Winners but still losers. OK?

For a while there last night I thought the season had come full circle and I was going to have to suffer another Cardiff, i.e. long-running spate of prime English hopelessness expunged by late rally pulled out of collective arse (there’s a headline for you). Which would have set a tone for the future that… oooh, how would you describe it, ah yes, thank you very much James Anderson, "flattered" the winners.

But a couple of good wobbles in England's chase were a sufficiently convincing imitation of themselves to serve as a cautionary note to would-be amnesiacs.

I am getting a little concerned that meringue-based Continental biscuits are causing problems rather than solving - or salving - them. Nevertheless, I give you the James Hopes Memorial Brutti Ma Buoni biscuits:

(One of those wee figures on the screen is indeed Hopes)

Yes, it was pretty civilised here last night. Or that's my story as long as teapot mike is turned down.

Yes, but where's the biscuit?

I am not at all above one-day cricket, one of my most treasured possessions is my videotape of the whole 2nd innings of the second semi-final of Australia vs. South Africa in the 1999 World Cup, with which I have lured more than one unsuspecting (or suspecting, I suspect) male into my salon, and inflicted it on several nonplussed friends as I walked and talked them through the many highlights — Warney’s Gattingesque ball to Herschelle and hyperventilation after 3 quick wickets to bring Australia back into the game and himself back to cricket, the hair-raising last few overs with Reiffel piffing a boundary catch over the rope for a terrible 6, several near-run outs and of course Fleming’s dry-mouth last over and ten-pin underarm strike while Klusener and Donald’s brains exploded like fireworks and Hansie loomed in the back of the South African viewing area like Darth Vader.

What a night THAT was... but this week, Life got in the way of seeing any of the first match on Friday and Work has been pressing ever since, though the latter did mean I was up to see all of the second match out of the corner of my eye.

It’s true there now seems something a bit ungainly about the one-day form: neither the slow-down-your-biorythms-we’re-in-for-the-long-haul commitment of the Test nor the fasten-your-seat-belts-it's-going-to-be-a-bumpy-night hoo-ha of 20/20, it’s not “just right” à la Goldilocks but rather... oh, I don’t know, à la Hamlet. I won’t write it off just yet. I hate doing what everyone else is doing and everything cricket is obviously clouded by post-Ashes loss ennui.

I missed the old SBS panel and seeing the commentators at the ground, and I couldn’t pick the voice of the Australian in the box... a little bit Taylorish, but not.* I loved watching Johnson bat and I am waiting for Hopes to do something splendid so I can pronounce him brutti ma buoni and whip up a batch of the Italian biscuits of the same name. May as well continue a theme.

* It's Nostril Boy Mark Waugh, isn't it?