Cricket

You don’t have to look hard to find swaths of sports fans around the world who dislike England – England’s men’s teams that is. The women are a different matter. Now, surprise surprise, the Australians have come to the party. If they ever left. The trigger this time is Ben Stokes’s surly behaviour to the Indians at the end of the fourth Test when Washington Sundar and Ravi Jadeja chose to bat on to pick up their centuries, rather than march off for the draw that Stokes wanted. All that was left was sledging: ‘Fucking hell, Washi, get on with it,’ said Harry Brook, who never shuts up; ‘If you wanted a hundred you should have batted like it earlier,’ said Jofra Archer. Why they shouldn’t have wanted to collect their centuries is beyond me though.

What to drink while watching cricket? Beer or even Pimm’s for the village green, but I think that a Test match on television demands wine. What a series we are having: likely to go down in the record books as a great example of the greatest of games. Cricket incites memories. The current Indian side have a claim to be world champions. In this last Test, they thumped England even though they rested Jasprit Bumrah, probably the best bowler in the world today. But I recall earlier days when they were usually easy victims in England, with one exception: Sunil Gavaskar’s match. This was in 1979 at the Oval and Mike Brearley set the Indians 438 to win. That was a nominal target. In reality Skipper Brearley was giving his side plenty of time to bowl India out.

A state-school cricket competition announced last week with a final at Lord’s is such a good idea you wonder why it has taken until now for someone to come up with it. Ever since Lord (George) Byron convinced the authorities to allow the first Eton vs Harrow match to be played at Lord’s in 1805, the public schools have monopolised the cricket played on the game’s most celebrated turf. Byron himself, although crippled with dysplasia and a deformed right foot, played for Harrow in that match and afterwards went to the West End to ‘kick up a convivial row in the Haymarket Theatre’.

Have you booked your tickets for the World Test Championship yet? Did you even know it’s on? What seemed like a pretty good idea has become mired in the mind-numbing complexity of the scoring. Currently England, who you might think of as quite a good Test-playing nation, are languishing in sixth place, not least because the Bazball bludgers have lost three of their last five matches. England lie just above Bangladesh, who have won only one of their last five. Ben Stokes seemingly hates the competition because his team are penalised for slow over rates, though he would change his tune if England had a chance of winning it.

You would have to be living a very sheltered life not to have noticed that the Premier League this season is one of the best and the brightest for years. Mainly because it is not permanently dominated by the Big Six – though admittedly one of Liverpool, Arsenal or Chelsea is almost certain to win the title. But exciting, unpredictable, well-managed sides like Nottingham Forest, Bournemouth, Fulham and Brighton mean that more or less any side can beat any other. Sam Konstas is pencil thin and doesn’t look old enough to get served in the Bush and Tucker tavern in his native Sydney Though bafflingly Manchester City can hardly be relied on to beat anyone right now.

It was quite a year for some of the worst of sport – America’s golfers, already among the richest and greediest men on the planet, wanting a massive extra bung to pitch up for the Ryder Cup and, equally noisome, Bill Sweeney, chief executive of the Rugby Football Union, paying himself £1.1 million while announcing a loss of £37.9 million. That salary included a performance-based one-off payment of £358,000. Performance? Well may you ask. As Francis Baron, a former RFU chief, observed sagely: ‘We are paying stellar salaries for junk-bond performances.’ Fair enough in my view, and that’s not even looking at the England rugby team’s less than stellar showing.

Under a dark sapphire sky, tearing across grass as green as a lick of new paint, Mitchell Starc raced in to launch the first ball of the latest Australia vs India Test series last Friday. The murmur from the crowd of more than 30,000 at Perth’s Optus Stadium grew louder with every stride the tall, lean quickie took as he neared his point of delivery… is there anything more exciting than Test cricket at its best? In countries that still take the five-day game seriously, big crowds stillfill big arenas Most sporting contests start slowly – the cautious boxers circling each other, the centre forward tapping the ball backwards from the kick-off.

Your starter for ten: who was the last English manager to win the top flight of English football? Treat yourself to a half-time pie and a mug of Bovril if you said Howard Wilkinson, who took the First Division championship with Leeds United in 1992, the final season before the formation of the Premier League. Since then nothing: now the top four teams in the country are managed by a Spaniard (Guardiola at Man City), a Dutchman (Arne Slot at Liverpool) and two more Spaniards (Mikel Arteta and Unai Emery at Arsenal and Villa). The only three English managers in the top flight are Eddie Howe at Newcastle (currently 12th), Sean Dyche at Everton (16th) and Gary O’Neil at Wolves (19th).

There may still be some poor benighted souls who regard the Springboks as the bane of rugby union. If you meet one, get ready to dispense a proper mauling. South Africa, for so long the Millwall of rugby, are playing an all-round game that is so breathtakingly attractive you have to love them. It may be hard for you, but tough. It would take a brave man to bet against them for the 2027 World Cup in Australia The scrum has always been irresistible, of course; relays of vast men who can shred opponents to bits: here’s hooker Malcolm Marx, accumulator of tries and the size of a terraced house but with added mobility; there’s Ox Nché, all 19.5st of him and the best prop in the world right now.

In the exhilarating event of Somerset managing to sneak past Surrey and being on their way to claim their first county cricket championship since the Norman Conquest – or since Vic Marks was playing – they would owe one of their captains from long ago, an eccentric gentleman by the name of Jack Meyer, a big debt of gratitude. Without Meyer it is unlikely that Somerset would have snared Archie Vaughan, the 18-year-old son of Michael and the hero of Somerset’s nerve-racking win over Surrey, the defending champions, last week.