An over-sanitised atmosphere

The massive media interest in this series has been a blessing in disguise for any member of the press corps who enjoys a bit of atmosphere while they go about their work. The modern trend in press boxes is for uber-sanitised sardine cans, usually stuffed deep in the bowels of the stand behind the bowler’s arm, where 50 sweaty hacks seem to breathe the same recycled air for five days on end, and hardly a peep from the stands gets through the sound-proofed walls.

But for this Test the pattern is very different. With every man and his dog wanting a share of the Ashes action, the Gabba authorities have had to erect a temporary gantry high in the Vulture Street End. They’ve obliterated 400 precious seats to do so, but the treasurer’s loss is journalism’s gain, as we perch on our precarious-looking scaffolds and peer down on the action below. A full Gabba is a truly impressive sight, with its uniform bullring seating towering over the players in the middle, and it‘s a blessing to be out in the midst of it, sampling the real atmosphere.

We can hear the nicks (not that there have been many of them), feel the sixes being sucked over the rope by a record-breaking 39,315 crowd, and sense the hairs standing on Alastair Cook’s neck as he sweats and circles under (and ultimately drops) a steepler at backward square-leg.. And we can feel the breeze as well, and on another stifling day that’s not to be sniffed at at all.

And yet it’s hard to escape the feeling that we’ve traded one sanitised environment for another. Perhaps I’ve been suckered by the hype surrounding the World’s Most Anticipated Test Match Ever ™, but the atmosphere, dare I say it, has been unexpectedly flat. England’s overall performance hasn’t helped matters, certainly, with Harmison’s infamous curtain-raiser draining the stadium of much of its tension, but there is more than meets the eye about this year’s Gabba experience.

The silence of the Barmy Army is the most remarkable aspect. In the 12 years since they earned their reputation for good humour in adversity on the 1994-95 Ashes, nothing and no-one has been able to silence this mob. Ordinarily, a scoreline of 602 for 6 would bring out the best in their ironic line of humour (or at the very least, the worst in their moronic line of monotonous chanting). But this time their silence has been deafening. Even Elton John has decided to shun the cricket.

Much of their downcast demeanour has to do with the churlish eviction of their trumpeter mascot, undoubtedly the most tuneful man in the Army’s notoriously off-key ranks. He was booted out on the first day despite apparently receiving permission to bring his instrument into the ground, a move that brought an unfortunate response from Paul Burnham, their self-appointed general. He’s threatened to call the tour off if the fun police don’t lighten up, a statement that had one reader commenting: “The Poms have started whinging after just one day of the Test series against the Aussies. Is this some sort of a record, even for them?”

Burnham does, however, have a point. It is not just England’s trumpeters who have been victims of the Gabba‘s absurdly draconian rules. Anyone, for instance, caught instigating a Mexican Wave is also liable to be given the heave-ho. It can be argued that the Australians have made a rod for their own backs with the extremes of their bad behaviour in the past, particularly the racial taunts that were directed at South Africa last year. And yet, when the PA cuts in with regular announcements warning of severe penalties for those who “offend, insult, humiliate, intimidate, threaten, disparage or vilify,” it’s little wonder the ground is so quiet for such long periods. Most of the fans are too busy thumbing through their thesauruses to work out what they are about to be guilty of.

It wouldn’t matter so much if Cricket Australia were consistent in their attitudes. Instead, on the one hand they have sought to silence the England fans by scattering their ticket allocation to all corners of the ground, but on the other they have implored their own supporters to “Go Off in Green and Gold” to demonstrate their allegiance to their team. It’s all pretty cynical. “It’s part of a concerted effort to have Australian crowds rise to the Barmy Army's considerable challenge”, said a CA spokesman in the Courier-Mail.

“We're not going to suddenly become an all-singing, all-dancing, all-colour country overnight,” he added, before disappearing to arrange the ghastly tea-time entertainment that the Gabba has so far been subjected to this week. Thursday’s was bad, but yesterday’s was truly execrable - two songs played exclusively for the benefit of the knot of “Fanatics” at the Stanley Street end, but pumped through the PA system regardless, one of which was a remake of the 1982 hit, “In the Jungle”.

The predictable chorus of “They whinge-away, they whinge-away” was drowned out by the loudest chorus of boos so far on this tour. The Barmy Army may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but at least there was a certain joy and spontaneity about their antics. Even their asinine chanting is preferable to this sort of state-sanctioned hi-jinx. The game is nothing without the fans, no matter what the boards of the world might think.