SPECTATOR SPORT
Vae victoribus!
Simon Barnes
THE Zimbabwe cricket team must feel as if they have been torn apart by a ravening, howling, salivating pack of pugs and Pomera- nians, toy poodles and chihuahuas. England, who have only to meet a proper cricket team before they roll over on their backs to have their tummies tickled, seem to have turned into monsters of destructiveness. For years England have suffered from home disadvantage at Lord's: no sooner do they set foot in NW8 than the weight of his- torY frays the nerves, shatters the concen- tration and fills the heart with funk while the opposition, inspired by the stud- ied Pomp of the surroundings, lift their game to new and dizzy heights. But this time it was Zimbabwe, playing their first game there, who suffered from the Lord's Effect. Their two batting collapses Were so spinelessly dreadful that it reminded You of watching England; England's individ- ual and team performances were so pur- posefully confident that it reminded you of watching any other team in the world play- ing at Lord's against England. Certainly it was only Zimbabwe that Eng- land beat, but England have maintained for Years a policy of believing that banana skins Placed on the roads are for the express pur- poses of slipping up on. This was a com- pelling piece of role-reversal.
England occasionally have bowled well of late and then let their opponents off the hook. They have behaved like wolves: every time an opponent offered the throat, they have turned away their heads and refused to bite, inhibited by some ancient behavioural mechanism. But not this time. Zimbabwe offered the throat in surrender and England calmly, greedily snapped the jaws shut. It was only, I repeat, Zimbabwe, the weak- est of the nine Test-playing nations — a team whose players have enough troubles at home to make cricket seem appallingly triv- ial, and, to make things still tougher, a team forced to play during an English spring, in conditions that favour English bowlers. And Zimbabwe had their second-best bowler out injured, their wicket-keeper lost his confidence and spilled catches with touching generosity, and every iffy umpiring decision went England's way. Oh, the match might have been designed by the Fates to build up English cricket.
When the Fates do something like that, it is normally, as Bertie Wooster would say, because they are lying in wait behind the door with a blunt instrument. After another Test against Zimbabwe, England have five more against the West Indies — not the feared team of old, but certainly a more serious threat than Zimbabwe.
England have slipped up on the Zimbab- wean banana skin before. On their last visit there they drew two Tests and then lost the one-dayers, one of them thanks to an inspired performance from a poultry farmer called Chicken George.
We are all too world-weary to hail the dispatch of Zimbabwe as the New Dawn for English cricket. It is impossible to watch England play cricket without a protective carapace of cynicism. Athletes talk tedious- ly about taking each game as it comes; those who watch English cricket do the same thing, but in the sense that an alco- holic takes one day at a time. Without such self-protection, it would all be unbearable.
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