11 hours ago
3
“Must be amazing to be in Australia for the Ashes, what’s the atmosphere like?” It’s an understandable, if slightly daft question. Brett Lee isn’t in my house. I don’t wake up next to a furious Jonathan Agnew. “WHY AREN’T YOU IN CANBERRA, MAX?” I’m 850 miles from Brisbane.
Apart from me the atmosphere is one of wild indifference amongst the family. The good news is I’m hosting the Guardian Ashes Weekly podcast - now a professional excuse to watch another five (or two) days of agony.
I’m just another terrified England fan wondering what I’m about to put myself through. So here is just the first hour of play, not quite minute-by-minute - if you got up at 4am (GMT), perhaps it felt the same for you.
2.31pm. A hipster Fitzroy North Cafe. The toss on the laptop. Ben Stokes calls tails. It is tails. Suddenly I panic for Zak Crawley. Twenty-nine minutes until he gets another duck. But he’s so tall, surely that will help. Will he leave one outside the off stump? Michael Vaughan is in a McDonalds advert - poking his head over the fence like the neighbour in Home Improvement.
I pay for my eggs and cycle to the supermarket. An irate Aussie on a moped yells at a BMW. “Get in your fucking lane, you wanker” He sounds his horn. One of those pathetic moped horns. Eeeeeeeee. Good fun.
I open the Channel 7 app on my phone. Stuart Broad is feeling for Zak Crawley. We’re all feeling for Zak Crawley. I buy a lottery ticket. It’s muggy in Melbourne – it hits you when you go outside. It’s a windy heat that buffets into you, the like of which you don’t get in an English summer. How will that affect things at the Gabba?
2.59pm. I’m home. Matthew Hayden is in a massive cowboy hat – he makes a jingoistic pitch for Queensland. England “talented – you betcha, tough? Not so sure. You could walk to the moon and back in the time since England’s last win here”.
First ball – Mitchell Starc to Zak Crawley – a nation waits in terror as Starc begins his run up. HE LEAVES IT! A LEAVE! WE COULD WIN THIS TEST. The bounce is steep. Panic again. Don’t get out don’t get out don’t get out don’t get out. Ball two. Fishing outside off. You can leave those on height Zak. Ball three is on the money. Ball four - he drives! Four runs! Here we go. Somebody say big long levers. And then a single. My heart rate just lowers.
Mrs Rushden is in the playroom with 10-month-old Willie asking for a break. Am I going to get the full morning session? It feels unlikely. OH BUGGER. Duckett out first ball. We spent all our time worrying about Zak Crawley. Why didn’t we worry about Ben Duckett? I’m to blame – I wasn’t even concentrating. Just leave it, get forward to it, something that isn’t edging it to first slip. To be fair to the left-hander, it’s not a bad ball first up. Starc is so ruggedly Australian – all sweat and limbs and hair and grit. He could be selling you a cow or making you a strong three-quarter flat-white.
Enter Ollie Pope. I’m joined by Willie – he’s hitting everything with a pink felt tip pen – he doesn’t appreciate the stress i’m under - he’s half Australian, win win for him. Michael Neser is swinging it. You can relax when it’s not Starc. A second later and he beats the bat. You can never relax.
Ah, Ollie Pope. It’s impossible to write this without saying the F word repeatedly. Just leave it outside the off stump. Surely there’s been some self-reflection since Perth. Surely. IT ISN’T THERE TO BE HIT. The whole Ashes is disappearing before our eyes.
3.15pm. Joe Root’s at the crease, too early again. Root plays and misses. Willie is playing a “hit the frog” game next to me. He clambers onto my legs and pulls the hair out of its roots, I wince in pain. But in a way it’s a welcome relief to focus on something else for a millisecond. Root edges an impossible chance to Steve Smith. Two for 11. Willie picks up a loose tile from the fireplace and puts some dirt in his mouth.
3.18pm. Another boundary for Crawley. He looks so good. It’ll be such a blow when he holes out for 27. Suddenly Neser cuts him in half with a good length ball. Lovely cover drive next ball. Go on Zak, get a double century. Neser beats the bat. Was that a tiny nick? Is this the turning point?
An advert for wind power or pensions or something. Thirty seconds of calm, just some footage with no Mitchell Starc. There won’t be a wicket while a man is in a hi-vis looking at a wind turbine talking about superannuation.
Root leaves a wide one outside the off stump. The relief of a dot ball. And another leave. Oh joy. Neser to Root. Mrs Rushden yells from the garden. Young Willie has followed through in the paddling pool.
Is the ball settling down? Don’t write that. Crawley is seeing it like a football. Don’t write that either. Don’t even think that. It’s 30/2. Scott Boland’s on – three singles off the over. For six balls, it’s like watching Test cricket from a distant age. Scrap that, Crawley lofts one into the covers – a moment of terror as the camera pans back waiting for a fielder to be underneath it. There’s no one there. Another two off Starc. And then he tries to pull one that lifts over Alex Carey. Calm down FFS Zak. Crawley’s on 27. Don’t look three paragraphs up. He slams one past Starc for four. It won’t be my fault.
An advert for Bunderburg Ginger Beer. Digging soil and old trains and men in fields. Remember when adverts in between overs were the end of Test cricket. Now they’re respite. Crawley whips one off his pads for one. Soft hands from Root for another one. Rotate the strike. It’s all coming together. Boland beats Crawley all ends up. The terror remains. Crawley dances down, they think about a review. The timer goes down. 13, 12, 11. You pray for no review. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. 3, 2, 1 … they don’t. And … relax for a moment.
Starc leaves the field. Don’t get complacent. Doggett can bowl. The 50 is up. Moments later the 50 partnership is up as Root drives one to the boundary. An hour in, maybe there is hope. Maybe there isn’t. You’ll know by now.
