When Barmy Army crumbles Down Under

It has been a hard day for Martin Leeney from Brighton. With England’s batting described as “gormless” on the third day of the Second Test at the Adelaide Oval, he couldn’t expect a change of fortunes on day four.

But hope is that wicked beast — nibbling at your ankles when you ought to deliver it one swift kick – and so Leeney dons his cap, bolsters his soul and readies to watch his team once more. But crumble his team shall.

With opener Alastair Cook caught out on the third ball of the second over, the score stands at a couldn’t-be-worse 1/1. It is all too obvious that Australia is headed for a second victory.

But Leeney can only do what he loves best – watch England play cricket. This isn’t a Sunday afternoon excursion for the 39-year-old.

He gave up a lucrative job of “something like a plumber” to travel some 18,000 km and follow the English team on its two-month tour of Australia.

With no wife or children to keep him home and a savings of £10,000, he decided that it was time to cease watching the Ashes on TV and to see it for real.

The generosity and big heartedness of the Aussies has impressed him. But he also finds them “thick”, in obvious reference to the sledging that has marred the contest.

“They rib players for wearing a ‘funny hat’, who does that,” he complains. Having rearranged his life for this tour, he can’t be blamed for his petulance towards the Aussies or his loyalty for England – in victory and defeat.

To watch the Ashes is not just to live the dream, but to partake of and even be held responsible for England’s fortunes.

The Ashes combines history with sporting excellence. With the Ashes being the first international sports event being held at the recently renovated Adelaide Oval, curiosity was high and expectations even higher.

The renovation has retained some of the old with the new. The old brick walls, once covered with ivy, have remained intact, though the ivy was less lucky.

The manual scoreboard first used in 1911, is the most venerable member of the stadium, now listed on City of Adelaide Heritage Register, no changes can be made to it. Which means that Simon Crompton has his crew of four men work through the day in a windowless black room made from corrugated steel.

Using a basic system of pulleys, ropes and tiles with names and numbers they account for each ball bowled during the match, and seldom err more than five times a day.

Naturally, an electric scoreboard keeps tabs as well, but rather than taking away from Crompton’s work it only makes him more diligent.

Through the din of 50,000 fans, the bells of St. Peter’s Cathedral still ripple through the stadium.

While the old and the new might coexist at the stadium, many floors separate the members from the non-members. While the rambunctious Barmy Army clad in shorts and ganjis hoots, howls, catcalls and boos from the Hill, the suited and booted members of the South Australian Cricket Association tut-tut and clink glasses on the top floors.

In the early morning hours, before the beers and wine have kicked into action, the Hill bears the air of good-natured rowdiness. The fans from England aren’t mighty pleased with the on-field action, so they drown their disappointment in batter fried calamari and sparkling wine.

Leeney chooses a spot in the shade, far from the Hill. Does he feel gutted this Sunday? “I am disappointed,” he admits, “But it’s not such a big deal in the scheme of life. In my country they say, when you are sad, have a lollipop.”

(The writer was in Australia at the invitation of Dreamtime 2013 and Australia Tourism.)