Cricket, Bloody Hell

Well, well, well, the early favourites did in the end win the Cricket World Cup, though not by any means in the swashbuckling manner that their stellar pre-tournament form had suggested. No, it was back to the days of two hundred and fifty being a defendable score and bowlers at least getting some of the glory. Praise be to the person (if he or she actually exists and it wasn't one of those happy accidents) who oversaw the production of the pitches - now I consider it, I suspect that happy accident was involved.

So England triumphant after quite simply the most gripping game of one day cricket there has ever been. Death to the bastard child that is T20 and long live the one day international and its big brother, test cricket? Sadly I suspect not but for a few days we can at least bask in the sunlit glory of England's victory. Now, the observant amongst you will have noted that I was critical of the team when they endured their mid tournament blip. Do I now recant? No, not completely. They are still not the finished article (an unpleasant prospect for the rest of the teams) and some of them betray their membership of the snowflake generation but what they achieved on Sunday was resoundingly good news for cricket and sent the nation to work on Monday with a smile on its face. Our footballers needed extra time in 1966; the rugby team needed the Wilkinson miracle in 2003; our cricketers took it even closer to calamity before winning. What will we have to endure before we can celebrate another global team title?

the final act in a true sporting drama

Drama notwithstanding, I would select as the moment of the match Martin Guptill's immediate and sporting signal of six when his teammate Trent Boult carried the ball over the boundary. I know that television would have made certain that the runs had been counted but Guptill's actions were instinctive and honourable. Not enough was made of them by the television commentators.

Cricket bloody hell. Bring on the Ashes. I've got a ticket for day two at Edgbaston.

By way of a change I am now ensconced in a student hall of residence in Swansea as I await the British Shakespeare association conference. Bulletins to follow and hopefully this time I will manage not to offend any of the great and the good. There's always a first time.