"Is that the Ashes? Yes, England have won the Ashes."

Well bugger me with a fish fork. Did anyone really think we'd not only win back the Ashes, but do so in such an emphatic manner? After the depression of Headingley it's been unbelievable to come back up to such glorious highs. So much so that it's all quite surreal. None of it seems to have sunk in just yet.

That last-gasp survival in Cardiff seems a long, long time ago now. No one that day thought we'd win the bloody series and it looked like we were just delaying the inevitable. With hindsight, that seemed to be the moment that gave England the belief that they could win back that little urn.

Everything just seemed to click at the Oval. Strauss, Bell, Trott and Swann getting some good scores - excellent in Trott's case, a hell of a debut. Broad getting a Michelle, Flintoff's brilliant run-out of Ponting... Everything fell into place.

Of course, there's now questions of just where do we go from here? Flintoff will be missed greatly and, of course, there's still huge question marks over many in the side. South Africa will be a much harder ask for our players. Will they be up to it? Who knows? But for know, it's just time to sit back and bask in the glory.

Have that you Aussie bastards.

Cricket, bloody cricket

Well, it's been a while since I've posted about the Ashes, so I may as well stick my nose in considering the way things are currently balanced.

I've already commented on the first win at Lord's since 1934, but I'll touch on it again. It was a fantastic moment and I don't think anyone really thought it would come as emphatically as it did. Flintoff was majestic once more - we're going to miss him hugely after this series, something that was all too clear at the Oval, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I did wonder, briefly, if another cricketing related event that hasn't occurred since 1934 would now take place this year... It didn't last long.

So then we moved to Edgbaston, at a time when Birmingham was struggling with the weather. And this time it worked in Australia's favour - England surely would have won that game had it not been for the bloody rain. But, the Aussies can say the same about Cardiff, so I guess we're even on that front.

And then... Headingley. What can you say? An utter, fucking disgrace. A complete debacle from start to finish. When a second innings partnership between Broad and Swann puts on more runs than the entire team did in the first innings... Well, it's beyond belief, isn't it? Bopara and Bell should never wear the shirt again and the rest of England's middle order need a long, hard look at themselves. Bring in Key? Trott, maybe? Neither of them could do any worse. Also, and I never thought I'd say this, but we do miss the South African Twat as well.

At least it looks as if Flintoff's back for the Oval. The problem, of course, being that it's a notorious batting track. It'd be easy for Australia to bat England out of the game in the first innings. Mind you, 200 runs would probably do that! It's not over, obviously, and in two weeks time I could be posting on here celebrating a marvellous victory. But I'm certainly not getting my hopes up.

As for Lancs... Well, we've made maximum batting points for two Championship games in a row! Unprecedented in recent times. It's just a shame that we couldn't get a win in either game, although the tie at Hampshire was rain affected. We seem to be in a good position after the first day against Durham, so who knows? It won't end up being our year - in fact, it'll all go the way of Twenty20 bowl outs, probably - but it's nice to see that we're finding some form again. Fingers crossed it'll carry on into next season.

As for my own career, still not played properly since the Mudhutters Cricket Club's (that's the MCC to you) first ever victory, in the third year of existence. There's only been two games, I couldn't make one due to being in Cardiff. The rest of gone down the pan thanks to the weather, including tonight's scheduled game. Ah well, at least you've got a blog post out of it, right? Had plenty of net sessions though and am collecting the bruises. Who says it's an easy game to play?

A brief mention on other sports: The rugby season is going on far too long, let's get it over with, I've had enough of watching Salford now. And the football season has started again too bloody quickly. I can't be arsed with it yet.

A brief mention on the job situation: It's shit.

A brief mention on life in general: Meh. "I want the one I can't have and it's driving me mad" is the lyric of the moment.

A thin line part 2...

Well I enjoyed writing the last piece that much I thought I'd try to give it a happy ending. Not quite sure this bit works as well as the other one did (to my mind) but hey, it's "closure" of sorts!

It had been a lovely day once again and, so far, everything was going well. The usual weekly evening ritual was about to take place yet again and, as he walked up to his spot, he noticed that she was here again. But this time there were less people around to get in the way and he was sober. Not to mention that there were a few others around who had been missing last time. They always spoke to him, and seeing as they were stood talking to his intended target, getting into a conversation with her would be much easier.

