You’re in the Army Now

Essential if your going to watch 5 days of test Cricket.

After I wrote my last blog entry I took my 13 year old cousin Josh to the park for a pre test friendly game of cricket. He had a set of stumps and a tennis ball; I had 40 years of cricketing prowess. As soon as we put the stumps in the ground we were surrounded by a pack of local lads who wanted to join in, their ages ranged from 4 (I promise you) to 8. We eventually worked a game, it was me representing England against the 6 of them representing the Aussies and I must admit I fancied my chances.
I purposely strode into bat and awaited the first ball which Josh delivered and I promptly smashed it out of the ground for 6, a good start.
What followed was like a scene straight out of the fast show, I was Competitive Dad tormenting the children Peter and Toby. I smashed the ball everywhere and made a hundred in record time and Mohammed Yousuf style I kissed the ground in glory before retiring unbeaten on 108 as the little chaps were starting to cry. I love kids and normally I’m great with them but these were little Australians and it was my duty to psychologically damage them beyond repair when it came to cricket and England.
As soon as I retired I insisted on bowling and came in at them ‘Curtly Ambrose’ style, snarling and snotting, screaming and sledging. I removed the last Australian wicket by retiring Josh who had enough wacks to his arms and legs, they were all out for 14 and England won by 94 runs, hurrah!

I have been to so many great sporting occasions its hard to say which single one was the best but its now a two horse race.
In 1996 I was behind the goal where Gareth Southgate famously missed his penalty allowing Stefan Kuntz to score his and enable Germany to beat England in the semi final of the European championships.
On Thursday of this week I took my seat for day one of the third test of the Ashes at the Waca and watched over 350 runs scored and 12 wickets tumble whilst being in the middle of the barmy army and drinking beer and champagne from 8 in the morning till sundown.
I’m not sure if I can pick the winner.

On Thursday I met Scott at his hotel and we did what any self respecting cricketing fans from England who live in Spain would do, we found ourselves an Irish bar and went for a pint.
The fact that is was 8am didn’t bother us, we had a long days drinking ahead so we thought it best to tip our toe in gently. We met up with a couple of his excellent mates, Thommo and Flip, shared a few more ales and headed to the Waca for the day.
On the way to the stadium Scott’s WBA away shirt was the cause of much humour. None of us had realised its colours were that of the Australian cricket team, green and gold. Draped over his shoulders was a rather large St. Georges flag leading many wags to call him a cross dresser, in fact on the way back one irate Aussie shouted from his car “Make your bleeding mind up you lady boy Pom!


The offending shirt


Day 1
If during the course of the day someone had offered seats anywhere in the ground other than the ones we were in we would have told them politely to ‘move on son’.
To say we had great seats is an understatement; we had fabulous seats, not so much for their view of the pitch more the fact that we were bang in the middle of the “biggest party the Waca has ever thrown” (Quote from the Western Australian newspaper).


Shall we tell them who we are?

A record crowd of 24,500 was in good spirits probably because over half of them were supporting England and when it was announced Monty would play (if you don’t know who I’m talking about then please don’t read on) we erupted for the first time. Losing the toss was a downer which was negated by the arrival of four fresh cold beers.

Australia went into bat and at one stage where averaging 6 an over, not the best but at least we were there and then of course the party really started.
Hoggard to Hayden “GOT HIM”!!!!!!! Was the cry, we danced and celebrated jubilantly, at least we would have one wicket before lunch. Of course then things began to get even more exciting, Monty spun us all into Barmy Army mayhem. Forget about whether he should have been picked or not and try if you can to imagine how w all felt as he to wicket after wicket.
The Australians admitted around us that they could not remember a more carnival atmosphere in the history of the Waca; of course drinking champagne shots chasing down mid strength lager in the boiling heat may have something to do with it.
It was difficult to believe what was unfurling before our very eyes, we had them on the rack and though Andrew Symonds offered some resistance with a few 6's, Monty soon dispatched him to the pavilion with our songs, chants and cheers flooding the stadium.

At first I had been indifferent to the presence of the barmy army but it didn’t take me long to join in with the frolics and joviality of the group. Every song, every blast of Bill Cooper’s trumpet; every time Jimmy started us all off again my spirits soared, this is what we were here for, this is what most of us had travelled half way across the planet to experience, a record crowd and a never to be forgotten day of sheer joy that will forever be etched in this author's happy place memory bank.
Typically England couldn’t leave us without a little worry and the 2 wickets that fell at the end of the day only served to make our chanting louder and drown out our Aussie counterparts who had suddenly found their voices again.
We walked back into town jubilantly; I enjoyed a final days beer back at the chaps hotel and boarded the train home one happy camper, what a day.

