I SEE that in an early Christmas present for headline writers, the increasingly desperate Australian cricket team has resorted to Beer for the forthcoming third test against England.
Michael Beer, that is, a left-arm spinner whose specialist knowledge of the venue (the WACA in Perth) will, selectors hope, be an advantage. One could even say – and I apologise in advance for doing so – that he’s been draughted in specially.
In a move they insist is unrelated, the Australians have dropped Bollinger (Doug, the left-arm fast bowler). Apparently, Bollinger was a bit flat in Adelaide when England humiliated the home team.
And although Beer is not a direct replacement, there is an undeniable logic to the theory that the two would not go well together. In any case, it looks like the Aussies are going back to what they know best. Indeed, media reports about the squad yesterday made for one of those rare occasions when you hear the words “Beer”, “Australians”, and “surprise selection” in the same sentence.
I spent a few months living in Perth once, in the process developing a specialist knowledge of the local brew, which is called – after the local river – “Swan”. Now that Beer has been named for Australia, therefore, the presence on the English team of a “Swann” (Graeme) can but add to the entertainment. Perhaps the only safe prediction is that one of the sides will end up with a hangover.
Cricket seems to be especially blessed with this sort of thing. Leaving alcohol aside for a moment, there was also an amusing incident at Adelaide when one of the Australian players was “run out” by “Trott”. And the commentary at such moments is one of the many reasons I love listening to cricket on the radio.
Despite not caring which team wins, I especially enjoy it when the Ashes series is held in Australia. Then I can go to bed at night with the radio on, down low, and enjoy the soothing commentary from the other side of the planet where, by then, it’s always summer.
Occasionally one will be woken during the night, by the fall of a wicket or some other drama. And this can be pleasurable too: especially when, as happened recently, the commentary from sunny Brisbane was counterpointed by the sound of hailstone and thunder lashing my bedroom window.
Of course, cricket commentary can be enjoyed when one is fully awake too, even if it doesn’t always reach the heights of the line attributed to the late Brian Johnston during a match in which England’s Peter Willey faced the bowling of the West Indies’ Michael Holding.
Among other things, his alleged words “we welcome World Service listeners to the Oval, where the bowler’s Holding, the batsman’s Willey”, have bequeathed an invaluable lesson to student journalists about the importance of commas. It would be too much to hope for something that memorable in Perth. But even so. Between the Swanns and the Beers, and the Runs and the Trotts, it should be interesting.
STILL ONfunny surnames, readers have been offering additional insights on the story of John Jinks, the Sligo TD whose disappearance from the Dáil during a crucial vote in 1927 saved the government.
The popular version, as we have noted (Diary, December 9th), attributes his absence at least partly to a long liquid lunch he enjoyed in the company of friends including the then Irish Times editor, RM Smyllie (who, if the story is true, can be said to have dined for Ireland).
But Marcus Donaghy suggests that, in the words of another politician of that era, “‘Twas Jasper and not Jinks, saved the Irish Nation”. The reference is to Jasper Wolfe, an independent TD for West Cork who, it is said, played a key role in forcing Jinks’s abstention via a speech on the no-confidence motion.
Had it succeeded, the motion would have resulted in the formation of an alternative government, including the Labour leader Thomas Johnson, who was English by birth. But Wolfe, who as Marcus says was a man of many parts – “ex crown solicitor, Protestant home-ruler, fugitive from the IRA, counsel for the IRA, Independent TD and Methodist bon vivant” spoke powerfully against the opportunism of the move, and in doing so scared Jinks out of the anti-Government lobby.
That at least is the theory, which has been advanced, persuasively, I’m told, in a book called Jasper Wolfe of Skibbereen, written by a descendant of its subject, Jasper Ungoed-Thomas.
On a somewhat more tangential note – closer to Brian Johnston than to Johnson – Sligo man Declan Foley has also written with some local lore about Jinks.
It appears that, like many politicians before and since, Jinks owned a pub. He was also in the practice, common then, of hiring a band to parade through the town before rallies. So that, at one such event, he hired the Manorhamilton Fife Drum Band; and afterwards, naturally, treated them to drinks on the house.
Unfortunately, some people took advantage of the offer, or so his wife thought. After serving several rounds for the musicians, Mrs Jinks became suspicious about their numbers. Whereupon she shouted: “No more free drink for any man unless he has his flute in his hand.” The sequel to this event is not recorded, but one can only hope the poor woman’s innocence was not further disabused.