And so it was.

Early on in the evening the conversation was sporadic, but shared with others. Common ground was touched upon numerous times which brightened his evening up no end. There was plenty of laughing and joking with light-hearted mickey-taking breaking down conversational barriers further. And so, later on, when the opportunity arose to talk to her on her own, he waited for the right moment... And stepped in.

Suddenly, all the heartache from the previous encounter was forgotten. They talked about many things, they laughed, they shared a few serious moments and his heart was buoyed by it all. She looked magnificent, not that she ever looked otherwise, and the sight of her smile coupled with the odd comforting word during the conversation made him feel so much better about life. For once, the world and all of its problems seemed much, much brighter.

This time, parting was easier. A hell of a lot easier. And he did not make a mess of anything. He knew he would be seeing her again next week, which also made him glad. On the way home and in the days after he thought about her, as he usually did. Only this time there was no pain, no anguish, no thoughts of 'if only'. Just a gladness that they had talked and talked well. That their friendship, albeit occasional, felt much stronger than after the last debacle.

And, because of that, his heart was gladdened, filled with joy no less, and there was a bounce to his step.

He knew he could now move on.

Le Fin

And did those feet...

When Ivo goes back with the urn, the urn;
Studds, Steel, Read and Tylecote return, return;
The welkin will ring loud,
The great crowd will feel proud,
Seeing Barlow and Bates with the urn, the urn;
And the rest coming home with the urn.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not the most patriotic person. There's plenty about the modern Englishman that I hate - the 'little ingerlunder' syndrome and the distinct lack of respect for other cultures that pervades many these days. I don't follow the English football team and I only mildly follow the England/Great Britain RL side. I don't follow the Union team, either, but that's mainly because I can't stand the sport anyway. However, there is one team and one event inparticular that brings out the Englishman in me.

And here we are, two games into the biggest sporting event of the summer, year, century, millenium and so on. Well, since the last Ashes series and until the next one, that is. The hype before this series has been phenomenal. The "Spirit of 2005" and so on. Funny how nobody's mentioned the last series in Australia though, isn't it? And there was people hyping England up beyond imagination, whereas most of us weren't giving us a chance in hell.

So we moved onto Cardiff. And thought we had a reasonable first innings score. Until the Aussies looked like they could bat on to a 1000 runs. Heroics from Collingwood, Panesar and Anderson saved the day and pushed Ponting into a hell of a wobbly at the end of the game. Now if there's anyone out there who's the last person to babble on about the "Spirit of Cricket" then it's that tosser. And I'm privileged to be able to say I was there for the last day. Although, those of you who actually read this thing regularly will already know that from the last photo entry. A marvellous day's entertainment.

And so we moved onto Lord's. The ground where we hadn't beaten Australia since 1934. Again, we got a good total in the first innings, but was it going to be enough? One fantastic spell of bowling later and another decent knock to put the game seemingly beyond Australia (I never doubted the follow-on decision, honest...) and everyone said yes, it was. Until the fourth day finished with them 313-5 and everyone getting a wee bit twitchy. Thank God Flintoff and Swann did the business this morning, then. The hoodoo broken and a stranglehold on the series. Marvellous.

So, where does that leave us? Well, who knows. Brett Lee threatens to come back at some point, which will turn the Aussies into a different animal. But, if we can keep a fit side together and keep the momentum going, then... Well, we've got a good chance. I'd quite happily have it piss down for the next few weeks instead, mind.

Come on the England.

The Ashes

Fine day in Cardiff...

Build me up, Buttercup...

The teams I support have a nasty tendency to build me up before bringing me back down to Earth with an almighty crash. This weekend has provided a perfect example of that with Salford RLFC putting in a fantastic performance and beating St. Helens and Lancashire CCC crashing and burning in the Friends Provident Trophy Semi Final.

Salford don't seem to know what kind of a team they are. We've beaten Leeds away, Hull away in the Cup, Huddersfield away before capitulating to them at home, Bradford at home, Saints at home after doing poorly in the away game, Warrington at home... Yet we've put in some poor performances elsewhere when you'd think we should've stood a chance. This weekend has built everyone up and people are getting a little carried away in some sections. Yet you know we'll probably struggle away at Celtic this weekend. Ah well, it promises to be a good weekend away, but more of that later.

