The confession box

Okay, I admit it.  I want Australia to win this test. 

It might be sleep deprivation or the first sign of lunacy following two days of waiting for my sodding ISDN to work.  Maybe it’s because this English team is just a little too methodical to get that excited about or that the Aussies are made up of guys I kind of feel sorry for.  Hell it might just be the fact I can’t be bothered to sit here for three days watching a bore draw. 

Whatever the reason it’s not something that sits right.  My teenage self would be horrified to hear this.  I can imagine him now, smoking a Silk Cut, listening to The Orb & shaking his head in disappointment.  “Don’t judge me!”  I feel like telling him.  That and that maybe he should consider washing his clothes a bit more regularly.

I blame my job.  Working in sport warps you in much the same way betting on it does.  I remember one Fulham game in the season we were coasting our way to the Championship title & a bloke on the Hammersmith End had wagered money Fulham would win 3-0.  At half time we were 3-0 up meaning for the rest of the match he didn’t want Fulham to score.  It was at this moment I stopped betting on my team.

It doesn’t need money to change perception.  For years my mates would spend a good hour at the pub every Saturday dissecting fantasy football teams before then spending the next hour talking about real football teams.    It became such an important part of our lives that I still know exactly how many mini-league victories I have even though I stopped doing it years ago:  Three, one Premier League, one World Cup and Euro 2004.

Our group’s obsession with fantasy football got so ridiculous that I would be celebrating a Fulham goal only to turn to my mate who (sporting a stupid grin) would be shouting ‘Dream Team!’ signalling he had the player in his side.  I remember being disappointed Clint Dempsey had scored because my mate was going to get seven points for the goal.  It really doesn’t take much for lifelong loyalties to be forgotten. 

Eventually I realised it was time to give fantasy football a rest when I went an entire season hoping Chelsea wouldn’t concede a goal because I had John Terry & Ricardo Calvalho in my team.  That really is wrong & so is supporting Australia in an Ashes test.

With three days to go Australia have scored 527 and have set themselves the target of bowling out England twice.  England, big outsiders for anything other than a battling draw are under way and currently without loss.  Moments ago the captain Cook edged behind and the ball just dropped short of his opposite number Michael Clark and part of me wanted him to be out.  A long period of soul searching awaits.

Or does it?  For while the fan in me who trudged around Australia watching England lose 5-0 would disagree it makes sense to want an Aussie win as it keeps this series alive.  With two tests remaining in Durham and London it would be a struggle to keep momentum going over ten days with the outcome decided.  The only outstanding question whether England could complete the same whitewash.  Even that isn’t looking likely now.

A defeat for England would also inject something that has been noticeably lacking in this test. Tension.  This is the first Ashes test match I can ever remember watching lacking fear factor.  Fear of defeat, fear we won’t win, that we can’t save the match, that the other team will, that the rain will come, that it won’t arrive, that my favourite player won’t score any runs, that Ponting/Hayden/Waugh will. 

At 2-0 up against the worst Australian side in living memory & nearly a decade of home Ashes series wins in the memory bank it’s almost become a formality.  And there’s nothing worse than watching a formality especially when spread out over two or three days or one or two tests.  This must be what it was like to be an Aussie cricket fan for so long.  In the end fans got so tired watching them churn out victories they realised the only way their own team could be beaten was to turn against them.

So, yes teenage self, I do want Australia to win this test so that this series can come alive once more.  So I can travel to Durham fearful that these words will come back to haunt me.   So that I can get a bit of this back in my system, and that so when England win I can celebrate & marvel at the magic.  So that we can give the Aussies a sniff of hope and then just when they think they’re within touching distance of the greatest come from behind series win in history England hit straight back and DESTROY THEM AGAIN MAKING PHIL HUGHES AND STEVEN SMITH CRY AND MICHAEL CLARKE RETIRE AND SHANE WATSON BECOME A MONK AND AUSTRALIA SINKS INTO THE SEA IN SHAME.

And then Joe Root got out and I felt a bit guilty writing this article.  I like Joe Root.

The waiting game

Shortly after I finished writing yesterday's post I received news that the technological problem I'd been waiting patiently to be resolved would not happen.  So I snapped shut my laptop, packed up my things and texted my friend that I was ready to be picked up.  He replied that he would be twenty minutes or so.  

An hour later I was still seeking shelter next to the Old Trafford Car Park.  It was still raining, I hadn't eaten for ten hours and pretty soon started seeing things.

Eventually he did show up and an enjoyable evening was spent sampling the finest tapas food Manchester has to offer.  Although by the time I came to eat I was so ravenous I could have carved a slice out of my imaginary zebra.  It brought to mind an old Eddie Murphy 'crackers' sketch.

And technology continues to thwart every move today.  DRS on the field ISDN off it.  What is it with acronyms and their ability to get in the way of cricket?  I have now been hanging on for BT to fix their own ISDN line for over 24 hours now.  The wait goes on......

It's raining in Manchester & other sporting cliches

My folks often tell the tale of how, as a youngster, I used to while away the long trip on the Underground from Tooting Broadway to Colindale to see my nan by reading the sports pages of The Guardian.  My little legs sticking out from underneath the huge broadsheet as we travelled from one end of the Northern Line to the other.

I wanted to be a sports journalist from an early age and looking back I suppose I had unwittingly started my training early.  Thoroughly researching my chosen subject while learning how to make best use of my time on long waits.

At times it seems like I spend nearly as much time hanging around on my own as that football 'scout' who used to watch us play on the common when we were kids.  I doubt any industry involves as much hanging around as mine.  Apart from that scientist drip guy, that is.  

Any press conference scheduled to start at 1pm is 100% guaranteed to start at any time of the day other than 1pm.  And then when it actually happens you'll wonder why you bothered in the first place.  Then there are the weather delays, the airport delays, the traffic jams and the cancelled trains. All played out against the backdrop or ticking clock of a looming deadline to file copy, send audio or appear on air.

By far the most infuriating reason to wait though is following a technological fail.  All the other reasons detailed have to their credit at least one form of logical or physical happening that has led to the situation being what it is.  Somehow that makes things more manageable.  

However there's little more infuriating then when a piece of equipment you have been using successfully for years decides it can't be arsed any more.  Or when you turn up at a venue with your broadcasting kit, you plug it in, dial it up and then instead of the welcoming click & flashing green light there's nothing more than dead air and you know any hopes of a relaxing afternoon have been scuppered.

And so it came to pass today on my first ever visit to Manchester's premier cricket ground.  Arriving at Old Trafford at 1.20pm I made Australian captain Michael Clarke's 1.15pm press conference with time to spare. However that was as good as it got.  

Technical problems mean that as as it stands I cannot broadcast from the stadium & I can't go anywhere until the problem is fixed.  It's not something I can do anything about myself, I can't attack anything with a screwdriver, plug something in, check & change a cable or find a quick fix on the internet.  I can't share my woes with a colleague because I am the only one experiencing it. All I can do is sit and wait & stare out the window.

Needless to say as the clock approaches 5pm the view that raised my spirits three hours ago is starting to look a little samey.