Day 2.

We were due to be seated on the grass bank to the left of the Lillee Marsh stand without cover and as far away as was physically possible from the Army; it didn’t need much discussion to agree to try and go back to where we had sat yesterday and try and blag a free seat. Possibly due to the sheer raucousness of the day before (and of course cricket Australia's severe lack of a sense of humour) we were ushered away quickly from the area and told if could not produce a ticket for that particular area we would be ejected (the previous day fans had been allowed to loiter and join in with the fun). As we were walking back to our seats we passed the sightscreen and noted all the empty seats; of course! Unallocated seating!
We nervously took our seats (at this stage we were not convinced that they were actually unallocated, we were all effectively at 2nd slip) and began making friends with all and sundry around us. As the seats filled up with fellow seating optimists we enjoyed banter with some cheeky Kiwi's, 2 young Ladies from Dublin, 2 stereotypical Australian cricket fans (David Boon moustaches and a constant smug and self satisfied smile) and various England fans from all over our green and pleasant land. (On a separate note it is only fair to mention that WBA were the most common shirt wearing supporters spotted over all 5 days).

Once again the sun shone, we began drinking, wickets started falling (ours sadly) and the banter was almighty. Thommo had been kind enough to lend me his binoculars and from where we were sat I could enjoy the most spectacular view of the action.
Spectacular that was until one of Kiwi's who had been sat silently in front of me said in a Crocodile Dundee type manner ”That’s not a pair of binoculars mate, this is a pair of binoculars". The then proceeded to pass me what at first I thought were two telescopes Sellotaped together. I raised them to my eyes unsure as what to expect and was confronted (after a little focusing) with the most stunning images my deteriorating brain has ever seen. I was literally speechless. My mouth opened and the shock of the clarity of the images I was watching finally made me drop the scopes to my knees in sheer bewilderment.
Due to the fact I had been silent for more that 5 seconds everyone around me sensed something unusual had occurred and they were all staring at me expectantly; I looked at the Kiwi who had been kind enough to let me have a borrow and he looked back, nodded his head and simply said "Told Ya".
He was again kind enough to let everyone around me have a look through them and the unanimous verdict was justly, "Awesome".

The game appeared to be drifting away from us, we had lost 7 wickets and only King Kevin Pietersen seemed to be offering any sort of resistance. It was at this stage that another Kiwi (why had so many come?) asked us if we wanted to have a bet on what score England would end up with. We of course concurred we would like a bet and settled on the princely stake of 2 dollars. Word of course soon spread and within moments people all around us were thrusting out 2 bucks and shouting a score, keen to get on before a wicket fell.
Someone produced a pen and some paper and I began taking names whilst 'D' (Irish Girl) began collecting the cash.
We collected 25 names and fifty dollars, enough for a free afternoons drinking for the victor. The pessimists, fools and Aussies all went for scores in the 150-160 bracket (at this stage we were approx 137-7), the shrewdies went in for the 165-175 range (well I picked 169), the optimists went for the 175 to 199 bracket, 1 guy went for 202 Paul2 went for 211 and Riggsy went for 223. The last 3 predictions were of course from Englishmen whom had consumed a few to many lagers without taking the sensible precaution of wearing hats.
Of course there would be no story had England’s tail not wagged so magnificently, once the score had bypassed one's own prediction the chant went up for Riggsy to win. Quite astonishly Monty and Harmey put on England’s highest partnership of the innings (batsmen 10 & 11 who supposedly can't bat) and the fervour with which we all cheered every run was resonant throughout our stand; credit where credit is due, the 2 David Boon look-alikes where funking for Riggsy as much as anyone else. The dream ended just before tea with the score an impressive 215 and the money by rights belonging to Paul2 who then did the honourable thing and split his winnings with Riggsy.

I embarked upon the difficult journey of 'getting them in' during the tea break and due to a busy crowd I missed what was to be the last England highlight of the day, a golden duck for the cocky Justin Langer, magnificently bowled by Hoggy, though disappointed the beer lifted my spirits. The day petered out with the Aussies beginning to take control and we all spent the remains of the day chatting with our new found friends with the test an interesting backdrop.
At stumps we went for more beers and by 9pm I officially mangled, somehow I made it home to bed and awoke to face what was to be a very long hot and record breaking day 3.


