelling tittle-tattle, tall tales and shameless name-dropping by Jon ‘Don’t Call Me’ Norman

About Me

My photo
London, United Kingdom

Tuesday 4 January 2011

View from the stand

Cricket fans are split over their opinion of the Barmy Army. For some the BA offer a much needed escape from one-sided or humdrum cricket. There is an appreciation of the originality of the songs, the amusing characters that play their part in the general BA pantomime & a feeling that the sight and sound add to the days play.

But other supporters get annoyed by the media attention heaped on Jimmy Saville & Co. They don't appreciate the monotony of 'Everywhere we go' for sessions on end nor the spectacle of hundreds of drunken people going pink in the sunshine. And they might turn their noses up at the fans seeking to take attention away from the game itself. But for me there is a far worse genre of cricket watcher than the stereotypical BA member and they are just as frequent a sight at cricket grounds the world over.

Though it's a bigger problem during an English summer where tickets are expensive, seats strictly assigned & the opportunity to move an impossibility. But I have found exactly the same issue while watching cricket in Australia, New Zealand and throughout the Caribbean. For not even the sight of Mitchell Johnson finding swing with his first ball of the day can inject the same sinking feeling when two or three overs into play up pipes the unmistakable sound of either 'the bore' or 'the boorish' cricket fan.

These creatures are similar in many ways. Both possess little in the way of social skill, neither has any awareness & both believe it holds the answer to just about any social, economic or cricket conundrum. Their voices are deeply monotone & designed to travel the length of a regulation sport stadium stand. It means there is no escaping the sound but also highlights one key difference between the two. For while the cricket bore is a solitary species which rarely travels in a pair its voice is designed to warn off others of the same ilk. The boorish cricket fan however usually travels in groups of up to twelve. And its distinctive call is used to attract males from miles around.

Proof of their existence can be seen every time the camera pans onto the crowd. You know that one of these types are in the vicinity because everyone else in the stand has chosen to pay $25 for a small radio earpiece to avoid having to hear them. Channel 9 will have you think it's because of the adverts they play on a loop every two overs. It's not. It's just that nobody wants to hear the right-wing views of the bloke sitting two rows back.

It's been a recurring theme throughout the tour. In Perth I watched four idiots try and tell the police that German's find the 'German Bombers' song they were chanting hilarious. Thankfully it didn't wash and they were ejected. In Melbourne I sat with three drunk Leeds fans who waved football flags around, put on strong Yorkshire accents and repeated a few key northern phrases over and over again. This went on for hours. They sang Leeds Utd songs and laughed heartily at their own comments. In the end I had enough and I left them to it. Nathan stuck around and overheard one of them saying that he'd only ever been to Elland Road three times in his life. This is the type of moron you have to put up with at the cricket.

It's obviously not a cultural thing. It took three Tests and fully fifteen days of cricket before I heard something from the Australian crowd that made me laugh. Sitting just behind the Barmy Army inside the MCG's Bay 12 the recognisable sound of Billy Cooper's trumpet started up. After a couple of notes in respectful silence from the fans an Aussie yelled out "play some Metallica!". It was spontaneous, the delivery & timing spot on, and it conjured up a ridiculous image. It. Was. Funny.

While experiencing the bore in full flow can be equally painful as they loudly proclaim their views on whether Graeme Swann could develop a zooter, obscure 1970's first-class cricketers and scoreboard architecture. It's a bit like listening to someone on the mobile phone throughout an eight-hour train journey. Or reading this 'blog.

Unsurprisingly, Sydney couldn't escape either. Yesterday afternoon I went and sat with my family in the Victor Trumper Stand. It's only two years old and unlike it's predecessor has a roof and everything. But despite the modern sheen it also features a bronze statue in the front row of its most famous cricket fan, 'The Yabba'. It appears that its not just the Australian players who used to be better.

As the covers came off and play resumed we all took our seats and a hush descended on the ground. All attention was on the first few deliveries. Arms folded, flasks on the ground, a minimum of chatter and the players had a capacity crowd's full attention. It was exactly how the purists would like it. And then from behind it started.....

Boor 1: The thing with you Aussies is that you never make up any good songs
Boor 2: It's all Aussie, Aussie, Aussie. So boring. I mean, come on. You can do better. We've got loads.
Boor 1: That Mitchell Johnson song.
Boor 2: (Tunelessly) He bowls to the left, he bowls to the right, that Mitchell Johnson, his bowling is shiite.
Aussie 1: (Cackle)
Boor 1: (Warming to the theme) It's not just in the cricket. There's a place here spelt W-A-G-G-A-W-A-G-G-A. But it's pronounced WOGGAWOGGA. What's that all about?
Boor 2: You wouldn't get that in England.
Boor 1: (Despairingly) Well you wouldn't be allowed to call it that in England
Boor 2: (Sadly) No you wouldn't.

I had spent the entire day hoping the rain would stay away and now suddenly I was almost praying it would return. As the two Boors continued on their PC-Brigade-bashing way time started to slow to a crawl. Watching Michael Clarke leave another Tim Bresnan delivery from outside off the end of the days play seemed very distant indeed. And then it happened.

The unmistakable sound of Billy Coooper's trumpet warbled up from the stand below and to the right. A cheer followed, the Barmy Army got to their feet, and a song I'd heard a hundred times before but one that had never sounded so sweet started to drown out the two middle aged bastards behind me. Another followed and then the 'Av It Man' made an appearance. My dad hadn't seen him before. He laughed, I laughed. No nonsense. And then before I knew it Clarke had cut one to point and the roars from the crowd made everything okay again.

Unlike the bore and boorish, The Barmy Army are only an ever present overseas. Back home they find their wings continually clipped by the ECB and they cannot congregate in the numbers like they do here. They may not be everyone's cup of tea but they can always be relied on.

The BA support England in a fashion that football fans could learn from. They provide humour, music and atmosphere. And if they ever cared about changing opinions within the more staid cricket community then there could be no better way than hiring themselves out at the start of a days play. As soon as the first deep throated utterance is detected simply dial 0800 BARMY ARMY and a small group will come over and start singing until the bore or the boorish shut up. It wouldn't be long before the cricket world will be united in their admiration for what the Barmy Army does for Test cricket. Which is how it should be anyway.

2 comments:

Dicky said...

Bop the bores on the nose I say!

Dicky said...

OK no edit, maybe not bop - Baaaaaaaaaaaarp