Jubilationists,
The gigantic tusk up the Pommy runter - no finer sight in world sport.
They've felled a forest for newsprint to mention things like redemption, the best comeback since Lazarus, revenge, back-chat, was Warner over-punished for a glancing blow in a nightclub setting, the remarkable rebirthing of Joke Johnno, unwarranted triuphalism, respect, and the general meaning of that'n'shit; but when all is said an done it simply came down to hard cricket well played.
Losing three tosses in a row, the Englanders found themselves snookered and simply out-played in all departments, with nowhere to go.
For the Poms, it's a case of do not pass go, do not collect $200, proceed directly to Graylands.
Of course, MJ Clarke made next to no contribution with the bat - it was too fookin' hot, leave making runs to others - and in any case, as was pointed out by my spy at the ground "Pup is too busy to bat".
But his superlative captaincy was once again to the fore.
His second innings declaration was a regulation one, but clever, nonetheless.
A 500 run lead can really mess with batsmen's heads, with time, runs and wickets, all still in play.
As is usual, the Strayan Captain was denied, once again - on orders from Lords, what a disgrace - his perfect right to smash open the ridiculous little urn, smear the ashes on the pitch, drop the duds, plop a well formed beige turd on them, hitch up the tweeds, and then point at the heavy roller and say to the groundsmen, "there ya go boys, roll 'em in".
They would have been over the moon, and more than happy to comply with the skippy's request
People are saying it's Pup's finest hour, which it may well be, but he seems to be well aware that one monkey don't make no show.
He never wanted to emulate Punter losing the Ashes no less than three times - Lord knows MJC has been there twice as captain - and besides, Boof is in the house.
Captain Cook's eyes have sunk so far back into his eye sockets that they still look like pissholes in the snow.
No doubt they'll roast a turkey or two on Xmas day at Graylands, with all the trimmings, in honour of the visiting Poms.
A bit off topic here...but sad to hear all these alarming stories about it most likely being the last ever test match at the WACA.
Not really happy with the current thinking of the ICC and CA that says "if it's not a stadium, then it's not a test venue".
Sure, everything is substandard in Perth; long beer queues, drinking fountains and urinals farked from lack of maintenance and overuse, people being triaged out the back for hospitalisation due to heat stroke et al - but isn't that half the attraction?
Old cricket grounds as we knew and loved them were generally hot, sweaty, dirty, shitty places, where people have a licence to pour warm beer on one another and shout out gibberish that they'd never get away with elsewhere.
Nothing wrong with that.
Can still clearly recall the only time the Western Australian Cricket Association ground has been graced with my presence for a one-day international during the America's Cup in '87, sitting in a wicker chair on the balcony of the Member's Enclosure with a full view of the playing field, and afternoon shade, with a frosty glass of Emu Bitter in hand, think it was.
What's not to love about that?
Seems, though, that those days have gone away.
Almost every day, some underpinning slips away.
Dropped by the Front Bar at The Local the morning after the urn was returned.
Found The Philosopher in his usual corner savouring this week's favoured tipple, an ice-cold flute of Seaview Brut, the house bubbly, as he persued the eight-page spread on the cricket at the back of the fishwrap.
Ventured an off-hand remark to no-one in particular that the Poms, with the Ashes are gorn, might as well go home for Xmas and not come back, and was promptly howled down.
The Philosopher remained silent, but a long-time habitué of the bar, who's not known for his deep thought on any subject matter, snapped "NO! That is where you are WRONG, Craven. Dead wrong. Nothing less than five-nil will do, now."
Who's to argue?.
