Summer fruits
FRANK KEATING
Summer came to an end in theatrically symbolic manner last weekend as the last rites of the cricket season were administered in (almost literally) pitch darkness when, with gallant rapture, two West Indian tail-end batsmen carried their side through the London gloaming to thrilling victory in the final of the ICC one-day competition at the Oval. England bristlingly fancy themselves at cricket suddenly, but this chastening served a timely reprimand for presumption though no jot of general harm, while victory will assuredly have done the world of good to West Indies cricket, which has been too long sickly and insecure. English cricket's place in the summer billings was severely challenged this year by rival show-stoppers. In the event it did pretty well to keep its end up. Next year, cricket must spiritually cash in on its centre-stage Ashes summer, free from clamorous international diversions of 2004: the Olympic Games, the European soccer championships or golfs Ryder Cup.
As the Caribbean pipes and drums were stilled at last and the dreamy autumn twilight dimmed to proper darkness over Kennington on Saturday, sporty bods were left to reflect on an exhausting, hooraying helter-skelter of four months since, well, Tim Henrnan almost won the French tennis title. Ah, Tim, almost but, of course, not quite. Other matters were more conclusive. The Olympic Games were a triumph for Athens and a rout for the mournful pessimists at the Daily Mail, who had forecast a calamity. Greece's Olympics captured the imagination of a vast army of armchair Brits like no other before — the time differences at the previous two Games in Sydney and Atlanta meant that the crucial live events were broadcast here in the dead of night. In jingojangly terms, it helped as well that the Brits came late with some unexpected Olympic winners — so much so that in the general acclaim for the unlikely victors the government found itself in another tizz and flannel about defending its abysmal record in continuing to sell off school playing fields. Education Secretary Charles Clarke fannied and blustered more than usual with his brag that last year. of 17 applications for selling schools' grounds, only nine had been granted. More than half: how can he be proud of such a heinous ratio?
As glistening preface to their Olympics spectacle the unfancied Greek team, skilfully and smartly for my money, won Europe's soccer championship — an event from which England, optimistic flames fanned to ludicrous proportions by its press and broadcasters, early and dolefully exited. To be sure, the seething moans about foreign referees only died down with further tabloid revelations about the strange sex lives of the side's two top dogs, tattoo freak and penalty-missing muggins Beckham and the barmily overpaid Swedish coach called Sven. Was that enjoyable pantsdown palaver the reason that flags of St George continued to flutter on the white vans of England? Or were they being kept permanently stiff at the mast for tennis's Tim who, while having by far his best summer, still didn't actually win a tournament — although he did inspire the letter of the summer to the Daily Telegraph from Brian Christley of Conwy-: 'Sir, Stop trying to change Henman. Gardeners realise they shouldn't pick raspberries till he loses in the French, nor their redcurrants till he exits Wimbledon, and so on.' At the Oval on Saturday, I enjoyed a first-pick Conference pear from the garden. Sweet succulence! Henman's Davis Cup defeat that very morning had decreed it perfect for harvesting.
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