The problem with watching England

My first negative wish about the Sri Lanka v England game on Wednesday was granted: rain. Selfishly, as I couldn't watch much of the match if it started at 9am GMT, I'd wished for a delay - divine intervention, prolonged streaking, a mass protest at the dropping of Ian Bell, I didn't mind, as long as that first ball was bowled around lunchtime rather than breakfast, when I was supposed to be working. And wishing for this burst of inclement weather I realised, as other England fans might have done, that it wouldn't be my only pessimistic thought for the day.

An Englishman watching England play cricket can be a conflicted being. We don't always want our national team to win. I know this may sound strange to fans of other nations, or even like treason to some die-hard supporters on my own damp island, but the blind worship of our three lions is not a given.

Firstly, there is our dysfunctional concept of patriotism. Love for a nation, in this nation, may result in ridicule by the national press. Last month a Labour MP was sacked after she tweeted a photo of a house draped in the St George's Cross. Although the tweet contained no text, the residents of our hyper-class-conscious country knew exactly what she meant - many on the liberal left see that red cross on a white background as a parade of narrow, right-wing values.

The face-painted war cry of "Engerland, Engerland, Engerland" does not engender fervour in the Anglo-sceptic. The Anglo-sceptic is well aware of the crimes of Empire, the past subjugation of over half the planet. After travelling around much of the globe working on a ship, I came to understand our historical wrongs. I apologised to Tahitians for Margaret Thatcher exploding nuclear bombs in the Pacific, to Australian Aborigines for Captain James Cook, and told a Tony Blair-hating Iraqi in a Jordanian refugee camp that I was actually from New Zealand - he promised to cut my throat if I was British.

I've since found that gung ho flag-waving for the British Isles doesn't come as naturally as it used to.

Anyway, if and when the complexities of national identity have been resolved enough to switch on a game of cricket, we now have the issue of which England players we want to succeed, and who we want to fail.

Every man and his dog has a different opinion on who should be batting and bowling (and probably keeping wicket, but I'd say Jos Buttler would be inked in on most pundits' team sheets) for England. When that batsman you told your mates couldn't hit it off the square is skittled, your supremacy over the selectors is confirmed. Schadenfreude, the German word for taking pleasure in someone else's misfortune, is a common feeling for the England fan. This could morph into selectenfreude - glowing in the poor choice of personnel by a panel of men sat around a table.

And Wednesday's game was a schadenfestival of elated meanness. Before the match had even got underway I was grumbling about how on a dry and hard track that "should take spin later on", according to the Guardian, England had dropped their only spinner, while Sri Lanka were fielding four. And what happened? Steve Finn, Chris Woakes and Chris Jordan all went for nearly seven an over. Moeen Ali's run rate dipped under six as England most potent run stopper, and only real spinner. And let's not even mention poor Ben Stokes.

Well, let's mention Stokes. His two overs for 28, as well as Alastair Cook's decision to bring him back at the end of the Sri Lankan innings, had both the Cook and Stokes haters foaming at the mouth at the twin spectacle of Cook's poor decision-making, and Stokes' poor form, as James Tredwell watched from the dressing room.

Only a few smites later it was Captain Cook once again striding to the crease, surely aware - or possibly not, considering the cosy Cook-Moores coupling - that another paltry score would result in him falling on his sword, which KP would happily push him on to.

Alas, here was the ultimate confusion for the England fan. Many of us actually love Cook the Test batsman. Fickle or not, we do remember his days of form, when all he had to do was hang out his bat and off would come the runs, not the edges, as happened yesterday after a reputation-saving 34. Not vintage, but we did see signs of improvisation, along with some deft late cuts. And Cook was also the perfect foil for Ali's festival of sixes - five beauties in 58 off 40 balls - before, oh dear, the new kid on the block everybody (and his dog) have been calling for, Alex "Save Us All" Hales, bellowed "no" when Ali was screaming "yes". I haven't met a Hales hater yet, and the Matt Prior camp might well have forgotten their grumbles after Buttler's finishing heroics.

Oh, and yes, we (England) won the game - which I nearly forgot to mention.