When Stuart Broad found Alex Carey’s outside edge at The Oval on Monday afternoon, it brought to a close a remarkable Ashes series.
On a personal level, it drew the curtain on a special month of live sport; one where I have had the privilege to make significant progress through the bucket list. Wimbledon. The Open Championship. Two separate men’s Ashes Tests. All within the space of 27 days.
Spending the 2023 northern summer in West Sussex playing cricket, a broken thumb at the start of July left me on the sidelines. Ironically, however, the sidelines in English midsummer is not the worst place to be. So, energised by the prospect of boundary riding some of the world’s biggest sporting events, tickets were purchased, plans hatched and transport booked, as I set off to catch it all.
Each of these contests - indeed their locations - are iconic for their own unique reasons. Perfectly manicured SW19, the unforgiving outskirts of Royal Liverpool and the fiercely partisan atmosphere of Ashes cricket at Old Trafford and The Oval.
That said, it was the people and their passion for each, that enriched the events on either side of the stands. These are their stories, and my way of thanking them for making it such a special month.
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Old Trafford was buzzing on Day 3
Day 2 of Wimbledon was wet. English summer wet. The kind of wet that washes out play on all outside courts and sends hordes of ground staff into immediate action. Under the roof on Centre Court though, play could continue and thanks to a friend’s remarkable generosity, it was there that we would see the only four matches of the day.
Walking in, our tickets were scrutinised by members of the British Royal Navy and Air Force. One showing would not be enough, this was Wimbledon, after all. Anyway, we found our way to the wrong seats, were curtly made aware of this by their rightful owners, and giggled again in disbelief that this was happening at all as we stumbled into ours.
With Roger Federer the guest of honour in the Royal Box, the crowd’s animation revealed itself for the first time. The eight-time Champion received a raucous standing ovation - one that might still be going if it weren’t for Princess Kate, who urged the Swiss star to sit.
The loudest support of the day was reserved for two Brits; a reinvigorated Sir Andy Murray and 27 seed Dan Evans. Of those, only Murray was victorious, but Dan’s effort at the Dog and Fox in Wimbledon Village that evening had a few of us wondering if he’d actually claimed the title…
Later in the week, some local knowledge from a friend with a special connection to the Championships saw us on the other side of the fence. Courtside, inside the Players’ Lounge and meeting family, friends and coaches, I felt every bit a fraud. After all, up until this year I would serve right-handed and volley with my left. In any case, we wandered through the inside training courts, caught a peep of Novak waiting for a courtesy car and even shared a meal with a player preparing for their third round - skinless chicken and sweet potato the order of the day.
A remarkable couple of days at Wimbledon complete, I left without an official Ralph Lauren bucket hat (anyone got a spare 160 quid?), but in a Pimms-induced daze, with a deep sense of gratitude and a Championship keep-cup full of special memories.
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Adam Scott chats with caddie
In preparation for The Open, a new friend from Brisbane organised our own ‘foursome’ and teed up Thursday at the golf.
An Australian the defending Champion and a whole host of locals all warmly favoured, we could not wait to get to Royal Liverpool. Except we would have to. We missed the train for the sake of a caffeine fix, but it didn't matter as every group this day was chock-full of marquee players.
Over fish and chips for breakfast on the third fairway, we plotted a route to see as much golf as possible. Happily, we got to see Bryson with a driver, John Daly in hot pink pants, and even got close enough to hear Xander Schauffele plan his recovery from a fairway divot on the twelfth.
On the other side of the ropes, record-breaking crowds added to the atmosphere. Aforementioned Brisbane buddy tried to connect with Cam Smith on a ‘State of Origin’ basis, while throngs of people jostled to catch a glimpse of Mcilroy on the tee.
There was Darren from Geelong who noticed my Tom Hawkins shirt and was keen for a chat. There was the die-hard Aussie who declared that Min Woo Lee often struggles from the bunker, but was delighted when he saved par from the sand at seventeen.
