Nonetheless, Geraint Jones and Paul Collingwood—who had been brought into the side to replace Simon Jones and so fortify the batting in a match that needed runs from England—were rolled over as tea approached. The score was 199 for 7; 205 ahead but not quite in possession of the urn. Giles made his way to the middle, punched Pietersen’s glove with his own and never looked like losing his wicket until a tired and exasperated Warne breached his defences just before the close. By then the King of Spain had made 59 and the match was saved. He would probably say it was his best innings and it may more than have doubled the value of those mugs.
To finish the story, we must first finish the Pietersen story. I once suggested that his batting was blessed by genius in the way, perhaps, of Viv Richards. He shrugged off the compliment, saying no one was Viv. But I wasn’t saying he was Viv, I was saying he was different—the way Viv was different. By it, I meant that he could do things others could not. There is something crazy about Pietersen, something so alternative and unpredictable that the rules change and, with them, the possibilities change too. In the period after lunch, he barely defended a ball but when he did, it was an exaggerated block or kick after kick at Warne’s deliveries aimed into the rough. Then suddenly he would mow one of the same deliveries down the ground for six. Before the series, Warne had urged the England selectors to pick Pietersen because ‘he can hurt us’, but even Warne might not have known how badly. This South African man in his English coat and with hair of many colours made 158, the exact score another South African man, with a face of colour, had made when batting for England on the same ground against the same opponent 37 years earlier. Basil D’Oliveira’s 158 was to change the world; Pietersen’s merely changed the order of things.
Richie Benaud was in situ for his final half-hour of commentary. We had all wondered how he would say goodbye and reckoned it would be short and sweet. Not so short as John Arlott who, famously, did not actually say goodbye but simply handed over—‘and now it will be Trevor Bailey and Christopher Martin-Jenkins’. Gary pushed Richie a little and established that he did have something in mind, something typically well prepared. As Pietersen drove to mid-off, this much-loved former Australian captain said, ‘There’s been all sorts of music here today: “Land of Hope and Glory”; the national anthem; before play, “Jerusalem”. I carry a lot of music around with me, and a favourite is Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman singing that duet, that wonderful duet “Time to Say Goodbye” . . .’
Pause. Pietersen plays forward to defend.
‘And that’s what it is, so far as I’m concerned, time to say goodbye . . . Thank you for having me. It’s been absolutely marvellous for 42 years. I’ve loved every moment of it and it’s been a privilege to go into everyone’s living rooms throughout that time. What’s even better, it’s been a great deal of fun.’
Pause. Pietersen loses his off stump to McGrath.
There was no change of tempo or key.
‘But not so for the batsman, McGrath has picked him up! Late in the day, he’s got a beauty through Kevin Pietersen; 308 for 8 now and Pietersen will get a standing ovation . . . He’s getting one from Shane Warne now [Warne goes to shake Pietersen’s hand before the noise of the crowd takes over]. A roar to end all roars.’
A few lines later, he threw to the next commentators and that was that. Goodbye, K.P., goodbye, R.B. There was barely a dry eye in the commentary box and not many more in those living rooms. It occurred to me while writing that we shall never know how he would have signed off had he not been interrupted by McGrath bowling Pietersen. Anyway, Benaud’s day was not yet quite done.
The very end of the Test match was a bizarre anticlimax, as if the gods had run out of steam. After Warne finished off England, Australia briefly batted but then accepted the offer of bad light. More cheers. Eventually umpires Rudi Koertzen and Bowden pulled the stumps from the ground and the hugest cheer rang out around south London.
By now, I was on the other side of the ground waiting to interview the players. The noise of the crowd was so loud that it was impossible to hear via my earpiece what else Gary had in mind. I grabbed a couple of the players before their first lap of honour and then noticed a change in the crowd’s attention. Heads turned to the big screen at the Vauxhall End of the ground and the wall of sound changed from feverish nationalism to loud and resonant applause. As one spectator stood, so did another, until everyone at the Oval was standing and applauding. And then I saw why. Richie was crossing the outfield alongside Tony Greig. Gary had sent him over to be with me for the last word. I shall never forget the extraordinary warmth of this moment, when 21,000 people spoke as one for the whole of the country. It was a level of respect and admiration accorded very few. Greigy says that Richie shed a tear. Richie never denied it.
