The incredible Edgbaston 2005

Here is it

Some of the moments that I'll always remember (barring Alzheimers):

- thinking "Aye aye?" as McGrath broke down on the first morning
- Tres taking advantage of the McGrathless attack by smacking Bung all over the shop
- England shrugging off the gutting Lord's defeat to pile up 400 in a day
- an Aussie C4er commenting that now Australia would get 600, but Fred and (unbelievably) Giles knocking them over for half that
- England collapsing to Warne, before Fred and SiJo had that last-wicket 50 stand
- thinking it was all over with Australia at 130-7, before Bloody Warne Again counterattacked, and eventually trod on his stumps to Fred
- mounting alarm as the Aussies closed to within twenty runs of winning
- with under ten runs to win, an English C4er (was it JKL?) posting "I feel sick, they'll never let us forget this, we will never live this down."
- falling into horror at three runs to win as Bung hit that Harmi full-toss to SiJo
- shouting with joy as Kasper gloved it and Bowden gave him out!!!!!

The Best Test Match I Ever Saw.

You forgot Harmison bowling Michael Clarke with the last ball of the day - a brilliant slower ball at that - which seemingly set England up for victory.

Imagine if he'd still been at the wicket going into the last day...

Rob I wrote:Here is it


- with under ten runs to win, an English C4er (was it JKL?) posting "I feel sick, they'll never let us forget this, we will never live this down."

Not me, I wussed out big time with still 35 to go. I turned onto Sky Sports News and their ticker was saying 'England close in on victory' then flicked to C4 to see Aus needing about 7 to win and felt sick.

I truly can't remember how I found out the result - probably kept refreshing the BBC Sport main page.

I was recording it so watched it again and still shat myself when Lee hit the full toss from Harmy with about 4 needed.

clarke has a pretty good record of getting out in the last over of a session

I just remember Edgbaston 2005 for Boycs background commentary - especially the sixes Fred hit in that last wicket partnership.

Shouting '6.........6...........6' as Nicholarse was dithering if it was going to go the distance. And then Boycs giggling like a schoolgirl when it did.

Also - remember going into that test with absolutely no expectation of doing anything. Was totally shattered by Lords. Even afterwards I had no expectation of winning the Ashes - not until we had Aus 90-5 chasing our 460 at Trent Bridge.

Rob - you forgot quite an important moment ...

McGrath crocked - Dizzy bowling pies - Bung leaking runs - Kasper ghosting along .... and Ricky's profound call on winning the toss ....

"We'll have a bowl, maite."

The rest is history.

Watching that Sunday morning I think total panic set in with about 80 needed; it all looked so easy. The wicket of Warne (and that was a weird one anyway, it almost looked like he did it on purpose, it wasn't just treading on his stumps, it was kicking them over) settled me down for ooooh, about 5 minutes, then the panic began to rise again.

Wandering out into the garden, the thought "we can't lose this, we just can't" going round my head, then back into the living room to see if we'd bowled them out yet, and of course we hadn't.

I don't honestly remember the full toss that could have been game over, thouh obviously I've seen it a million times since. When that last wicket fell, no celebrations, I just sat down in relief.

My missus can't abide tense matches like this. She went out for a drive during the 2003 Rugby World Cup final because she couldn't stand it any more, and so she's managed to actually hear live two of the more fantastic pieces of sports commentary - Ian Robertson's "35 seconds to go, this is the one....." piece and Jim Maxwell's "England have won!".

I could listen to those two clips all day!

We had been holidaying in Cyprus.
On that last day, packed and ready to head for the airport (1.5 hours drive), my son and I sat in animated manner in the hotel room, eyes glued to the TV, whilst baggage and sundries were removed from around us by a bemused porter and taken down to the taxi.

My wife and daughter were in the lobby anxiously pacing around - clock watching .... divorce was looming large if we missed the flight home ....

And finally, Kasper nicked it, euphoria combined with relief flooded through the veins, and we headed for the door with a last look over our shoulders to see Fred hunched beside BLee, arm around shoulder in consolation.

Fortunately by then we'd gone and thus didn't hear that twat Hughes (analyst) excitedly rabbiting on about Kaspers 'non-catch' ... just as well, as it would surely have spoiled the moment of victory for me had we hung around.... and the certainty of my kneeing him in the bo**ocks the next time I bumped into him at a Middlesex gig! Cock.