There was even the bloke who called out just as Jon Rahm went to chip on the final hole, and the fella who responded in kind…
The kids who called out for golf balls and high-fives, the gentleman who received a signed glove after being struck with a wayward Robert MacIntyre tee shot, and the weekend bogey golfers muttering advice under their breath.
They all helped to shape our day, but we were content to leave only after we caught a glimpse of one final swing.
Not Rory, or Cam, Tony or Scottie. Instead, it was a shadow shot, played with an Open Championship umbrella as the sun set over the grandstand alongside the eighteenth at Hoylake.
Not Rory, or Cam, Tony or Scottie. Instead, it was a shadow shot, played with an Open Championship umbrella as the sun set over the grandstand alongside the eighteenth at Hoylake.
***
Backing up the very next day, the Ashes were in the balance on day three at Old Trafford. Again we would miss the start of play, only this time due to an electric vehicle in need of a charge. Amusingly, on our arrival the only available car park was a charging station, so the E-Up squared the ledger and we were in, having missed just half an hour.
Instantly we were struck by the crowd. Total engagement in every ball, standing ovations as Brook and Stokes passed 50 and, as the afternoon progressed, beer snakes that crossed entire bays in the temporary stand.
While Bairstow whipped the 25,000 strong crowd into a Friday frenzy, we were quizzed by a youngster in a replica England shirt.
“Are you from Australia?”
“Why did you come so far for cricket?”
“Do you like Bazball?”
Well, no. Not at that time with Australia more than 200 behind.
We liked it soon after, though, when a Bairstow six landed next to us, and one of our party collected the ball, called out to Steve Smith who was fielding on the fence, and tossed it perfectly into his hands.
We liked the Barmy Army sing along at the tea break and the cricket in the passageways behind the stands. We even saw some of ourselves in the father and son duo who disappeared briefly and returned with an ice cream and a flake; here was English summer in full force.
Overwhelmingly in England’s favour when stumps were drawn, very little additional cricket was played and the match a draw, so it was back down south for the culmination of the series at The Oval.
Jerusalem singalong at tea
Days four and five for us meant that however it fell, we would see Australia lift the urn and the conclusion of Stuart Broad’s international career.
Quickly we were swept up in the emotion of the crowd on Sunday. I found myself recording the singing of Jerusalem again, and happily humming along to all of the Barmy Army chants throughout the course of the day.
Relentless rain fell after lunch and play was abandoned. Still, we drank in the stands, a mate snuck into the ground to get his passport signed and I shared a conversation with an Australian draped in a VB flag that subtly read England Bitter.
“It’s coz they can’t stop crying after Lord’s, they’re all bitter mate.
“Anyway, here’s my son,” he said, pointing to a boy in an Akubra. “I’m raising him in the image of myself!”
Day five we secured our seats early.
Two hours early in fact, a mark of our excitement. Positioned next to the media centre, that meant a constant flurry of activity before play as some of the game’s biggest names moved about to fulfil their media responsibilities.
For us, it meant a “G’day guys,” from Isa Guha and a slightly awkward moment with Alistair Cook as I made the sort of face you might make when greeting an old friend. He looked suitably confused, before offering a sympathetic smile.
Once play got underway, English support was predictably relentless.
Small sections of Australians tried to engender support for the batters with cries of “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!” These were promptly met with a response of “Cheat, Cheat, Cheat!”
As wickets continued to tumble, feedback was offered to those in the middle, and I was even flipped off by a bloke in a fedora for supporting the wrong team.
Ultimately, Broad, England and their adoring fans got their fairytale finish. As he wheeled away to cover one last time, beers were thrown, strangers embraced and thousands felt unbridled joy.
Seconds later on both sides of the fence, handshakes were exchanged, maybe even a couple of commiserations and minutes later, Pat held the urn and it was all finished.
Fans were quickly ushered out of the stands, it was 7:30 after all, left to find a seat on a train or a corner of a pub to reflect on what happened and what it meant to them.
The live drama of sport passes in an instant. Thankfully, though, the joy of remembering it alongside the people you shared it with, can live on forever.
