August 6th, 2005, Birmingham. Australia, already one-nil up in the series, are hunting down the target of 282 set for them by Michael Vaughan’s England team. As the third day begins to draw to a close, and the runs-required falling with alarming rapidity, Steve Harmison produces a dipping slower ball to Michael Clarke, squeezing the ball under the dashing Australian’s despairing prod.
That delivery is iconic for numerous reasons; the levels of technical excellence from the Durham seamer, and his control of the mystical changes of pace which normally seem to be the preserve of sub-continent masters; even more so, it was the moment which tipped that most mythologised of matches in England’s favour, dragging them back into a series which would act as a shot in the arm to the sport in this country, sending participation and crowd numbers soaring. It is no exaggeration to suggest that Harmison’s delivery changed the course of English cricketing history. Yet in my mind, that delivery is forever tied to the complete frustration that I could not watch it on television, but instead had to listen on the car radio as we drove to a family party to which, despite my protestations that the match was on a knife-edge, we couldn’t be late.
The Ashes: A Day for the Radio
The sheer length of a Test Match makes these frustrations commonplace. Whilst journalists, students and insomniac Australians may be able to watch every ball of the game, most cricket followers are denied this luxury, either by the demands of work or Real Life (family parties among the most frustrating of these intrusions). In light of this, the radio coverage provided by the BBC and the esteemed Test Match Special team has been the life-saving link between cricket and Real Life for many fans of all ages, allowing us to get on with other more important things whilst still feeling plugged into the cricket.
Equally, in recent times, following matches via Cricinfo scorecards has been another way to get a quick hit of cricket goodness in the midst of less important distractions. Sloping away from a family meal to hide in the bathroom, desperately hoping the page will update on your phone before those downstairs begin to worry that perhaps the chicken could’ve done with another ten minutes, is one of the great trials of the modern cricket lover. Staring at the wicket column when England are bowling, willing it to increase like a stockbroker down to his last million, is just another way that the background rumble of the Test Match can break its way through into the foreground, in the oddest, least expected surroundings.
In contrast to those informative bursts of statistical updates, the radio specialises in conveying, in real time, the delicate ebb and flow of a traditionally attritional sport. It feels like the form most in keeping with the patience of Test Match batting; the momentary explosion of sound from the commentary team at the fall of a wicket, giving way to ever more tangential chatter between ex-players and journalists before a boundary or wicket returns them once again to the action, is the natural rhythm of the radio. It sits in the background at barbecues, in the car on Saturday afternoon journeys, as a polite guest, only interjecting at any great volume when it has something of genuine significance to offer.
However, throughout this summer the presence of the radio in the corner of the room has been more akin to a loud and obnoxious visitor, intent on leaping into conversations and breaking them apart with another exclamation of Stuart Broad’s heroics, or a deep, guttural cry of Joe Root. And this style generally leads to a brief stay for said guest — those who are under the spell of the intrusive soundtrack will rush to the nearest television screen to see what all the excitement is about, and those left behind will quietly switch over to the more subtle charms of another station.
Yet this has not been a summer for listening to the cricket, but instead for watching it. In contrast to most Test Cricket played over the last decade, watching a session of this Ashes series on television — a period of time comparable to a football or rugby match, and thus appropriate time to slump in front of the screen — has been a guaranteed thrill ride. Barring the mammoth Smith-Rogers partnership at Lord’s, each hour has seen wickets and boundaries at almost bizarrely regular intervals. A combination of rash technique, green pitches and quality bowling, has produced cricket of tremendous entertainment value, satisfying old fans and attracting a new young band of followers, which is surely the whole point of a marquee summer series.
I emphasise these huge positives in order to avoid any accusations of being dour or old-fashioned. I have loved every minute of this summer’s cricket. But for all the quality of the attacking shots and the masterful swing and seam bowling, there has been a sensation of watching a 5-day match artificially compressed into three days. In a single hour of play you may see a lot happen, but rarely have we seen much high-quality cricket. The play has been riveting because of the sheer volume of runs and wickets in each session, not because of the merit of either.
However, in contrast to the trends of this series, the first innings of the final Test at The Oval was slow, steady and attritional. Late hitting from Starc, Neville and Smith may have upped the overall run rate to 3.84, but the first session of the match was conducted at a far more patient pace. Indeed, it seems appropriate that in the last great cricketing spectacle of the summer, with autumn only just around the corner, the focus of the day was the arrival of the leaves. Warner, Rogers, Smith and Voges all rediscovered their judgement of the ball outside off-stump, as well as the self-control to let those deliveries pass by. They were determined to stretch the game back to its natural duration of a full working week, away from the compressed excitability of the previous two games.
In the shadow of this return to the old ways of Test Match batting, the rhythms of the radio found their home once more. Whilst the first hour of methodical batsmanship from Warner and Rogers yielded fewer than twenty runs for the touring side, and was relatively anaesthetising when watched on a television screen, through the radio it felt as if all involved in the match were merely warming up, loosening and anticipating a game which is after all allowed to last for five whole days.
The pattern of the day’s play, with wickets falling not in clusters but as rare reminders of the bowler’s role in the action, gave the day the expanded scope of old-fashioned cricket, a game which demands patient attention but not constant focus. Odd jobs could be finished off, mid-afternoon doziness indulged, in the sure knowledge that half an hour away from the action would not be equivalent to leaving the cinema to take a phone call when watching ‘Inception’, then walking back in and asking “So what did I miss?”
Yet last night, England’s collapse to 107-8 sent us flying back to our TV screens. The dejected note in Jonathan Agnew’s voice as he described Adam Lyth’s dismissal gave way to a frustration, perhaps even a note of defeat, as he was rendered unable to convey the abysmal nature of England’s surrender, and I doubt many envied his task. Although it won’t gather the despairing terror of other Ashes collapses, of Adelaide 2006 or Headingley 2009, this was an abdication of batting duty which had to be seen to be believed. This wasn’t an afternoon to casually follow the match as England ambled unscathed to the close. This was an afternoon for making a brew, getting comfortable on the sofa, and watching a good old-fashioned England batting implosion. It was over before you’d have emptied the mug.
The new aggressive ways of Brendan McCullum are undoubtedly a brilliant development for our sport, but amidst the non-stop action a day of will power and slow scoring is welcome. Regardless of their new counter-attacking approach, England’s young stars will occasionally have to sit back, watch and take their time. Shots can be unleashed after building a small yet solid platform, the construction of which isn’t an act of cricketing treason, defiling the name of King Brendan.
Australia’s patient approach at the start of this match has place them in a position to dominate the final game of this series. Was the first session riveting? No. Boring? Quite possibly. Welcome texture in a series of unrelenting hyperactivity, and the defining passage of this match? Absolutely.
