5th Test : The End of The Beginning

Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
- Winston Churchill, The Lord Mayor's Luncheon, Mansion House 10 November 1942

England 332 & 373-9d beat Australia 160 & 348 by 197 runs

Greetings Barmies. First, I would like to apologise for my silence. I have only just about recovered from my celebrations. Sunday night was an emotional one. I headed to Shoreditch to ride on The White Horse at The Church Of Blue Eyes and celebrate our glorious victory. In a state of disbelief, I danced the night away alongside some of the capital's finest fashionistas. It was a most curious evening. They all seemed unaware of the history that had passed before us earlier in the day. Having been in Regent's Park alongside fourteen thousand joyous jingoists, it was surreal to be at a party where The Ashes was an absent force. It is a gross understatement to label my companions non cricketing aficionados.

Nevertheless, my friend and I raised shots to His Fredness and injected some extra Barminess into the occasion. The amount of flesh on show rendered this somewhat obsolete - as one would expect from a poledancing extravaganza - but it felt rather fitting to be at an event where unbridled exhibitionism and hedonism was at the forefront. This summer has been a celebration of many things and Johnny Blue Eyes' philosophy has been articulated through our cricket this summer. The Ashes 2009 has been an expression of hope and change. Although, not always for the better…

The fifth test was a testing experience for any viewer - part-time and thoroughbred alike. The narrative of the test was true to the topsy-turvy nature of our battles with the Aussies all summer and it was only with Freddie's run-out of Punter on Sunday afternoon that we could confidently envision victory. (Even after Boyband's heroics, the pessimistic Phoenix feared an Aussie fightback). On Thursday, as the test match began, I felt a sense of sadness that the series was drawing a close and the spectre of emptiness loomed. I believed our batting performance on the first day was under-par - in fact, despite our victory I still do - and I feared that we had discarded all chance of victory with the ubiquitous batting collapse that befell us once again.

Having won a crucial toss and chosen to bat first, we were unable to steady our nerves with a strong opening stand as Cook fell cheaply once again. Brocko and The Sherminator then combined well and achieved a century partnership but our middle order crumbled once the pair were dismissed, for 55 and 72 respectively. An uncomfortable Colly was removed for just 24, Prior departed for 18 and Freddie was out for 7 in his penultimate test innings. Not for the first time this summer, it was left to our tail to wag us out of trouble. The Vicious One bowled Dr Comfort in the final over of the day just as our Marcel and Boyband were complimenting each other at the crease in ominous fashion. Eight wickets in total fell on the first day as we reached 307 for 8 at stumps.

The dust bowl of a pitch polarised debate on our first innings total. Shayne believed 350 would be a solid score on such a precarious wicket but I felt that the failure of our batsmen to once again go on and score a hundred was the death knell in our Ashes hopes. The Lost Boy's inability to reach a century was especially disappointing as he was dismissed by Sid straight after tea chopping onto his stumps. Only Bellbeforce could have been dismissed facing his first ball after a break in such innocuous circumstances. Belly may have top-scored but it was Vince's solid 41 that was the highlight of our innings. Trotsky's debut knock was a sign of glory to come...

Friday was labelled the decisive day of the summer. It was a largely unanimous opinion that we would only be able to judge the quality of our first innings in light of The Aussie's own display. With The Baggies only needing to draw the final test to retain the Ashes, a commanding first innings batting display could have taken the series away from us. The emphasis was upon us to secure a first innings lead, bowl our opponents out quickly and build a platform from which we could declare. We never imagined that we would make inroads into all three aims in a single day but Friday was an incredible, pulsating day of drama in which fifteen wickets fell.

The Test of Tests was ignited by a devastating display from the much maligned Stuart Broad. His glorious five for electrified a magical afternoon and destroyed the Aussies' hopes. His removal of Shane II, Punter, The Hussler and Pup in 21 balls was a spell-binding passage of cricket. Boyband took these four prized wickets for just eight runs outfoxing the opposition with savage swing bowling as The Oval erupted in wild disbelief. Australian implosions are all too rare and I could hardly contain myself. On the eve of the test, KP had called for an Englishman to decide the match on his own and the unlikely figure of Westloife had heeded Pietersen's call. The Blonde claimed his final scalp with a masterful delivery that removed Gilchrist II's off stump. The afternoon session was simply electric. Marcel, at the other end, was inspired and dismissed Snorks, MJ and The Kat with quality deliveries. The Baggies had been pulverised. From a position of some strength at 73-0, our opponents had been ripped apart and reduced to 133-8 . The urn was in reach at last.

