"Tastes Like Ashes..."

... was, as I recall, the ruefully witty comment from master commentator Richie Benaud after sipping from a glass of champagne offered him by his BBC colleagues live on air, the occasion being the 1985 series victory sealed by David Gower's England over Allan Border's Aussies. Well, the bitter savour is all England's at present, after the stunning, incompetent failure at Headingley. All those noisy, beery oafs who reckon themselves England's most ardent and essential fans may now start to wish they had listened to Geoff Boycott's withering opinion that booing Ricky Ponting out to the crease is both unmasculine and counter-productive.

I don't always shout for England in cricket, just as I don't necessarily shout for them in any sport. It depends how I feel about the composition of the team and the individuals in it. Admittedly, this is very much an armchair fan's ethos - whereas people who carry on playing competitive sport all their lives tend in any contest to shout for The Team they're ostensibly closest to. Still, you can't make such enthusiasm up, you can only call it how you see it; and I've never seen a test cricketer I liked better than Steve Waugh, utterly consummate as batsman and captain, so I couldn't begrudge his share of the Aussie's 18-year Ashes domination following the Botham/Gower glories of the mid-1980s.

Andrew Flintoff, though, is the sort of sportsman it's very hard not to get thrilled to bits by, and so I've shouted for England as long as he's played, and got myself truly hopeful about this Ashes series after his efforts with ball and bat wrenched the initiative back England's way, despite that poor show in the first test. It's hard now to see England coming back, and I expect they'll have to try to do it without 'Fred', since he can no more take further cortisone injections in his knee than I can abide steroids in my right elbow...

Is there time for a happy end? I almost want to shout 'Yes', just because all the rest of my doomy Cassandra-like nay-saying about sport this summer has been dismally borne out. Newcastle relegated gutlessly, without a fight; Roddick left hollow-eyed by Federer's indominability at Wimbledon; Tom Watson's great failure at Turnberry (and failure, sadly, it was - a huge effort over 71 holes finally serving only to confirm that Watson will be remembered as much for the timid putting and the choking as for the eight majors won.)

I don't think the England cricket team can redeem all or any of that, Flintoff or no Flintoff, but by all means give it a go, lads. For my part I will try now to spit in the eye of the Fates and predict 2-1 to the England...

In Praise of A-Rod: Andy Roddick's Character, and his Destiny

'I can play some tennis sometimes...' Such was Andy Roddick's customary light touch at yesterday's post-match press conference, his humour maybe spiced with a mild urge to throw a jab at the monomaniacal British press. I was totally delighted by Roddick's semi-final win over Andy Murray, because Roddick is one of my favourite contemporary sportsmen.
He plays a powerful game with good aggression and energy, maybe lacking all the finesse and range that's needed to be one of the greats, but his best yesterday was certainly too much for Murray, who had clearly been expected to walk this particular match. Moreover, Roddick is a real guy - he has a foursquareness to him, as opposed to the perennial schoolboyishness that seems to be the defining characteristic of top British tennis players, be they from Oxford or Glasgow. And to top it all Roddick is really, really funny, capable of cracking up a room. (His immemorial remarks in 2005 about wanting to win Wimbledon primarily in order to check out what Maria Sharapova would wear to the champions' ball were the first I heard of this particular gift of his.)
Sadly I no more believe that Roddick can defeat Roger Federer tomorrow than I believed Alan Shearer could save Newcastle from relegation, despite their similar reserves of aggression, guyness and good humour. (Cockneys, of course, believe Shearer is entirely humourless, because they themselves are so effing hilarious...) But Federer has been awesome this past fortnight, and has got Roddick's measure of old, and (unlike Murray) won't be distracted for long by any variations of game that Roddick has to offer. Still, Roddick's progress gave me a lot of pleasure this Wimbledon and I will continue to root for him keenly.
As for Andy Murray, I tried to like him this time out but it just didn't happen, and I say that as someone who instinctively has always favoured Scotland over England in sport, unless the England in question contains substantial Northumbrian representation. With Murray, though, the elements just don't coalesce into a guy you could truly shout for. Or, as a mate of mine put it most pithily, 'It's his mam I can't stand'.
Anyhow, Roddick will get another runner's-up plate tomorrow and then I guess the summer is over. It's bad enough the Longest Day has come and gone, which always feels like the end to me, nights now drawing in and all that... (Not to sound like Daisy Buchanan in The Great Gatsby, who famously waited with bated breath for the Longest Day and then missed it.) But by the time Wimbledon fortnight is done then, really, to all intents and purposes, it's time to go out and get your new school uniform - same as last year but one size bigger, in grey...