30th May 1999
WAUGH AND PEACE
Go on, you can laugh now. England have managed
to get themselves knocked out of the World Cup, unable to withstand the thunderous
hostility of an Indian bowling attack which had appeared a bit flaccid when the tournament
started (a main strike bowler who looked like he was barely out of short trousers? Ganguly as
the fourth seamer? Oh well, you live and learn).
I was going to start with some sour grapes regarding the 'shock' defeat of South
Africa by Zimbabwe (using as background a few examples of footballing carve-ups
- the Anschluss match, Germany vs Austria 1982; the Good Friday agreement,
England vs Northern Ireland in the same year), but
this pales beside Australia's performance against the West Indies. With the match
won, they crawled to their win in the slowest fashion possible in order to deprive
New Zealand of their rightful place in the second round (and thus improving their
own chances). The other day I described the Super Sixes as a 'fair' way of determining
the world cup finalists. I suppose I was wrong, given that Australia (with
their proud record of underarm bowling and match-fixing) were involved.
At least the hype-mongers can go home now. At Trent Bridge the other day,
it became clear to me that the cricket-loving public is in schism.
On the one hand, the pissed-up,
Murdoch-sponsored thuggery of the England Barmy Army made me want to renounce my
citizenship, whilst the continual 'good-natured' abuse by the bullet-headed, rugby-shirted colonial
scum of the Zimbabwe contingent towards their own black players reminded me that there
are worse things to be than British. We can, though, be thankful to the amiable fatalists
of both countries, the ones who
knew that their team didn't have a chance, didn't much care, and still rejoiced at being there.
This works for winners too, by the way. The trick is to cheer and not gloat. Try it, please,
otherwise there's no point in sport.
In the wider context, such matters are rather overshadowed by the prospect of India
and Pakistan playing each other, when in the real world they are close
to war (apparently - and predictably - over a stretch of land where nothing will
grow and no one can live). Not only that, they've spent the last few years showing off their
H-bombs. A while ago, the world seemed to be putting itself right. Totalitarian regimes
were being knocked over by freedom organisations; terrorists were becoming politicians;
war-mongering right-wingers were being replaced by woolly ex-lefties with a new-found
liking for international capitalism. It wasn't perfect but it was a start. Now though,
just like in the old days, it feels silly and complacent to be thinking about a game
of cricket when the world has gone beserk. Of course I am thinking about it; the
prospect of Tendulkar facing Shoaib in a pitched battle of skill, heart and naked aggression
makes me physically drool. It will be magnificent. It will also be pointless and
empty, which is about as sad as it gets.
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