A veil of delirium descended on the ground and its supporters. Such brilliance was almost entirely unexpected if not unprecedented. Our performance at Headingley had been so horrific that many of us had given up hope of winning the series. England's extreme Jekyll and Hyde nature was lovable at last. The evening session saw the demise of the remaining Aussie wickets as Dr Comfort claimed another scalp and Freddie got into the act. Our second innings then begun amid strange scenes of euphoria doused with tension. Would we collapse on the dust bowl in turn? Surely even England couldn't let slip a position of such ascendancy... Unsurprisingly, early wickets fell with The Chef, The Lost Boy and The Nurdler all departing before the close but crucially Lord Brocko remained at the crease and he nursed our rookie Vince through the final overs. We ended the day on 58-3 with a staggering lead of 230.

Saturday was a day of consolidation. The game had accelerated at such a pace that a consecutive three day test match was a prospect. Our over-night lead looked almost unassailable already. But we wanted to ensure that victory could be a procession not an agonising conquest. We hoped to set the Aussies an effectively impossible target for their second innings by batting for most of the day and only inserting them into bat in the evening session when we had a lead of 500 plus runs. Whether we would have a chance to declare was contingent on our flailing batsmen producing at last. Our Lord and his lieutenant Trotsky gave us the perfect platform with a masterful performance of controlled, assured cricket on the most curious of wickets. Vince secured his maiden Test fifty just before lunch. Our lead had raced onto 329. Both batsman looked on the brink of centuries but Brocko lost concentration on 75 and he returned to the hutch minutes before the break. Prior strolled to the crease and almost immediately drew Baggy blood. Literally. He hit Punter in the mouth and the Aussie captain responded by feigning painless indifference whilst spitting blood onto the turf. It was a glorious moment.

The rest of the day was eerily majestic. Vince trotted serenely to a masterful maiden hundred, ably assisted by buccaneering brilliance from the departing Flintstone, The Blonde reborn and the mischievous Marcel. When Vince was finally dismissed on 119, we declared on 373 for 9 with an imperious lead of 545. Everything had gone to plan. It was most unnerving. Something had to give. Sure enough, we were unable to capture an early wicket or two in the evening as the Aussie openers held firm. They ended the day on 80 for no loss. The target we had set for the Aussies was a world record run chase but a nagging doubt remained. The Baggies, the No 1 in the world, had broken plenty of records in the past. Of course, this auraless bunch were, and are, not on a par with their history-making predecessors and the urn was just ten wickets away but I was not getting over-confident. This England team had toyed with our emotions all summer. I anticipated greatness but tried to reign myself in. My tickets for the fifth day's play at The Oval on Monday also meant that I was in a quandary. In some ways, a quick victory on Sunday would have been welcome but I really wanted to be there in person to salute His Fredness and see us recapture Sport's smallest and finest trophy. And so, to Sunday. The 23rd of August 2009. The day that we regained the Ashes.

The Novice and I arrived in Regent's Park just as play began for the day. We were buoyed by the quick wickets that fell as Marcel delivered on the Bunsen Burner dismissing The Kat for 43 and the Blonde reprised his devastating spell removing Shane II LBW for 40. But the subsequent partnership between Punter and Mr Cricket was a trying one. Part of me was thrilled that it looked as if we were going to go into a fifth day but part of me was concerned that history was going to be made and not in the way we all wanted. The pair looked so well set and were racking up runs with such speed that an Aussie victory had begun to look like a possibility. I begun to realise that my desire to see a fifth day's play was probably dependent on the Baggies scenting victory and enduring a horribly frenetic finish. We hadn't witnessed a wicket for over four hours and the crowd in the park were restless. The Novice was displeased that our early promise had been replaced by impotence verging on inertia. Having joked that the series might be over by lunch, we had sat back and witnessed a stoic Aussie fightback. The urn was beginning to look out of reach once again.

But, cometh the hour, cometh the man. Superfred came to our rescue. Not for the first time this summer, of course. Freddie had been unusually quiet in his last test match but fielding in the graveyard of mid-on he came up with one last moment of magic running out Ricky for 66. The impenetrable partnership had been broken and momentum was with us once again. Fred stood hands outstretched as the pillar of Aussie hopes departed fuming. Flintoff had punctured the final bastion of Baggie resistance. Surely now, the urn was coming home. The Oval was alive with expectation as the Pup strode to the crease. The dust bowl pitch was a dastardly place to begin an innings and we sensed blood. Ponting's heir looked more than uncertain and Brocket appealed for a run out with Clarke on 0. The decision was a marginal one and we stood in the park praying that the third umpire would dismiss our nemesis for a duck so the party could begin in earnest. The crowd erupted as the Pup was forced to retreat for no score. Victory seemed inevitable. At last.

