Roving Reporter in Perth
by Christine Davey
Sunday, December 1, 2002

According to head shrinkers, there are five stages in the grieving process. The first is denial. The second is anger. With or without the benefits of psychoanalysis, sufferers then journey through bargaining and depression, eventually arriving at a healthy level of acceptance.

Today at the WACA, as the Australian team put the stamp of ownership on another Ashes series, all self-respecting fobwatch-swingers were viewing the high jinks with anticipation. In the '80s, a band called The Divinyls warbled about the "fine line between pleasure and pain". On the final day of the Perth Test, however, the emotional divisions weren't quite so blurred.

It began, for Australian supporters at least, on a positive note. Western Australia's favourite son, Dennis Lillee - as moustached and charismatic as ever, if rather thinner on top - held a press conference to promote his fast-bowling academy. Established in June this year, the notion behind the academy is simple: "I'm here to monitor the development of pacemen," said Lillee, who, with 167 scalps from 29 Tests, remains the leading wicket-taker in Ashes history.

"I'm travelling the state to spot young blokes who have potential. I doubt if we'll find another Thommo, but you never know. The plan is to start them early, look at their progress and nurture talent when we see it." When news of Lillee's mission was relayed to English fans, positivity seemed about as remote as a Gunners loss to Aston Villa. "Oh that's just great," said Michael of Hammersmith. "We need more Aussie fast bowlers don't we? As if there's not enough humiliation already."

As play continued, the denial was descending with all the subtlety of a sumo wrestler. "I'm not giving up hope for the team just yet," said Tim from Leicester, a foot-soldier in the Barmy Army. "I'm drunk, I'm sunburnt, but I'm still here," he added, forcibly trying to remove the green-and-gold wig from an Aussie supporter's head.

It didn't take the skill of Sigmund Freud to recognise the signs of impending anger. "Get your hands off me you Pommie bastard," yelled the wig's owner, backing away as a security guard stepped in to defuse the situation. "I don't know what your problem is," answered Tim, providing more evidence for the theory that denial isn't just a river in Egypt.

By afternoon, the bargaining was in full swing. On the hill to the left of the scoreboard, a group of kids had established their own cricket game. Replicating the ruthless attitude of their Test heroes, these nine- and ten-year-olds were merciless. They possessed the arrogance of Brett Lee, the tenacity of Warnie and the dogged persistence of Stephen Waugh ... and all that with only one bat, a ragged tennis ball and a plastic chair for stumps.

"That was out. That was lbw," said the prepubescent bowler, ordering his team-mate to walk. "No way," answered the pint-sized batsman. "I'm staying. You can't make me go. Just try and make me!" And then came the ultimate tool of forced compromise. "I'll tell Mum," said the bowler, walking back to his mark. The batsman capitulated, dropped the bat and headed for the makeshift boundary.

By tea, the depression was easy to spot. The Army was quiet, the Union Jacks hadn't been waved for hours and the lads were busy discussing football, rather than the perilous state of English cricket. "Who cares about bloody cricket," said Martin from Wales. "It's a joke. An absolute joke."

Even Tim from Leicester was moving forward through the grieving stages, finding himself in depression's vicelike grip. "I don't know what we can do to beat this team," he said, sipping his beer without conviction and no longer interested in stealing wigs or picking fights. "I don't think I'll live to see us win back the Ashes. Life isn't that long."

Psychologists also believe there is only one state of true happiness; ecstasy. For Australian fans the moment of ultimate satisfaction came at 4.55 local time, when the team wrapped up the match. As Steve Waugh's XI performed the now-customary victory lap, shaking hands with supporters and giving the thumbs-up to the 17,000 people at the WACA, the final stage of the grieving process was also taking up residence ...

Acceptance had made it successfully through the turnstiles. English supporters cheered the Baggy Greens. They stood and applauded their efforts. They realised that whatever today's outcome, life and sport goes on. "It's only a game after all," said Tim. "We lost this time, but to a wonderful team. There's no shame in that."

As the show rolls on to Melbourne we can rest easy knowing the murky waters of the cricket fan's mind have been safely navigated. And you better believe it, or I'll tell Mum.

Christine Davey is a freelance journalist based in Melbourne, Victoria.

© Wisden CricInfo Ltd