Don't Dream. It's Over.

I've just about recovered from the trauma of waking up this morning to discover that England had lost the Second Test after batting so well a few days ago. I'm told that no team has ever lost a match after declaring on as many runs as we had.

This is the kind of defeat that gives you nightmares. Nightmares featuring 12 foot tall Aussie players bowling balls of fire along a pitch made of cobble stones whilst the poor English batsman defends his stumps with a rubber chicken. And that's just the fans, how must the players be feeling? They've just suffered the greatest psychological injury since Brad Pitt's character opened that box in Se7en and found his wife's head. You don't recover from that kind of thing quickly. It takes years of counselling from highly qualified practioners. Friends must rally round and be prepared to face anguished screams and wailing at all times of the day and night. A descent into drink or drug abuse is wholly understandable, the oblivion that follows being far preferable to remaining lucid and having to face those terrible memories. I imagine the Brad character suffered a bit too.

So, what now? Our players wander through the remaining tests in a daze, relying on instinct to guide them as even simple tasks now become a struggle. The Aussies might even let us win the last test but I doubt it. They have a ruthless streak that no English sporting team can ever have. Maybe in about 15 years time we might win The Ashes again. But not before.



Onto happier news. John Bolton resigned from his post as US ambassador to the United Nations today. The Democrat hold on both houses of congress has seen Something Good happen, that's for sure. This man should no more be an ambassador to the UN than Dracula be ambassador to this organisation. Good riddance.