Another sporting weekend for De Scribe, another chance to enjoy the summer, revel in the buzz of top class action, savor the roar of the crowd and the passion of the occasion.

Except that this weekend we weren’t walking down Jones’ Road, joining the throngs on the pilgrimage to Croker. No, this weekend was different. Edgbaston, Birmingham was the venue, cricket was the game.

Yes, cricket, that most quintessentially English of pursuits, evoking images of Sunday afternoons spent on the village green watching the local village team. ‘Arrr yes, lovely day for it sir’.

Well no, this is not what the Ashes is about. Forget any misconceptions that you may have held that this was just a kindly, polite game of Rounders followed by some quiet drinks in the clubhouse after. This is top class sport…and more.

De Scribe has an interest in most sports, follows them closely, finds it compelling the way that sport reveals so much about the human character. At it highest level, it has the ability to inspire nations, instill pride, in some cases start wars. The sporting seasons offer a multitude of events to follow. The GAA season, followed by the soccer season, throw in the rugby, summer is back and you have the World Cup/Olympics/European Championships/Tour de France. But cricket?! Never registered, save for watching the snippets available on Sky News, reading a few reports in the newspapers and generally paying it little or no attention. That was it, nothing else. Didn’t bother us, never really gripped us. We were aware that Ireland had qualified for their first World Cup (West Indies ‘07 here we come) and that the main cricket event of the summer was the Ashes series. But we left it at that.

Until an Aussie, over here for a year, enjoying the delights of our fair isle, brought up the topic of this contest between the English and Australia. De Scribe had just finished extolling the virtues of hurling, how it was our national sport and epitomised all that was best about our culture when our Aussie friend piped up and mentioned that the Ashes were coming up, Test match cricket was where it was at, and explained the intricacies of the game to his Irish audience. De Scribe, being a keen sports fan, decided why not, open the mind and see what seeps in.

So to the weekend. Edgbaston, in Birmingham, was the venue for the second Test. The place was buzzing Saturday morning, third day of the contest. The thing with cricket is that they start their games early – try 10:30. Imagine an All-Ireland final starting at that time…wouldn’t work. The ground was quaint in parts, oval shaped, it lacked the modernity of Croke Park, but possessed charm, and held the atmosphere well. De Scribe took his position, just before the start of play, wondering what he had let himself in for.

First ball, and to the uninitiated nothing happened. Bowl, no strike, and you’d be forgiven for wondering what was going on here. It’s only when you get to know the rules, the details, the tactics, that it becomes clear. This is a game of chess…

Drink. Forget any illusions that the village green scenario of families quietly and politely sitting on the grass, serenely supporting the chaps, exists in Test cricket. The crowd started drinking at the start of play…and drank…and drank. As the day progressed the atmosphere improved, fuelled by the alcohol in their systems the crowd began their sledging. Shane Warne was asked ‘Where’s your missus gone?’ by the ‘Barmy Army’. Gillespie, complete with gypsy like appearance, was quizzed with ‘Where’s your caravan?’ Fielders positioned near the spectators at the boundaries were getting the mickey taken out of them – and giving it back. Towards the end of play the police had to intervene to prevent an altercation in the crowd from escalating. It was far from the village green.

The wickets began to fall as the day progressed. England finished their innings, setting the Australians a target. Surrounded by Aussies, and hearing the stick that they were receiving from the English, De Scribe was leaning toward the men from Down Under. Then it started. The English taking wickets, the Aussies facing a gargantuan task to pull it out of the fire. England decided to extend play for an extra half an hour to see if they could finish the job off there and then. It was gripping stuff.

Watching this, as a cricket virgin, De Scribe realised that he was seeing top class sport at its best. The intensity, the atmosphere – it was all there. England trying valiantly to bowl their Antipodean cousins out, the Aussies gamely hanging on. It may not have had the man to man, physically close contests that Gaelic Games have; rather it was more subtle, but no less compelling. It all added up to produce a mix of skill, brain and bravery. Facing a cricket ball, reaching speeds of up to 90 mph, is no joke. The sledging, which apparently the Aussies have down to perfection, is designed to get inside the head of your opponent. A walk in the park it is not.

By the time play had closed just after 6:00 the players and crowd were spent. It had been thrilling, lively, exciting. Apparently it had been one of the best days of cricket witnessed in a long time. We were lucky.

Watching the final day of play on Sunday in his hotel room, with Australia losing by just two runs, De Scribe was struck by a thought. If we had no hurlers, we would probably be one of the top cricketing nations in the world. Hand and eye coordination, fielding, skill. We have it all.

Next week? When the third Test is approaching its fourth day of play in Manchester, De Scribe will be back on more familiar ground, watching the Banner trying to get the Rebels all out. If it proves half as exciting as Edgbaston we will be doing well. From the Ashes to the clash of the ash – it’s all sport.