The weeks leading up to the start of the Ashes series were marked by a desperate attempt by Radio 5 Live to reclaim the listeners who, drawn by the drama of last year’s Tests, had become cricket fans overnight, only to desert the game once they discovered that not all series are quite as exciting.
As befitted a sport that had become, however briefly, “the new football”, great acres of broadcasting space were handed over to discussions of what might happen. Football is famous for its endless conjecture about the unknown, and Radio 5 was happy to adopt the same approach to cricket. Monty v Gilo? Readie v Jonesey? Tres v his marbles? Bring it on, also available in podcast form.
Amid all the faux-Ashes fever it was a relief to encounter an unreconstructed footie dinosaur last Saturday on Fighting Talk (Radio 5, 11am), when the stand-up comic Bob Mills described the BBC’s live cricket coverage as “ball by ball by ball by ball by ball by . . .” in lugubrious tones.
Cunningly, Radio 5 managed to feed the nation’s hoped-for resurgent interest in the game while neglecting to mention one important fact — this series is taking place in the middle of the night. By now, though, even the slowest Ashes fan will have noticed that when they tuned in to Test Match Special (5 Live Sports Extra, Radio 4 longwave) yesterday morning it wasn’t on. Overnight fans are now being required to be fans overnight.
Oh, the irony.
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Not that many are likely to remain after the first night’s play, of course. If it was bad for an England-supporting cricket-lover, imagine the effect on the dilettante.
The BBC, meanwhile, must even now be counting the cost of it all, not least in the number of commentators enjoying a winter in the sun at the licence-payer’s expense. Last time England pootled off Down Under for its ritual thrashing Jonathan Agnew was just about the only English voice to be heard. As a result, we got to hear just how informed, articulate and funny the local commentators are.
This time they’re all there, all the ghosts of our summer. Those who have not experienced it can only guess at the shock of turning on the radio at three in the morning and having Geoff Boycott go through his box of tricks. “That’s daft cricket, that is,” he said straight off the bat, and it wasn’t long until he trotted out his trademark: “Mah old Moom could play this bowlin’ wi’ a stick o’ roobarb.”
And then Blowers emerged, blinking, into the Antipodean sunlight. Henry Blofeld is not my favourite commentator at the best of times, and on Night One he had a shocker. Not only did he confuse one player with another, his usual schtick, he had trouble reading the score. “Have you noticed,” he snapped, while all about him laughed, “how small the writing on scoreboards has become?” “Yes, Henry, and it gets worse the older you grow,” said the gentle Vic Marks, the expert commentator who these days doubles as Blowers’s minder. Or carer.
To Blowers fell the task of summing up the day’s play. “Australia won the Test . . . toss,” he began. “And at the close Ponting is 127 . . . 137 . . . and Hussey 60 . . . 63. Join us again tomorrow . . . later today.” Cue the TMS theme, the apporopriately named Soul Limbo.
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