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The weekend has just finished - a weekend without any Ashes cricket. It was the first weekend in around 7 which myself and an innumerable collection of like-minded fanatics would experience our first taste of PAC. This malady is otherwise known as Post-Ashes Comedown, a woe of considerable strength and discomfort, often rendering the victim completely speechless and stripped of all faculties. Thankfully the weekend weather prevented an immediate plunge into these murky depths; Sydney turned on a brilliant summer Saturday. It was enough to distract even the most die-hard cricket fan and turn distraught minds away from thoughts of wickets, run chases, middle-order collapses, five-wicket hauls, silly-mid-ons, and other bizarre sporting vernacular.

In short, I was spared.

Of course, it wasn’t meant to finish like this! A proper test, a normal test match, would have been a contest. It would have lasted the full five days and been a roller-coaster of emotions; a white-knuckle ride; two titans clad in brilliant white battling it out for the most highly-prized, erm, prize in cricket. Alas (I seem to be repeating this word far too frequently in these blogs), the contest once again fizzled. The reality was more like David’s puny little sister against the Australian Goliath than anything remotely Biblical. And once again we watched and cheered, and wanted more: more spirit; more drive; more cohesion; more fight.

I must say that I have never experienced an Aussie public in such a forgiving (dare I say sportsmanlike?) mood as the men, women and children with whom I have spent countless hours watching games over the past two months. The general public down under seems to have developed a very warm affection for the men from the ‘old dart’. Characters such as Freddy Flintoff, KP, and everyone’s favourite bearded leg-spinner, Monty Panasar, have become household names since the 2005 series. We seem to love ‘em almost as much as our home grown boys.

Despite the ultimate result of the series, this familiarity has meant that many Aussie fans are not as obsessed with total domination as perhaps they have been in the past. The absorbing contest of 2005 meant that we Aussies were keen for a tight series and were perhaps even willing to accept a Pommy win or two, providing the urn returned to its rightful place.

Oh well…..

Anyway, back to last weekend’s state of mind. My melancholy was compounded by the fact that, once again, England had failed to deliver and done so within three-and-a-bit days. My plans for a lazy Saturday in front of the box or down the pub fizzled out like one of Freddy’s (many) disastrous innings. Yet despite my selfishness, it was great to see the old guard of Warne, McGrath and Langer bow out in such style, especially in front of a sell-out SCG crowd.

It’s now a few days later and last night I sat in awe as my mate Stevo and I watched the 20/20 slog-fest between us and them (again!). We amassed a world record 221 and there were sixes hit so far and hard into the stands that the TV cameras had a hard time keeping up with the ball. Of course the record score was made by the men in the green and gold, our fair-skinned brethren well and truly beaten once again.

So now we move into the world of the triangular one-day series. Looking at the form guide you’d have to say that Australia will dominate the series, beat England three times, probably lose to the Kiwis once and then win the final with ease. I’ve got tickets for one of the Aus vs England games at the SCG so I hope it’s not too one sided.

It’s been an excellent experience documenting my thoughts over this period and has certainly intensified my passion for the sport. In a nation of sporting nutcases it is undoubtedly true that nothing stirs the passions of the nation as a whole like the weird and wonderful (and gloriously long) spectacle that is The Ashes.

Long may it last!

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