Day 3

By now we had settled into a nice routine of meeting at 10am for brekkie before making the short walk to the ground. Day 3 saw Scott make his way to the races (the only day he didn’t have a ticket) whilst Thommo Flip and I maintained the routine. Thommo was feeling a little unusual; his neck was causing him grief, a rare up of an old injury he told us though I was informed off the record that his incessant perving at the casino may have been the reason. Due to his neck problems he sat in line with the umpire whist Flip and I took the same seats as the day before.
The temperature this day hit 40 (apparently in the middle under a helmet it was 50+) and no sign of the breeze that normally drifts in from the Indian Ocean, perhaps it was wise of us all to decide to drink nothing stronger than water until after tea.
It was a long tough day to be an England supporter with the Aussies smashing the ball all over the place and though England didn’t bowl to badly the game and the ashes looked up when Jones dropped Hussey and missed an easy stumping.
To make matters worse we were joined after lunch by the biggest tosser I have encountered in Australia. Up until this point absolutely everyone I had met who happened to be an Australian happened to be a terrifically nice and polite person, this tub of lard was to prove the exception. He had one of those grating voices and wouldn’t shut up; I wouldn’t mind if he could have come up with one funny line but that proved to be beyond him. It wasn’t just me either, at one point I thought Flip might live up to his nickname and actually chin him. Another older England fan that had been sat on his own enjoying the game finally cracked; he stood up, called the git a plethora of choice names and left his seat, we all knew how he felt.
To make matters worse Gilchrist began to get going and nearly broke the world record for the quickest century in test history (he fell short by 2 balls). This of course only served to encourage more Aussie supporters to start chanting.

Though individually they are great people they are not the most inventive supporters in the world when it comes to a song. 2-0, 2-0, 2-0 was probably their best ably accompanied with Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi; none really compare to Jerusalem in my opinion, I think they should try and sprinkle a few more syllables into the mix. Flip informed me the Australians had employed a song writer before the series to help combat the English vocal support, he had an impossible job.
I was glad Hoggy decided to bowl a ball that was as wide as possible without being given wide to frustrate Gilchrist’s attempt at breaking Sir Viv’s record and the fact he missed it raised probably the only significant cheer of the day from England fans.

Still the King

Rudy Koertzen earned his backhander by giving out Strauss again unforgivably so. The beer ban was broken and a few quick liveners were forced down before stumps. It had been a frustrating day, maybe in a few years I will appreciate the Gilchrist innings and the fact they scored over 400 runs in one day but for now it will go down as the longest day of the 5. We had come across the worst supporter at the Waca on day 3, on Day 4 we were to come across the funniest.

Day 4

10am brekkie, walk to ground this time with Scott and usual seats, Thommo now umpiring with Flip Scott and me in exactly the same seats. We knew the game was up and that it would be the last day, we all agreed we would be cooked by tea; cook of course had other ideas. The day belonged to the 21 year old who battled elegantly for his first ton in an ashes match but off the field the day belonged to another Englishmen who had us all in stitches.
It was around 3.30pm when we first heard the booming voice, I looked round to see whom it belonged to and 3 rows behind us was a man wearing a Liverpool top covering a decent beer belly, Bono style sunglasses and a leather crocodile Dundee hat. He was of Indian origin but it was his voice, accent and command of the English language that had us all going. If you have seen Bo Selecta and remember Corey Haim, the Indian Chinese delivery man who is also a film critic you will know exactly what I’m talking about. If not try to think back to the father in East is East, “Half a Cup”,



A cross between him and


Him


He was blitzed, apparently wine scotch beer and cannabis had been his companion during the day and it started to show by about 3.30. He started by shouting at Brett Lee and he was like a dog with a bone. The match was curiously poised, England needing to chase down a world record score or bat for 7 sessions to hold out for a big priced draw. The scoring was slow and the atmosphere quiet, ‘Black Dundee’ as he named himself took it upon himself to invite Brett for a beer.

“Brett Lee! Brett Lee! I’m havin a beer innit, you wanna beer Brett lee?”
His voice was so loud it could have been used to blow up casinos in Las Vegas instead of using explosives.
“Brett Lee! Brett Lee!, I’m havin a beer innit, you wanna beer Brett lee? Come on Brett, don’t mess about.”
Again the invite went out, in fact it went out every time Brett was walking back to take his run up and co-incidentally (unless Pointing has a great sense of humour) Brett was fielding just in front of us which stirred up Black Dundee even more
“Come on Brett Lee, let’s have a fuckin beer innit, stop messin about”
The funniest thing was of course that Black Dundee actually meant it; he was genuinely appalled that Brett Lee wouldn’t jump over the fence and join him for a beer.
“Come on Brett, I’m havin a beer, you wanna beer? Brett Lee you wanna a beer Brett Lee!”
It was a mantra, the crowd was pissing themselves and I hope if any of you readers who watched the cricket on telly picked up on it. Pointing Warne and McGrath kept looking over, they were annoyed/intrigued/astounded. Any empty seats around us were soon taken, people craning their necks to see who the man who wouldn’t leave Brett Lee alone.
Black Dundee was occasionally interrupted by a young feisty Sheila who also had a bellowing voice but sadly hers was like the sound of fingernails being scratched down a blackboard. He occasionally went for a top up but then and until 7pm that evening black Dundee ran the show and made what could have been dull last few hours’ very memorable indeed, thanks Black.


