It would be really be nice if we could finish the job.
It would. It all feels a bit Edgbaston 2005 to me but with the roles reversed.
What a match that was. They showed highlights on BT Sport yesterday, still gives me goosebumps thinking back to that.
I was at it. Absolutely tremendous. In fact, I did at least one day at every test that summer bar the final one at the Oval. I was on holiday in Greece and allowed the wife to book then as I presumed we would have lost the series by then. Doh!
Brum 2005 is still famous in our circles for three things. One was my getting abused all the way back to town on the Friday by a convict who couldn't understand why I wouldn't bite. The reason being that he was so sartorially ignorant he mistook "Hackett London" on the back of my t-shirt for something we had printed for the occasion and kept shouting his gobby Aussie chops off at Hackett from London.
Then there was the punch up in the Aussie bar on Broad Street. On the Saturday we went in to continue the party and take the piss after they finished eight down. One of them couldn't take it and whacked my mate (The same one who appeared on the front page of the Sydney paper with me under the caption English Scum in a later series). He proceeded to verbally abuse as many convicts as he could from there onwards before being ejected himself for telling a trappy surfer boy he was a bread stealing ******.
In the interim, I was far too pissed to get involved in such shenanigans but was having a fine time hovering in the background and pulling corks from shackle rattlers hats. Well they took great offence to this and one of them grabbed me by the throat and threatened to bottle me. I was far too drunk so stood there grinning like a Cheshire cat and offering him his corks back. A random English bloke took offence on my behalf and nutter him. There ensued a two minute melee that I avoided by casually taking stupid grin onto Broad Street and catching the bus home (we lived in Bartley Green back then).
I strolled through the front door where the wife to be (who loves cricket herself and had been watching all day on TV) was keen to quiz me about the day. I wasn't so ready and apparently just stared at her, like a dog being shown a card trick such was my inability to conjure up words, before immediately passing out on the sofa.
The Sunday morning is still referred to as GropeGate. The wife is determined to watch the end of the match so drags my sorry arse out of the house early (it was pay on the door). We were in our seats at 9am (The same ones I had been in for my advance purchases for the previous three days). The first pint was hard going but by the start of play I got my mojo back.
You know the drama that ensued that morning and how it finished. A lesser known fact is how I inadvertently felt up the wife of "bread stealing" bloke.
For an Aussie she is quite a good egg.
As the game got tighter we were running through gin like it was water and he too had arrived at the ground in a fearful state. At least back then a two litre bottle of pop wouldn't be questioned by security and so it was that the Aussie birds lemon Fanta was actually half bitter lemon and half Tanqueray.
Anyhow, we get the winning catch. I am in the same seat behind the blokes dressed as Whoopee Cushions, just to the right of them as I had been all week. Eric Hollies, a third of the way up and at the end of an aisle. Bad juju means any other seats for us would be unacceptable.
The trouble was I was next to a bin. One of those round metal ones that looks like a grill all round. This was fine until my gigantic feet (size 13) got tangled between the outside and it's inner skin. We might have won but I was going to stack this one badly.
I reached for Neil behind me. He is a fat fucker and should apply some ballast to the situation. He did. I didn't smash my head open on the steps. Only he didn't.
After regaining my composure, and still clinging on for grim death, I turned to celebrate this most marvellous victory with him. Except he was a seat down in the row behind and pissing himself laughing.
After some brief looks of confusion the full horror of what went on became clear. I had not only used both grabby hands for balancing, then jiggled them whilst celebrating. They weren't his. They belonged to his convict wife. Both ladies took it in good order.
And there tests the case for the defence, Your Honour.
