Barmy Army enliven Colombo
Test cricket in Sri Lanka may not always whet the appetite. However, the scenes are quite different when England are in town
Kanishkaa Balachandran in Colombo
11-Dec-2007
![]() |
![]()
|
Take one look at the grass embankment on the foot of the giant
scoreboard at the Sinhalese Sports Club in Colombo, you could be
forgiven for thinking you were watching an Ashes Test at the Adelaide
Oval. The England flags dot the railing near the fence, the vocal
cords are in full flow, the beer tent's a constant hub of activity and
supporters brave the heat and humidity of Colombo with a sense of
purpose. The only thing missing from an identical resemblance to the
ground in South Australia is a cathedral in the background.
Watching Test cricket in Sri Lanka may not always whet the appetite -
it's often played to half-empty stands and a few crows. Dead silence
is the order of the day, at least for most of it, interrupted by the
occasional vociferous appeal and tunes from the local band. However,
the scenes are quite different when England are in town. Supporters
walk around in packs and fill up the seats, the budget travellers park
themselves on the grass and just have a raucous time. In the age of
dwindling audiences in Test cricket, an England visit is a godsend for
the local organisers.
England cricket teams are rarely without home support, irrespective of
their performance. The Barmy Army came to prominence during the
1994-95 Ashes, and were so named because it seemed utter madness to
fly halfway across the world to support a side that went on to be
drubbed 3-1 in the series. Times have changed, but the level of
support hasn't. In fact it's got bigger.
For the legion of English fans, the cricket's a great excuse to visit
this part of the world. The result barely matters. Brendon from Leeds,
says: "Cricket is secondary. For us, it's a holiday with cricket woven
in."
It's only natural for spirits to sag, especially after England's nasty
5-0 hammering at the hands of Australia earlier this year. But
Jonathan, another supporter who's made his way from Yorkshire, puts a
humorous spin on it: "A bad day at the cricket is always better than a
bad day at the office."
There are a few oddities as well. Michael Vaughan and Alastair Cook's
133-run opening stand on the first day was devoid of the customary
chants and cheers. Polite claps followed after every run and the
decibel levels increased, though only marginally, after every boundary
or sliding stop in the field. The first chants, rather ironically,
came after England were in a spot of bother following Kevin Pietersen's
unfortunate dismissal.
Pietersen's spontaneous reaction only spurred them on, and the sounds
emanated from all corners of the field for once. When asked about the
reasons for the unusual silence in the morning, one fan blamed it on
the influence of alcohol from the previous night. It wasn't exactly
surprising.
The second day turns out to be livelier than the first and the stands
fill out much quicker as well. England are bowled out for a mildly
disappointing 351, but suddenly, all's well as Monty Panesar sprints
towards the boundary, takes his position in the deep, and earns a few
encouraging cheers for his efforts.
The Barmy Army section at the opposite end from the embankment is
abuzz as well after Ryan Sidebottom snares two early wickets. There
are trumpet renditions of Jamaican Farewell, the theme track
from the film Rocky and Bon Jovi's hit Livin' on a
Prayer.
One supporter, wearing a rather hilarious combination of a striped
blazer, a dhoti and a straw hat to top it all, does the honours
serving the beer. After serving his clan, he reaches out to a group of
security guards, who are laughing nervously at the prospect of bending
the rules while on duty. They politely turn down his offer, but he
refuses to give up: "C'mon lads. Nobody's looking." Unfortunately for
them, when England are in town, everyone's watching.
Kanishkaa Balachandran is an editorial assistant at Cricinfo