Lancashire. Such a wonderful start to the season. A start that promised so much and now? Well, poor form in the Championship was no real surprise I guess but Sunday's meek surrender to Hampshire was just horrible. Putting them into bat in glorious sunshine was the first mistake. Batting poorly and not looking urgent in the run chase was the second. Dreadful. Still, Worcestershire at OT this week in a Championship game starting Friday. If we can't beat them then we are in trouble. Hopefully we'll have a points-fest to get a bit of confidence back in the camp.

And I finish with a mention of the Ashes and the weekend ahead. I'm currently watching England struggle through against the Aussies in the hope that they can drag this game out as long as possible. Not just to save the game, but also that after the Celtic Crusaders game on Saturday I'll be stopping over in Cardiff and going to the fifth day on Sunday. Promises to be a marvellous time, I just hope I see some cricket and something good for England.

But, once again, it's them hopes being built up. Don't break my heart...

A thin line between reality and fantasy...

I've always been interested in writing, to the point where I was constantly told I should've done English in college and maybe beyond. I decided the people telling me that didn't know what they were talking about. Probably a big mistake, to be honest. Still, the interest has kept up to the point where I've done the odd bit of fiction here and there, but nothing major. In an attempt to expand my horizons I thought I'd give something like this a go, although with not having too much experience in this kind of writing I decided to make the setting around two people going to the match. It seemed to work - after all, that is one area that I'm pretty comfortable with! Hope this reads alright and someone, somewhere enjoys it.

The sun shone brightly as a beautiful day did not look like ending even at this stage of the evening. It had been a glorious day so far and the sunshine had put him in a good mood as he wandered up the steps, pint in hand, to take his spot. Not even the thought of what was going to happen on the pitch was enough to knock him off his stride, so what else could?

Then, suddenly, he realised. She was here. For the first time in months.

'Oh for fuck's sake', he thought. This was not what he needed right now. But there she was, summer dress on, looking radiant. And there he was, half cut, sweating like a proverbial pig in the sweltering heat and with a large group of his mates inbetween himself and her.

What to do? How to approach this delicate situation? He could not just go striding off to talk, he would never hear the end of it. Not to mention the fact that she would probably find it a little unnerving. Time to play it cool, other people would move around, you both would need to move out of the way of anyone coming past, so rely on that to get close and it will be easy to look across, say hello and start a conversation.

Some hope.

She stayed talking to her friends. He could hear her speak over the chatter of everyone else. The sound of her beguiling voice was some comfort, albeit a slim one. He strained to listen, but it was no good. Conversation was flowing far too well amongst his own group to pay any real attention. Although, that did work favourably for him in some instances. The odd louder joke or comment did draw her attention towards their direction. But then their eyes would meet briefly, a smile would be shared and then their gazes would be directed back towards the pitch.

"Jesus Christ, I'm making a right mess of this. How the fucking hell am I at least going to say hello?"

It didn't get easier. The eye contact and shared laughs got a little more frequent, but the latter was more of a communal happening throughout everyone nearby. It was not enough.

"Bollocks to this, I'll collar her on the way out, even if it's just a quick 'alright, how you doing?' That'll do, it's conversation."

So, he waited. Patiently. Until, finally, his chance came as she moved past him and looked up with an expression that summed up everything they'd just seen.

"See you next year," she said.

He smiled. And laughed. He watched her walk away, resplendent in her flowery dress. Pining. And then, she was gone. For who knows how long. He stood there and pondered the situation, the moment, the missed opportunities. Then he had a sudden realisation.

'Did I just fucking laugh? Oh wonderful, I've just made a right cunt of myself and it'll be too fucking late to try and explain my way out of that one next time I see her. If I see her. If I could explain it. Bollocks.'

And so, he left. And wondered. He knows full well that she will never, ever be his. There is still a faint hope that things might change eventually, but in reality friendship was all he asked. But making a fool of himself like that on the increasingly rare occasions he saw her was going to do him no favours at all.

And he knew it.