Once our Marcel, revelling in the Steinbeck inspired conditions, claimed the wicket of Snorks, we anticipated that the final five Aussie wickets would be a mere procession. The Dr had claimed the Baggie's last recognised batsman, save for the immovable Mr Cricket, before tea to leave the Aussies reeling at the break on 265-5. The wicket was another contentious moment as Prior removed the bails with North aiming for a huge sweep off our spin king and Bowden deemed the batsman out without recourse to the third umpire. The tide had inexorably swung our way. After the break, however, The Hussler and Gilchrist II put on a partnership of 91 to raise Aussie hopes. It looked like play might continue into Monday and I might be at The Oval to witness victory after all. But once our Swann removed Haddin just after Mr Cric reached his 100 victory was officially within reach. The Aussie tail was exposed and the atmosphere was one of gleeful expectation. GBH then entered the fray removing MJ for a duck and then both Sid and Clark in consecutive balls. Harmy missed out on his hat-trick and the stage was set for Marcel to seal victory. Our Dr fittingly claimed the last scalp as The Hussler departed at last for 121 as he was caught by The Chef at short leg. The final five wickets had fallen in a frenetic flurry for 21 runs in just 48 balls. The urn was back home.

It was pandemonium in the park. We remained standing to cheer our man of the match - Boyband (who else?) - and our man of the series - Our Lord (again, who else?) through the presentation ceremony and reserved the loudest cheer of all for our first sight of the urn in Brocket's hand. After the Aussies' dominance in the stats, a wave of incredulity swept over me. How had we won a series in which our opponents had smashed eight centuries to our two hundreds and possessed the crop of the leading wicket takers too? It seemed wonderfully unjust. A smash and grab effort at the last or a reward for mental might? Straussy himself was circumspect - "when we were bad, we were very bad but when we were good, we were good enough". In the end, we deserved to regain the urn because we delivered on the decisive days. Our resilience had enabled us to be victorious; at the crucial moments, we had conquered. All our fallibilities were forgotten in the cauldron of noise and the realisation of glory. It was as if our potential had been rewarded. A cricketing dynasty seems within reach for this able and largely inexperienced team. Parity with our 05 heroes had been attained in the end in some style. It was The End of a sumptuous summer but The Beginning of Bounty to come...

The 05 Ashes series was the beginning of the end of a glorious side. The bowling attack of Freddie, GBH, Hoggy, Jones and Gilo never played together again. The 09 Ashes winners have the chance to better their forbearers by building on their success over the Baggy Green and becoming the No 1 Test side in the world. We must see this victory as merely The End of The Beginning. The battle for the urn is the pinnacle of our cricket but we should play with the same intensity throughout the intervening months. The 05 heroes were blighted by injury and excess; inconsistency dogged their progress. With Flower and The Lord at the helm, sober progress this time should be more than attainable. Before our eyes drift to the next Ashes series which begins in November next year, we must focus on beating all our other foes. South Africa beckon this November. I can't wait to see how we perform. Let's hope we cast off the Ashes hangover in some style...

In the meantime, Test cricket is set aside as one day cricket takes centre stage. We are playing two Twenty20s and seven ODIs against the Aussies over the next few weeks. I will, of course, be watching but the anticlimax will be a tangible one. This summer has proven that the long form of the game and the Ashes, in particular, is the ultimate cricketing conflict.

Thank you to everyone who has shared cricketing capers with me this summer and read my musings with relish. My memories are multiple. This series has been a wonderful combination of the magnificent and the mundane. Being at Lord's with The Eternal Optimist to witness our historic victory was probably the highlight. But sharing our reclamation of the urn in the park with The Novice was equally exquisite. I will also never forget enjoying the excruciating ending in Cardiff on the sofa with The Bearded Lady or witnessing the third test petering out into a draw with The Singing Spinner in a near empty Walkabout. I often watched the midweek action toute seule pen in hand so thanks for all of the textual intercourse - The Freddied Flintstone’s efforts always cheered me up, even during Headingley's horrorshow.

As we look to the future, we should all allow ourselves a period of mourning to grieve the passing of such a splendid series. "There is nothing more exciting in sport" [Ian 'Beefy' Botham on The Ashes].

The Phoenix