The Project

 

The British summer is nationally synonymous with both climatic and sporting disappointment. Exceptions occasionally occur: the hosepipe bans of the late 90s, the Ashes win of 2005. It is rare, however, that the two preferred states coincide.

Monday 22nd June dawned bright and sunny over SW19. The smell of strawberries and cream floated around the manicured courts of Wimbledon. Wasps buzzed excitedly and wondered which player to hamper next. The crowds buzzed equally so. The withdrawal of Rafael Nadal had left the UK’s hero, Dunblane’s Andy Murray, second favourite for the championship.

What happened next was of little surprise. Following a string of stereotypically British mixed performances, Murray found himself in his first Wimbledon semi-final. His opponent: the big-serving, all-American pin-up and all-round vomit inducer, Andy Roddick. Despite hitting more aces, more winners, and less unforced errors, Murray was defeated in four sets by the former world number one. The Scot’s dissatisfaction was obvious as he limped, head-bowed, from the court having been unable to return a powerful cross-court forehand.

Roddick proceeded to apologise to the centre court crowd for knocking out "their guy" in the American way that would be deemed patronising if it wasn’t associated with such idiocy.

"I can’t say enough good things about Andy’s game. But I can play some tennis sometimes. Not many people were giving me much of a chance, but I knew if I could stay the course, I had a chance." Please just shut up and gloat - that’s what we would do.

Though British tennis’ craving for disappointment had, once again, been satisfied, the eternal optimism had not died; it was simply less convincing and more familiar: "There’s always next year". Such a motto was annually recited by the followers of ‘Tiger’ Tim Henman who, despite his predatory affiliation, found himself chewed up and spat out year after year. The 73-year wait for a British men’s singles champion drags on.

 

The Ashes: the least aesthetically pleasing trophy in the sporting world. The emotional turmoil and feelings of hatred that that pathetic little red urn inspires between us and the Aussies, however, are rivalled only by a West Ham - Millwall Carling Cup fixture.

As the teams took to the field on the first day of the series, there was a noticeable difference in the Australian line-up that retook the Ashes in the 2006-2007 series. No Gilchrist, Langer, Hayden, Warne, Lee, or McGrath were to be seen; every one a world class player. Things were looking up.

Or not. By day five, England were forced to bat out the day to save the match. Amazingly, and hysterically, this was achieved by James Anderson and Monty Paneser; the latter the worst English batsman since spliff-smoking spinner Phil Tufnell. Aussie captain Ricky Ponting was a not happy kangaroo.

The second test saw momentum shift. A previously despondent England took charge at Lord’s, thanks to a captain’s innings of 161 from Andrew Strauss. Australia were set a target of 522 to win and fell 115 short, thanks to a rejuvenated England bowling attack

England’s change in form saw an inevitable change in the weather. The rain-plagued third test at Edgbaston ended in a draw.

A brighter forecast for the Headingley test spelt doom for England; the good weather and poor performance correlation proved itself once again. England were bowled out for an embarrassing 102 in their first innings; an advantage Australia could not fail to take advantage of. One all.

The decider loomed. The fifth test would be Flintoff’s last for England. A less than average series with the bat and a mediocre one with the ball had seen him outshone by young Stuart Broad. The trend continued when the six-foot-six 23-year-old claimed 5-37 as England bowled out the Aussies for 160. English debutant Jonathan Trott compiled further misery scoring a textbook 119 and setting a target of 546; a target never achieved in the fourth innings of a test before.

Ponting led his side to 217-2 and looked comfortable at the crease. Things appeared ominous for England. Cue Flintoff. Taking a risky single to rotate the strike, Hussey, Ponting’s partner, found Flintoff who, in the blink of an eye, picked up one-handed, threw, and sent the stumps cartwheeling. These flashes of electrifying brilliance from Flintoff will be sorely missed. Even when bowling below par, the burly Lancastrian thundered in with an inspiring patriotism. England never looked back; the Ashes were theirs once again.

 

Elsewhere in the sporting world, 15-year-old British Olympic hope Tom Daley won gold in the 10m platform at the World Diving Championships in Rome. Hackney’s Phillips Idowu silenced critics with the same award in the triple jump at the World Athletics Championship. Some chap called Jenson continued to lead the Formula 1 driver’s championship. Our stiff upper lips shall prevail.

Despite their presence on occasion, both the literal and metaphorical stormclouds failed to take the British sporting summer by the scruff of the neck. That said, us Brits are still left with the old school report maxim of "could do better". Once again, we are told to look to the future and the new talent it holds. We must wonder, however, when this promised hour will materialise.

WILL WALMSLEY
SPORT EDITOR