The Oval has seen many a telling and often glorious day. This was of the best, to rank with 1953 at a guess, when Denis Compton hit the winning runs against Lindsay Hassett’s team. While medals were handed out to the umpires and players, the atmosphere was spirited and festive. Then Vaughan received the Ashes urn, or its replica, and I remember thinking, ‘Wow, I bet that feels good.’ The euphoria of the crowd was remarkable, a sure sign that cricket had a part to play in the lives of British people. Certainly, the feel-good factor was every bit as powerful as it had been in 1981. Twenty-five years on, a pair of tickets for a day’s play at the Oval had sold on eBay for £1115 and a penthouse with a view of the ground was let for the week at twenty grand. The quality of the contest and its narrative drama had captivated a new audience and these fans, along with the established lovers of the game, had something communal to celebrate.
We interviewed all the team either before or after the laps of honour. It really was quite a do. Then we—the Channel 4 team this time—said goodbye after seven years’ commitment to something we loved so deeply that letting go took a very long time. Years, in fact.
As I packed my things, I vividly remember thinking how wonderful the spirit had been between the teams. I think this must have been because the Australians were generous in defeat. There were no misgivings, not openly anyway, not even any sullen faces as Vaughan held aloft the prize. In fact, there were smiles and, later apparently, happy hours spent in the England dressing room with beer and champagne to loosen the tongues of warriors who understood the fates of the game they played.
The next day there was a bash in Trafalgar Square, which I had the great privilege of hosting with David Gower. On the most beautiful morning, tens of thousands turned out to pay tribute to Vaughan’s team, who emerged from the open-top bus understandably the worse for wear after a night, and morning, on the tiles. Some choice of venue, England expects and all that. Afterwards, Kirsten and I walked most of the way home, the wonder of it all washing over us.
ASHES REFLECTIONS
The general view is that this was the greatest Ashes series of all. Ricky Ponting called it ‘the best he played in’, which, given he made only one substantial score himself, is a good marker; Michael Clarke, looking back now but a pup at the time, agrees. Benaud thought it pipped 1981. I hardly need say where the England players rated it. There were monumental performances from Andrew Flintoff and Shane Warne; surprising frailties in both predictable and unpredictable characters; and nerve-shredding tension in three of the five matches.
Australia was slow to react to England’s swing bowling, aggressive batting and desire to win. Vaughan led the side with uncommon purpose and belief. Whatever he did between Lord’s and Edgbaston was genius. Whatever the Australians did in that time, which was not much, suggests they made the assumption that England were already shot.
The fortunes of the two wicketkeepers bears particular scrutiny. Both dropped catches, Jones more than Gilchrist, but then Jones caught two beauties that respectively decided, and threatened to decide, outcomes. The one to win the match at Edgbaston is not celebrated as perhaps it should be. The rebound off Strauss to get rid of Warne at Old Trafford was an instinctive thing born of a lif
etime playing sport. Jones used the same instinct to flourish with the bat, accelerating England’s innings at times when the Australian bowlers had the door open, only to see Jones, mainly with Flintoff, slam it shut in their face. Conversely, Gilchrist was an increasingly discombobulated figure. The most spectacular cricketer of the age was unable to counter Flintoff’s hardball pace and late swing delivered from around the wicket. The longer the series went on, the more obvious the confusion became: stick or twist? Too late.
In most other Ashes series, Warne’s 40 wickets at 19 and 249 runs at 27 would have secured victory. Voted one of Wisden’s five cricketers of the 20th century, he emerged through the first years of the 21st century with his game modified by the march of time and the results of injury. But the mind, surely Warne’s most defining weapon, remained as alert and strong as it had ever been. Hour upon hour, day after day he lifted Australian spirits and redeemed hopes. His performances were Herculean but the army alongside him lacked edge and imagination.