We returned to the chap’s hotel for a beer and just when we thought things couldn’t get any funnier they somehow did. I had become involved in a conversation with two Aussies who I must admit were not your typical Aussie cricket fans. One looked like Patrick Stewart and his friend like Shirley Temple with a moustache.


Thommo's new mates


Less his moustache

They were very knowledgeable about cricket and I enjoyed discussing various cricketing topics with Patrick Stewart until Temple grabbed the bottle of red they had been drinking and announced he was “going to bloody dinner on my own”. I wasn’t sure what was going on but Thommo and Flip were cracking up but trying not to show it, I was oblivious as to what was going on.
I went to the loo and on the way back saw Temple in the restaurant, I approached, explained we were all going to dinner and that he was welcome to join us, an invitation he accepted. The 6 of us got a taxi to Northside to enjoy a slap up seafood Chinese. On the way to the cab Thommo and Flip appeared to be fighting for seat positions and again when we hit the restaurant everyone appeared to be acting very strange as to where they would be sitting. All through the meal there was an obvious side joke going on but I didn’t say anything as I thought it might have been on me. After we said our goodbyes the other 3 chaps exploded with laughter.

It turns out that our 2 Aussie guests were shall we say, perhaps a little, err gay? I had absolutely no idea but the boys were quick to fill in the details. The storm off earlier had apparently been a lovers tiff that I hadn’t noticed and the behaviour of the two was enough to keep Thommo especially amused. I think he thought Temple may have fancied him and Flip’s quiet bantering hadn’t helped matters when Thommo was trying to keep a straight face. Anyway no harm done and I just got the last train but missed my beloved Chelsea winning a 5 goal thriller, a match we all agreed would end up a dull 0-1 victory to us.

Day 5, Final day.

The routine was followed and we arrived at the ground to purchase the $30 tickets which were seemingly only being purchased by England fans.
We took our normal seats and hoped we would be able to witness the greatest cricketing victory the planet would ever have hosted. King Kevin and Sir Fredrick of Flintoff made a stab at it, in fact for a golden hour between 12 and 1 the dream went from a remote possibility to a ‘could it really happen moment’. We had been sat next to legendary punters Tony Bloom and Harry Findlay for the last 2 days and sure enough the buzz on betfair was that Australia had actually gone into 1-3, only a 75% chance of winning from a 99.9% chance of not losing, things were looking up.
The Barmy Army were in good spirits and the Aussies in the crowd groaned with every masterful shot Freddie played. Of course Shane Waugh likes to make the headlines on the last day and his bamboozlers effectively did for us again.
We cheered any remaining runs that we made but it wasn’t many and when they eventually won the ashes back two balls after lunch we sipped our beers and looked on in reflective silence, it was like gatecrashing a funeral thinking it would be a wedding.
We didn’t stay long, enough for a few pics then headed down to the lucky shag, not a brothel rather a riverside pub that was the official home to the barmy army. Oasis and the stone roses blared out, Magners was consumed along with freshly Bar-b-qued hot dogs, losing the ashes in Australia had its upside and rehabilitation wasn’t going to take long under these conditions.
My uncle Patrick joined us for a few and we had what can only be described as another great craic. Supporters jumped in the river whilst we observed and took bets on if any of them would be killed by the dodgy looking jellyfish that were wafting by them.
Scott was still fighting allegations made by his mates that he was tight, not something I had noticed before and I had been on trips to Morocco and Barcelona with Scott. I did wonder that they may have been right due the fact he kept ordering his food off the kid’s menu and then asking the waitress to “Throw a few more chips on there will you love”. I was alarmed when he received a call from his bank wanting to confirm that he had actually taken out $10’s twice in the same week but as I left with my uncle he getting them in at the bar and I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Surely it was one of the finest test matches 2006 has produced. Gilchrist’s record, Panesar’s record, Hussey’s average, Flintoff’s 2nd innings, The chase for a world record score, Warne chasing 700 wickets were highlights but for me the cricketing highlight was Monty’s celebration after spinning out his first ashes victim and his ‘Bambi in a field’ type jumps.
Away from cricket Black Dundee had me in pieces but the company I kept was my highlight, Scott Thommo and Flip with their tales about such characters as Bobby Toe and Bobby the moth had me in pieces, I hope we all stick with the idea of doing it all over again in 4 years time.



Hopefully we return in 4 years and get a different result.