Words fail me as I try to describe my feelings about this loss.
Before it all began, I tried to be hopeful. Hopeful that we would fight and stand tall. And manage to bring back home this tiny little urn that means oh-so-much. The cynic in me pooh-poohed that idea. But then again, I thought the underdog status might do us good.
Alas! It wasn’t meant to be. The cynic turned out to be right.
Our Ashes hopes have crumbled to dust.
Just when we looked like we could get somewhere, we collapsed. Or made terrible decisions using the review system. Or had lady luck stick her middle finger in our face. Not even Captain Pup’s heroics could dispel the grey clouds and the rain it brought. The English truly know how to make their weather work for them.
It seems like no amount of bats, balls or any other piece of fancy technology is going to make this series better.
All I can be thankful about is that it’s not a whitewash.
Sure, we have our summer when we can try and redeem ourselves.
But I fear my ticket to Day 4 of the Sydney game is going to be in vain.
If that’s the case, I truly will be taking some cricket bats and chasing after our boys in green and gold.
Until next time,