Anyway, we made the plane with 20 minutes to spare - still aglow with the euphoria, me boring everyone who cared to listen that we'd beaten the Aussies.

Good times.

Hah. Airports can be interesting places to catch up on the cricket. I was in Dublin airport with one of my colleagues over from Australia as Yuvraj hit Stuart Broad for those six sixes in an over. Me and Pat after four balls were getting progressively more excited, whilst large numbers of Irishmen were looking across, aware that something exceptionally unusual was happening, but not entirely sure what.

Puts me in mind of when I truly got hooked on cricket. 1981 and I was on holiday in Cornwall. I forget where we were exactly, but my mum and 2 sisters had gone for a look round the shops and me, my brother and my dad were in front of a radio rentals shop as Botham strode out to bat at Headingly in the second dig. We were there for the whole of his innings as the crowd built up around us as word got out what was happening (this was in the days before tvs were in every pub). The cheers that greeted those hooks off his nose to Lillee are something I'll never forget!

At this point I must confess that I am a squeamish man. Like all men faced with squeamishness, on that last day with a mere four runs required to win, I did what sane people do in the eyes of gore - I turned the television off. I went and sat upstairs in my bed and stared at the wall, and turned on my 'I don't f*cking believe it' face. But again, like all men faced with squeamishness, I had to peak a look at what was going on. So I turned the upstairs telly on and saw a glut of white-clothed people going ballistic. I wanted them all to die, I wanted their heads to explode and leave a big, red gooey mess all over the Edbaston turf. Those frigging Aussies, why couldn't they just let us win for once? Why couldn't their little turd of an island just sink into the sea one night like Atlantis so we could dismiss their inbred nasalness as some far-fetch'd myth from stories of yore.

Then I saw Michael Vaughan's infamous gay face. The 'I can never look right no matter what I'm doing' retarded face of a man who always looks a little too thin to be occupying the television screen. The only way I can describe his celebration that day is to say that he looked like a man in love with the fact that he had constipation. There was just a rawness about it in-between the epic gayness that makes me think of that, in retrospect. I went ballistic when I saw we'd won, I ran around the upstairs rooms and fell part way down the stairs. I had a little dog yapping at my feet asking me what the frig I was doing, but it didn't matter. I seized him up and threw him on the bed and rolled around madly with that stretchy, full feeling spreading through my body and soul. I drank in some of those distraught Aussie faces and digested their pain - God, was it sweet. It was good to see the anguish on the other side of the fence.

I don't think I left the house for the rest of that day. I still had the feeling of leaning over a precipice, as if the dream were so fragile that it might break if I moved. There's still something about winning by such a margin that, when I consider it, makes me shiver. So close . . . brrrrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh.

I thought we were well and truly gone when SiJo dropped Kasprowicz down at third man when they needed about 20 to win.


But then-

"Jones...........Bowden!"

Chivalry Augustus wrote:At this point I must confess that I am a squeamish man. Like all men faced with squeamishness, on that last day with a mere four runs required to win, I did what sane people do in the eyes of gore - I turned the television off. I went and sat upstairs in my bed and stared at the wall, and turned on my 'I don't f*cking believe it' face. But again, like all men faced with squeamishness, I had to peak a look at what was going on. So I turned the upstairs telly on and saw a glut of white-clothed people going ballistic. I wanted them all to die, I wanted their heads to explode and leave a big, red gooey mess all over the Edbaston turf. Those frigging Aussies, why couldn't they just let us win for once? Why couldn't their little turd of an island just sink into the sea one night like Atlantis so we could dismiss their inbred nasalness as some far-fetch'd myth from stories of yore.

Then I saw Michael Vaughan's infamous gay face. The 'I can never look right no matter what I'm doing' retarded face of a man who always looks a little too thin to be occupying the television screen. The only way I can describe his celebration that day is to say that he looked like a man in love with the fact that he had constipation. There was just a rawness about it in-between the epic gayness that makes me think of that, in retrospect. I went ballistic when I saw we'd won, I ran around the upstairs rooms and fell part way down the stairs. I had a little dog yapping at my feet asking me what the frig I was doing, but it didn't matter. I seized him up and threw him on the bed and rolled around madly with that stretchy, full feeling spreading through my body and soul. I drank in some of those distraught Aussie faces and digested their pain - God, was it sweet. It was good to see the anguish on the other side of the fence.