Flintoff provided infectious enthusiasm and joy. He bowled long spells at the limit of his capabilities, batted with increasing assurance and fathered a four-pronged pace attack that had a nice blend of speed, bounce, swing and seam. For fifteen years England had called for the new Botham. For the time being at least, the search could be called off.
Botham himself watched in admiration from the Sky commentary box, where highlights of each day’s play appeared every night. He was pleased that Headingley 1981 would no longer be the go-to filler on the big screen during rain delays. Back then, His Beefiness displayed many of the qualities on show from Flintoff and Warne—notably strength of body and mind, and a force of will that carried the day. For all the attention paid to the Headingley miracle, Botham’s magic was every bit as relevant in the next two Test matches of that series. At Edgbaston, where they say lightning struck twice, Botham came back to bowl with the Australians 105 for 5 in pursuit of 151. Brearley told him to ‘Keep it tight for Emburey’, who had just dismissed Graham Yallop and Allan Border. Forty minutes later the match was over. Botham conceded just a single run while taking the last 5 wickets in dramatic fashion. When he bowled Alderman, he sprinted down the pitch, grabbed a stump and holding it aloft ran from the field as if possessed. That picture became almost as iconic as the one taken of Flintoff and Lee by Tom Shaw 25 years later. In the Fifth Test at Old Trafford, Botham played his finest innings, memorably hooking Dennis Lillee off his eyebrows much as Pietersen had flayed Lee at the Oval. Another stroke off Lillee went back past the bowler at head height with such speed that had Lillee not followed through so fully, the ball might have ripped his head off. The best of Botham carried the whole nation. No single figure has had such an impact on English cricket. Grace, Hobbs, Hammond, Jardine, Larwood, Hutton, Trueman, Compton, Boycott, Gower, Flintoff, Vaughan—none of them quite matched Botham’s ability to turn a game on its head and thrill the crowd while doing so. Grudgingly, most Australians came to rather admire him.
Do Ashes series truly define English and Australian cricketers? Not always, but often enough to make them the pinnacle of ambition. Botham influenced more matches than most others and, doubtless, would like those happy memories recorded on his gravestone. Vaughan’s men of 2005 would say the same. The very nature of this chapter concentrates on England’s remarkable victory, but over the 128 years of Ashes cricket, it is Australia that holds the upper hand having won 130 Tests to England’s 106. The series are locked at 32 each, which augurs well for the future.
‘England’s win is sure to do a lot of good for Australian cricket. Here in England I have been gladdened by the absorbing interest in the game, especially amongst schoolboys. That is, unfortunately, not the case in Australia, where interest has waned alarmingly. Well played, England. You deserved it, and the Australians will not begrudge you the thrill of it, but I hope that you do not hold on for too long. Australia did, and has cause to regret it.’ These words were written by Bill O’Reilly after England won at the Oval in 1953, under Len Hutton. The point of them being that the cricketing health of both countries is imperative in sustaining the legend and inspiring the next generation.
Australia’s response to 2005 was a thing of cruel beauty. On home turf in 2006–07 Ponting’s mighty team tore apart Flintoff’s England, winning all five Tests in commanding fashion. At Adelaide, Warne played the lead role in turning an unpromising final day into a story so good they made a movie about it. Amazing Adelaide was produced and distributed almost as quickly as The Greatest Test had been eighteen months earlier. At the end of the series both Warne and McGrath retired from the game, taking their last bow at the Sydney Cricket Ground with a jaw-dropping 1271 wickets between them (Warne 708, McGrath 563). In 104 Test matches they played together, the total is a record 1001 wickets. No other duo has sung so prolifically from the same song sheet. Ponting was soon to discover how challenging life would become without them.
The winning captains since that day have been Andrew Strauss twice, Alastair Cook twice, and Michael Clarke, whose team of 2013–14 sought and achieved the same level of vengeance that Ponting had enjoyed in 2006–07. It is surely true that Ashes cricket defines the captains. ‘Jardine’s Bodyline tour’, ‘Bradman’s Invincibles’, ‘Illingworth’s Ashes’, ‘Chappell’s Australians’, ‘Gatting’s side of 1986–87’, ‘Border’s all-conquering team of 1989’ are the collective terms by which these teams and their place in cricket history are remembered.
