‘Seeing the mud around a lotus’ said Indian author Amit Kalantri, ‘is pessimism. Seeing a lotus in the mud is optimism.’ Really? Amit is 22 years younger than me, and I would suggest that he has much to learn about the pleasures of disappointment. Anyway, there now follows a party political broadcast on behalf of pessimists.
Even the 98% of you who aren’t remotely interested in cricket are probably aware that its World Cup is taking place at the moment, and doing so in England where, in a pleasing celestial coincidence, England are also the favourites to win it. We went through your football one last year, and we’ll have your rugby one later in the year, so please don’t complain. It’s a wonderful opportunity for you to compile lists of commentating hyperbole, and watch captains ‘taking many positives’ out of each abject defeat.
I’m not Jeremy Corbyn, I’m not self-consciously cool and I don’t write for the opinion page of the Guardian, so I unashamedly want us to win, and win big. We won’t, of course (we will lose to New Zealand in the semi-finals), but I want it to go on record that I desperately and passionately want it to happen. Not just because I’m English, but because the team consists of a highly, talented bunch of nice, understated players, and, for crying out loud, we all need a good news story at the moment. Actually Moeen Ali’s beard alone is reason enough on its own for us to win the thing. As is Jos Buttler’s lofted on-drive. And that catch by Ben Stokes. And anything that Jofra Archer touches. Only someone with the generosity of spirit of Ebenezer Scrooge would want to deny us our joyful ambition.
But all passionate followers of sport know that it is more complicated than knowing who you want to do well; it is just as much about who you want to do badly. England, for good reasons and bad, is the country that all others, especially the Celtic ones, seem to love to see hurt, so the next bit is prefaced with no apologies whatsoever. Years of watching the rugby six nations, for example, have etched in my soul a pecking order of the perfect final table for me, which runs 1. England (of course), 2. Italy (great food, and no threat); 3. Scotland (many friends and nice scenery); 4. Wales (cracking hymns, spoiled by gloating); 5. France (dubious ideas of Napoleonic grandeur ) and 6. Ireland (too many leprechaun outfits; too cocky). Just because it never happens doesn’t mean I don’t wish it. It’s the same with Wimbledon, with Murray at the top (when fit), Nadal second (smouldering and passionate) and Federer last (Ireland, without the leprechauns.)
The current Cricket World Cup is no exception, so here is a finishing order for my runners and riders.
England. (Always the bridesmaid, generally disappointed, genuinely good)
Afghanistan. (Everything that is good about sport, and then a bit more)
Bangladesh. (As above, with slightly less recent history)
New Zealand. (More for what they are not, than for what they are)
Pakistan. (The nicest and most gracious commentators. Also no threat)
West Indies. (The faint and happy ‘couldn’t-really-care-either-way’ attitude)
Sri Lanka. (Memories of 1996. Also unpronounceable names.)
South Africa. (Great anthem. Happy flashbacks to Mandela. Humourless)
India (Too powerful. Too good. Cocky skipper)
Australia. (Can someone else have a go now, once you’ve finished with the World Cup, and all that sandpaper?)
(Forgive us our trespasses, someone once said, as we should all now forgive the Australian ‘senior management team’ for their indiscretions in South Africa last Spring. They are not the only ones ever to have cheated. Most of us truly believe that Messrs Smith and Bancroft have paid their dues, and should be welcomed back without any booing and jeering. Even though we know that the ACB aren’t serious about anything other than winning, and even though we fully understand the utter emptiness of their ‘root and branch’ enquiry, and the fact that David Warner is back in the team he should be banned for life from, jeering him or them is not what sport is about, and never should be. As Aussie coach, Justin Langer said, they are human beings, too, and this is sport.)
The rest of this, of course, should be taken with the large pinch of Himlayan rock salt with which, as an Englishman, I have to take it coming from the other direction. I love the whole, gorgeous, overstated, brilliant, exciting thing, and all I really want is for the weather not to ruin it.
Then it all depends on who New Zealand meet in the final.
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