I don't think I left the house for the rest of that day. I still had the feeling of leaning over a precipice, as if the dream were so fragile that it might break if I moved. There's still something about winning by such a margin that, when I consider it, makes me shiver. So close . . . brrrrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh.

You nutter...

Henry wrote:I thought we were well and truly gone when SiJo dropped Kasprowicz down at third man when they needed about 20 to win.


But then-

"Jones...........Bowden!"

Another classic piece of commentary. Saying nothing, and saying everything.

Interesting how it was an all Australian commentary at the moment of the England win, both on TV and radio. Geoff Lawson showing in his voice the sheer pleasure of the game despite an Australian defeat "Wow, what a finish, what an incredible Test match...."

Easy to be so easy with defeat when you've been strolling every test under the sun for the previous few years.

I'm sure Aggers would have been gutted

Oh I'm sure you're right. Even so, I do love hearing the sheer joy in the game itself in Henry Lawson's voice when I listen to that commentary.

Not a single Aussie comment in this thread .

Thraw another shrimp on the barbie.

There you go.

Thraw?

Do them thur come from Lancyshire?

I was there.

Not that I was smiling with 3 to win. No, sir. Was wondering what the bloke in front of me would make of the inevitable barf I was about to pour over his back as the bile in my mouth finally got the better of me when the winning runs were struck.

The bruises on the back of my calves lasted for weeks as I leapt to my feet when the flick off the glove made its way towards Jones from Kasper. Goodness only knows what the knees of the bloke behind me were like as it must have been those that prevented the bucket seat from tipping up more smoothly - I maintain to this day that I was the first one in the ground to leap for joy - all those around me seemed momentarily paralysed waiting for Billy's crooked finger. Somehow I just knew straight away.

Amazing day. Had some of the worst sunburn of my life on my forehead from that couple of hours inside the ground - weird, as I spend hours in the sun on Saturdays playing the game - I put it down to the stress.

JKLever wrote:I had no expectation of winning the Ashes - not until we had Aus 90-5 chasing our 460 at Trent Bridge.

Was there for that moment too - and quite agree.

Heady days indeed.

JKLever wrote:Thraw?

Do them thur come from Lancyshire?

Ah, you've read it like "thaw". I was aiming for more of an "ow" as in "ouch" sound.

Chivalry Augustus wrote:At this point I must confess that I am a squeamish man. Like all men faced with squeamishness, on that last day with a mere four runs required to win, I did what sane people do in the eyes of gore - I turned the television off. I went and sat upstairs in my bed and stared at the wall, and turned on my 'I don't f*cking believe it' face. But again, like all men faced with squeamishness, I had to peak a look at what was going on. So I turned the upstairs telly on and saw a glut of white-clothed people going ballistic. I wanted them all to die, I wanted their heads to explode and leave a big, red gooey mess all over the Edbaston turf. Those frigging Aussies, why couldn't they just let us win for once? Why couldn't their little turd of an island just sink into the sea one night like Atlantis so we could dismiss their inbred nasalness as some far-fetch'd myth from stories of yore.

Then I saw Michael Vaughan's infamous gay face. The 'I can never look right no matter what I'm doing' retarded face of a man who always looks a little too thin to be occupying the television screen. The only way I can describe his celebration that day is to say that he looked like a man in love with the fact that he had constipation. There was just a rawness about it in-between the epic gayness that makes me think of that, in retrospect. I went ballistic when I saw we'd won, I ran around the upstairs rooms and fell part way down the stairs. I had a little dog yapping at my feet asking me what the frig I was doing, but it didn't matter. I seized him up and threw him on the bed and rolled around madly with that stretchy, full feeling spreading through my body and soul. I drank in some of those distraught Aussie faces and digested their pain - God, was it sweet. It was good to see the anguish on the other side of the fence.

I don't think I left the house for the rest of that day. I still had the feeling of leaning over a precipice, as if the dream were so fragile that it might break if I moved. There's still something about winning by such a margin that, when I consider it, makes me shiver. So close . . . brrrrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh.

gold

Aye, gold. Missed this thread. Good threasurrection.

Who was the now banned member who started this thread?