Strauss won in Australia in 2010–11, a rare feat among English captains. Since the Second World War, only Hutton in 1954–55, with Frank Tyson at his fastest; Illingworth in 1970–71, with Boycott and Snow at their best; Brearley in 1978–79, against those Australians not recruited by Packer for WSC; and Gatting in 1986–87, with Botham, have pulled that particular rabbit from the hat. Peter May took a marvellous group of players by boat to Australia in 1958–59—arguably the most gifted team to leave British shores—and was thumped 4–0 by Benaud’s exciting young side. Australian captains have had more to crow about on English soil. Bradman, Benaud, Simpson, Ian Chappell, Border twice, Mark Taylor and Steve Waugh have all enjoyed the English summer and the prize at the end of it.
Today, the captains are put through the ringer by a voracious media. Newspapers feed from their every utterance; news channels fill hours of rolling time with press conferences pre- and post-match, often latching onto nothing more than passing observations. Immediately after the toss at every international match played in England, the captains complete three separate interviews, for Sky, TMS and Channel 5. They do the same when it is over. These obligations are honoured with patience and mainly good humour.
The most open have been Vaughan, who delighted in the opportunities given to him by the new wave of social interaction, and Clarke, who wore his heart on his sleeve in a way that many Australians could not bring themselves to trust. This was a pity, for Clarke’s heart is good and kind, and his head the equal of any cricketing man. It was a wonderful moment when he lifted the World Cup, coming as it did so soon after the loss of his great buddy, Phillip Hughes. Through that desperate period for Australian cricket, Clarke kept alight the candle of hope.
Ponting gave little at the beginning of his tenure. So high were his own standards that he was sometime puce with anger at a poor performance by the team. But as the power of that team diminished, he adapted the angle and delivery of his message. By the end he had learnt to be media savvy, so much so that his move into broadcasting already has shape. I should also add that Ponting was among the very greatest cricketers, especially able at turning the screw. His innings had a certainty about them, an impression given as much to the opposition as to the viewer.
Strauss was very smart with the media, using press conferences to discuss the narrative of the team and post-match flash interviews to clearly explain the moment. He was careful not to let the Pietersen affair cloud his general optimism for the progress he and the players made together, but it wore him down in the end. He is an
excellent choice to lead English cricket forward in his ECB role as director of England cricket, already proving the merit of tough and decisive moves that have cleared the way for a hitherto unseen freedom of thinking in England’s play.
Cook is a stubborn so-and-so and naturally wary. Part of this comes from his own reticence in front of the camera or behind a microphone; the rest from his feeling that those in glasshouses (press boxes and commentary boxes) should be more careful with the stones they throw. He believes that modern cricket is the equal of, or has improved upon, any other era in the game’s history—an argument over which he cannot be swayed.
Cook gives an immense amount of his time to good causes, arriving with that devastating smile and an impressive aura. More often than not he stays longer than required, happily paying attention to those less lucky than cricketers. During variously challenging periods in the job, he has been at his wits’ end. But he is no quitter and the England team has regenerated under his calm authority.
Remarkably, he has made more runs than any England batsmen. When he passed the 10,000 mark at Chester-le-Street, he proudly raised his bat in the knowledge that he is one of only twelve men in the game’s history to have celebrated such an achievement. Rather charmingly, he was delighted by this and chose not to hide it from the camera. We are in an age of vanilla relations between player and press but he confessed to immense self-satisfaction, for once rejoicing in his own achievement rather than attributing it to the greater whole of the team.
To me, the Ashes were always the dream. My father told me about Miller, Harvey and Benaud on one side; Compton, Trueman and Dexter on the other. My destiny was not to play a part but to talk and write about the players who do and the matches that cast a spell over two distant countries united by their past and by the games they play. It is tremendous fun. The Ashes is all it’s cracked up to be and everything that Test-match cricket should be. The 2005 series confirmed this to a great many people and, all too briefly, brought the game back to the streets, parks and playgrounds of England. We had pined for a competitive Ashes series and we got one. Even Australians gave thanks for that.
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