Saturday 4 April 2020 10:04, UK
In the Ashes summer of 2005, England and Australia battled it out in what is widely considered the greatest Test series of all time.
There was Steven Harmison bloodying Ricky Ponting in the opening exchanges at Lord's, the remarkable finish to the Edgbaston Test, that great Australian side celebrating a draw at a sell-out Old Trafford, England scraping home in a terribly tense Trent Bridge run-chase and Kevin Pietersen's series-clinching maiden Test ton at The Oval.
In the latest edition of Throwback Thursday, our weekly cricket feature in which our writers look back on some memorable feats of years gone by, David Currie recalls his rather bizarre take on those most memorable of moments, particularly that Old Trafford stalemate…
My memories of that incredible summer are somewhat strange and not exactly in keeping with the heady combination of unbearable tension mixed in with unbridled euphoria that most enjoyed or endured.
I missed the most dramatic moment of all. Edgbaston 2005; Where were you when England clinched that famous two-run victory? Where were you when Freddie Flintoff consoled the crestfallen Brett Lee? Where were you when Simon Jones dropped that catch with Australia closing in on victory?
I was asleep.
I was asleep, because I was away on holiday at the time. Away on a family trip to America, given the time difference, on the eve of England's most famous of victories, I soundly slept believing Michael Vaughan's men - needing only two wickets, with 107 runs to play with - had a convincing win in their grasp to level the series. I should have known better.
When I awoke, it quickly became apparent I'd missed the greatest Test match finish of all time.
My misfortune doesn't stop there; lucky enough to have tickets for two days' play during the series, that series, I'd argue I could not have picked two more forgettable days.
Firstly, day three at Lord's, one most memorable for a 20 not out scored by Australia No 11 Glenn McGrath and one plagued by England dropped catches before the hosts then stumbled to 156-5 in their second innings and towards a heavy first Test defeat.
Secondly, to The Oval, but not for that final-day, series-clinching knock by Pietersen, nor for Freddie's 5-78 the day before that helped wrestle the game back England's way. Again, it was day three, another 'crucial' day three that failed to deliver.
Rain ruined much of the day's play, with Australia otherwise racking up the runs - Justin Langer and Matthew Hayden both celebrated centuries in a 185-run partnership for the first wicket - though my memories are more of Spurs drawing 0-0 with Liverpool on Grzegorz Rasiak's debut (yes, who?) during one of the more lengthy rain breaks.
I do not wish to sound ungrateful or bitter. Getting to watch an Ashes Test live was a dream come true and, over the years, I've begun to embrace my unique experience of that otherwise action-packed series.
The Test match I actually remember the least is England's thrilling win at Trent Bridge, having made Australia follow on and just about managing to chase down 129. That's because, from my vague memory, I just watched on from the comfort of my sofa and, as such, my experience of that specific Test almost blurs into near insignificance. One day's play indistinguishable from the next.
There were no stealth-like glances at the portable TV - a pre-iPhone era gift from my parents one Christmas - that I took into school when Pietersen played that final-day knock at The Oval. [Side note: when I got caught, my business studies teacher was more interested in finding out the score. 'They've just got Paul Collingwood out, sir.']
There were no clashes with the hospital radio show I used to present on Eastbourne District General Hospital (in case you were wondering), like on the final day of the Old Trafford Test as Australia held out for a draw.
There was no sleeping through that final day of Edgbaston while on holiday, and no frantic refreshing of the ball-by-ball updates from the 'business centre' of the ship as we made our way home.
Let me explain. My dad, not the biggest fan of flying, booked us on the Queen Mary 2 cruise liner to return home from New York. And, determined not to miss out the way I had during the Edgbaston drama, I made my way to the ship's business centre for the 6am (five hours behind) start of play at Old Trafford.
It was in that business centre that I spent three days solid, not by the pool or soaking up what else the ship had to offer.
It was there that I 'experienced' Shane Warne's 600th Test wicket, Vaughan's magnificent 166, Jones' devastating 6-53 in what proved sadly to be his final Test match. I even enjoyed Spurs' 2-0 win at Portsmouth to open the 2005-06 season from my usual spot one Saturday morning.
Back on solid ground by day five and able to actually watch some live cricket, even my dad - born in Scotland and, till then, not having shown the slightest bit of interest in anything cricket related - was there ready to be gripped by the conclusion of that Test.
He witnessed Matthew Hoggard claim Langer's wicket with his first ball in the second over of the day, before then somewhat predictably losing interest by the time Flintoff had bowled Hayden round his legs for England's second some 20 overs later.
Ponting remained, denying England for much of the day with his majestic 156 - an innings he still holds as one of his greatest ever - though there were still plenty of moments where you thought England had it won.
Adam Gilchrist spliced one to Ian Bell at gully to see Australia five down with still 50 overs to play, Jones bowled Michael Clarke with the ball of the series - a vicious reverse-swinging delivery back into the right-hander, who memorably shouldered arms as his off-stump was uprooted - while Hoggard trapped the oft-obdurate Jason Gillespie in front in the very next over.
Still Ponting remained, outlasting my stay in the living room as I now made my way to the hospital to host my Monday 6pm show. Thankfully, a modest television screen in the studio, primarily used for teletext news and weather updates, served as my saviour as I attempted to watch the drama unfold in-between my 'sounds of the 60s' playlist.
Ten overs to go; Shane Warne, gone. Geraint Jones somehow taking a screamer of a catch off a deflection from Andrew Strauss' knee at second slip.
Five overs to go; Ponting, gone, finally! Harmison banging one in short, gloved down the legside by Australia's crestfallen captain who thinks he has given last-wicket pair Lee and McGrath too much to do.
As the overs, the deliveries whittled their way down, I ultimately decided it was my duty to bring ball-by-ball updates to my single-figured listenership.
That final wicket never came though, despite my best efforts, as Lee and McGrath repelled the final throes of Flintoff and Harmison to hold on for a famous draw.
Finally, I had that moment of unbearable tension I'd been craving from the series, that 'where were you?' moment, but just not the euphoria of victory to go with it.
England kept me, us, waiting that little bit longer to truly celebrate.
