“Cardiff really has put on a great show this week; is it the friendliest test venue in England?” pondered Simon Mann in a summary of the first Test, forgetting that Cardiff is actually in the Principality.
“It certainly is”, confirmed Aggers, “with the obvious exception of Trent Bridge,” he added, averting a heart attack for all of those of us who have ever been lucky enough to visit this ground.
And, before you know it, here we are again. The Ashes come to Trent Bridge for the second summer in three years, and thanks to a dodgy local businessman who’s a member at Notts, a group of six of us muster every year for the TB Test, no matter who the opposition may be.
An Ashes Test is special, as any cricket fan of any nationality will confirm. And haven’t the last two at TB been double special?
It’ll be an emotional return for the baggy green of Australia, after Phillip Hughes played such a pivotal role in Australia’s hopes of winning the 2013 match.
A more arrogant player with less faith in his teammates might have tried to protect Ashton Agar from the strike, but Hughes backed his own experience and let Agar play his shots to get Aussie right back in to the 2013 test.
It was agony for England fans to watch the records tumble after fighting our own way back into the game with the ball, having faltered with the bat in the opening innings.
On the evening of the first day Darren Lehmann was out in his shorts and flip flops having a beer in the Castle pub.
The new open, laid back approach to cricket coaching. We gave him a bit of stick and he countered with some good banter and a photo oppo. Lovely bloke.
Evening two, and Ashton Agar was (un!) lucky enough to be eating with his family in the same restaurant as my rabble. He very shyly accepted our warm, tipsy (okay, drunken) wishes and congratulations for his 10th wicket heroics alongside Hughes.
But, with a twist in the tail, the Trent Bridge Test very nearly turned into the Edgbaston of the 2013 series.
I was worried at the close of day 4 and with another 30 added before a wicket on Day 5, it is was a proper Sir Alex Ferguson ‘squeaky bum time’. But a happy ending.
In ’05, England fans will remember Nottingham as the place where they really could start believing.
As Ponting walked from the pitch swearing at Duncan Fletcher’s chuckling frame up on the England balcony, and an elated England surrounded Gary Pratt after his wonder throw, England finally sensed they were going to get their noses in front for the first time in the greatest series. The crowd played a huge part in that win.
I look forward to the banter of the crowd walking across Trent Bridge, the fish and chips at lunch, the curries in the evening, reading the paper in the sun, and talking childish nonsense with a pint in my hand at 11am.
Trent Bridge 2015. Bring it on.
Will Jones has recently finished working the breakfast show at a radio station in the capitalist paradise of Monaco. A rubbish job, an addiction to cricket, and the prospect of an Ashes summer was too tempting.
Will is a ‘resting’ professional yachtsman, having raced and crossed oceans on legendary yachts such as Mariquita and Shenandoah of Sark, and intends to return to the high seas after watching his kids grow up.
He is also a retired ski bum and combined this with his first job on the radio. The Trent Bridge posse is made up of Val d’Isere stalwarts, a half dozen devotees of the world’s best ski resort, including Nottingham’s very own Jeff Allen, chairman of the Nottingham BID and MD off Castle Sound and Vision, who musters the oiks for the annual TB pilgrimage.