(The Original)

Amateur Scribe

Aussies Go AWOL

“”Where the hell are they?” I wondered out loud as I nestled back down on the sofa in the early hours of this morning, scattering bits of newspaper and biscuit crumbs.

Moments earlier I had been moved to bounce up out of my seat with rare Tigger-esque energy as Jimmy Anderson sent Ryan Harris trudging back to the hutch for a tragically hilarious King Pair – the images of English jubilation beamed back from the famous Adelaide Oval hill no doubt mirrored in chilly living rooms across the frostbitten United Kingdom.

But then I noticed something was missing.

There was no vanquished foe. No ripped, bleach-blond surf-bum in an Aussie Rules vest slumped in quiet submission. No group of willowy, face-painted lovelies waving their Southern Crosses forlornly, as their beefcake beaus chewed cans of lager and chuntered at the pitiful collapse unfolding in front of them. No Australian supporters at all, in fact. Not one.

Granted, there was not much in it for them (short of the kind of gruesome car-crash entertainment provided by hopelessly mismatched opponents). No doubt most folk in the greater-Adelaide area have some sort of gainful employment: sheep-shearing, maybe… grape-picking – that kind of thing – but surely a few die-hards could have made the short, cut-price trip to the Oval for a bit of cricket on a Tuesday morning? Taken a punt on an unlikely comeback? Cheered on Hussey and Haddin and the gathering storm clouds? Forfeited work in favour of sitting in the sun drinking lager?? What the hell is wrong with these people???

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