Test cricket in Sri Lanka may not always whet the appetite. However, the scenes are quite different when England are in town
Kanishkaa Balachandran in Colombo11-Dec-2007
England fans soak up the sun © Kanishkaa Balachandran
Take one look at the grass embankment on the foot of the giantscoreboard at the Sinhalese Sports Club in Colombo, you could beforgiven for thinking you were watching an Ashes Test at the AdelaideOval. The England flags dot the railing near the fence, the vocalcords are in full flow, the beer tent’s a constant hub of activity andsupporters brave the heat and humidity of Colombo with a sense ofpurpose. The only thing missing from an identical resemblance to theground in South Australia is a cathedral in the background.Watching Test cricket in Sri Lanka may not always whet the appetite -it’s often played to half-empty stands and a few crows. Dead silenceis the order of the day, at least for most of it, interrupted by theoccasional vociferous appeal and tunes from the local band. However,the scenes are quite different when England are in town. Supporterswalk around in packs and fill up the seats, the budget travellers parkthemselves on the grass and just have a raucous time. In the age ofdwindling audiences in Test cricket, an England visit is a godsend forthe local organisers.England cricket teams are rarely without home support, irrespective oftheir performance. The Barmy Army came to prominence during the1994-95 Ashes, and were so named because it seemed utter madness tofly halfway across the world to support a side that went on to bedrubbed 3-1 in the series. Times have changed, but the level ofsupport hasn’t. In fact it’s got bigger.For the legion of English fans, the cricket’s a great excuse to visitthis part of the world. The result barely matters. Brendon from Leeds,says: “Cricket is secondary. For us, it’s a holiday with cricket wovenin.”It’s only natural for spirits to sag, especially after England’s nasty5-0 hammering at the hands of Australia earlier this year. ButJonathan, another supporter who’s made his way from Yorkshire, puts ahumorous spin on it: “A bad day at the cricket is always better than abad day at the office.”There are a few oddities as well. Michael Vaughan and Alastair Cook’s133-run opening stand on the first day was devoid of the customarychants and cheers. Polite claps followed after every run and thedecibel levels increased, though only marginally, after every boundaryor sliding stop in the field. The first chants, rather ironically,came after England were in a spot of bother following Kevin Pietersen’sunfortunate dismissal.Pietersen’s spontaneous reaction only spurred them on, and the soundsemanated from all corners of the field for once. When asked about thereasons for the unusual silence in the morning, one fan blamed it onthe influence of alcohol from the previous night. It wasn’t exactlysurprising.The second day turns out to be livelier than the first and the standsfill out much quicker as well. England are bowled out for a mildlydisappointing 351, but suddenly, all’s well as Monty Panesar sprintstowards the boundary, takes his position in the deep, and earns a fewencouraging cheers for his efforts.The Barmy Army section at the opposite end from the embankment isabuzz as well after Ryan Sidebottom snares two early wickets. Thereare trumpet renditions of , the theme trackfrom the film and Bon Jovi’s hit .One supporter, wearing a rather hilarious combination of a stripedblazer, a and a straw hat to top it all, does the honoursserving the beer. After serving his clan, he reaches out to a group ofsecurity guards, who are laughing nervously at the prospect of bendingthe rules while on duty. They politely turn down his offer, but herefuses to give up: “C’mon lads. Nobody’s looking.” Unfortunately forthem, when England are in town, everyone’s watching.
