The Ashes, the pinnacle of Test cricket, An old rivalry renewed: no wonder, Thousands queuing for a ticket, To see the sequel, down under.
The Gabba: pitch true and field lush,
Time to slip, slop and slap on a hat,
You can feel your adrenaline rush,
As Michael Clarke elects to bat.
Pull shot, the Ashes are underway,
Runs, wickets and nerves galore,
6-132, Smith on his way,
I can watch no more.
Brad Haddin, apparently past his prime,
Mitch Johnson in the same boat,
Century stand at a critical time,
Six for Broad, who can gloat.
Solid start, from Carberry and Cook,
Mitch bowling to the left and right,
Then a Harris ball from the book,
Trott feeble, unable to fight.
Kevin Pietersen, dismissed by Bailey brilliance,
Around the wicket gets Carberry cramped,
Lyon and Johnson ruining any resistance,
England reeling, Australia revamped.
Bouncer barrage, England’s tail in fear,
136 all out, ecstasy everywhere,
Davey Warner going up a gear,
Beware England, beware.
Weak dismissals, those from Buck and Watto,
But strong shots by captain and counterpart,
Warner’s 124, as good as the gold lotto,
And Clarke’s 113, a work of art.
More aggression, from the remaining batters,
Allowing Clarke to call an early declaration,
A hostile hour, leaving England in tatters,
Trott again, in a world of trepidation.
Day four, proving to be much the same,
Despite lashings of rain and hail,
The English batting was tame,
A 381 run defeat, what a fail.
Adelaide Oval: pitch perfect and field fast,
The Aussies confident of gaining victory,
England insisting the Gabba’s the past,
A crucial toss won, the rest is history.
Unusually slowly, Australia started the day,
Buck and Watto gutsing out half-centuries,
Four down at tea, to Australia’s dismay,
Carberry dropping Haddin, yes please.
Michael Clarke, leading from the front,
Brad Haddin as always, brash and bold,
Declaring at 7-570, Clarke has a punt,
It pays off, with Cook clean bowled.
Poor shots set the tone for day three,
Root, KP and Carberry: all so naughty,
They collapsed like an old oak tree,
179 all out, after Johnson’s 7-40.
Early wickets did not matter one bit,
Essentially, this was batting practice,
More runs for Davey, a good habit,
Declared on 83, not out of malice.
Rain forecast, Australia goes in for the kill,
Both openers gone hooking, how terrible,
Root and Pietersen now showing the will,
England last, delaying the inevitable.
Day five, play does not reach lunch,
No solid defence, just wild slashes,
The final four, falling in a bunch,
Australia 2 nil up in the Ashes.
The WACA: pitch fiery and field lightning,
Australia playing an unchanged eleven,
England have to do something,
So they bring in Tim Bresnan.
Another toss, and Pup decides to bat,
Temperatures over 40 degrees,
Top order failures, funny that,
Smith cool as another breeze.
Not bad, that first innings score of 385,
Like England’s 85 run opening stand,
Desperate to keep the series alive,
The others get stuck in quicksand.
Broad bruised, after a toe-crushing yorker,
Poms prone, Australia goes for broke,
Another Warner ton, what a corker,
Well appreciated by the Perth folk.
Quick runs is the third day mission,
Six after six, brings Watto’s fourth ton,
England now beat into submission,
Bailey’s 28 off one over, just for fun.
Cook bowled by a beauty first ball,
Australia’s bowlers, again spot on,
Until Stokes and Bell stand tall,
But Bell’s wicket, hope’s gone.
Ben Stokes, proving it can be done,
A century that England yearned,
But Australia end their fun,
For the urn has returned.
The MCG: pitch two-paced, field prime,
Never a dead rubber, the dual theme,
Pup wins the toss, but takes his time,
He bowls, morning ideal for seam.
Test cricket, alive and well on day one,
A contest of bat and ball on show,
90,831 spectators, well done,
England again too slow.
Day two, England’s best since Brisbane,
A timid tail-order, finally bowling well,
Jimmy Anderson performing again,
Wickets seem easy to sell.
Brad Haddin, lending a valuable hand,
A brilliant 65, game on at the MCG,
Cook’s 50, bat raised to the stand,
England leading by a century.
Mitch Johnson, again breaking through,
Clearly confused, is Michael Carberry,
A collapse touring fans could sue,
But for us, sweet as a strawberry.
Tricky targets, Australia often end tragically,
The top four crucial, if we’re to succeed,
Buck and Watto, so wonderfully,
Steering us to a 4-nil lead.
The SCG: pitch dry and field fantastic,
Australia favourites of pink-washing,
A toss won, England now optimistic,
They bowl first, in search of swing.
Too short, were the England bowlers,
Quick, easy runs, served on a plate,
Smith and Haddin raising dollars,
Australia 326, England 1-8.
Even faster, day two panned out,
Australia’s bowlers just too good,
England’s batters carrying doubt,
311, the lead at stumps stood.
Pink day, in memory of Jane McGrath,
Another great hundred by the Buck,
All you can do is simply laugh,
At Australia running amok.
No test, were England’s failing batsmen,
Out in 31 overs, unwilling to compete,
Rejoicing at the SCG, the Aussie men,
The Pink Wash now complete.
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