My day began early - as gates opened at the SCG at 8.30, I'd need to be there in plenty of time to get into the queue in order to get good seats. And I did - in the Barmy Army section, right near the front of the stand. Don't believe me? Here's some proof...
The arrow and circle, if you haven't already worked it out, are pointing towards me. That's when the England team all raced into the crowd - literally yards away from where I was sitting. Apparently I got into the Telegraph today; I haven't seen the picture but I'm guessing it's when I was there.
The SCG had a party atmosphere, with songs, dances and all sorts, and as the wickets fell this only increased. I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to the bloke who sat next to me in flip flops, as when Jimmy Anderson took the catch to take Peter Siddle, I jumped up and down repeatedly on his foot. Sorry. Every England player got a song and a request to "give us a wave", and there was special status for Paul Collingwood, who retired after the game.
But after not too long, the urn was back in English hands (again), and paraded around the pitch by the triumphant players. Andrew Strauss, not known for his outlandish behaviour, suddenly dove into the crowd right next to where I was (hence that picture) and the rest of the team joined in. Great stuff boys.
While the team went back to celebrate in their dressing room, everyone else went their separate ways. The match had ended at 11.57, too early even for the hardy Barmy Army to start celebrating properly. I got the buses back to Balmain, and sat in the empty house. It was weird being alone on a day like that, as most other people had a few friends who they could go and have a couple of drinks and celebrate with. I was on my own, in a neighbourhood far from the celebrations, with no one else for company.
The official Barmy Army end of tour party was to be held at the Retro club in the middle of Sydney that evening. While I wanted to go at the beginning of the day, the long time spent on my own had made me think. I don't know anyone. What if it's no good. What if I'm just sitting there on my own in the corner. Reasons stopping me going clouded my head all day. Excuses would start forming - it looks like it's going to rain. I shouldn't go. It might be difficult to get home after. I shouldn't go. I need to get up early to tidy the house. I shouldn't go.
However, I got the bus to central Syndey anyway, with the thought that I could just wander around Sydney for a bit and then come home. I didn't look up directions to the club, almost to try and stop myself from going. At least if I went to Sydney, wandered around, declared myself unable to find it and came home, I could tell everyone that I at least tried. So after wandering around aimlessly for a while, I succumbed, and got out Google Maps on my phone and looked it up. I told myself that if I got there and it didn't look very nice, I'd keep walking. I got there. It didn't look very nice. I realised that this is a once in a lifetime thing to win the Ashes in Sydney and be able to celebrate it. I walked in.
What happened after walking in was a bit of a blur. I remember the drinks being very expensive, but they certainly got their money's worth from the Barmy Army. It was packed full of everyone; every type of cricket fan - every type of person. There were four floors in Retro - first floor a quiet bar, the second a loud noisy one with people singing, as well as the main club, the third a 70's/80's club, and the fourth a VIP floor. Only those with blue wristbands would be allowed into the VIP section. I assumed this would just be for the elite members of the Barmy Army and a few of their friends. Nothing too exciting.
While I thought that I'd just be sitting quietly in the corner, I wasn't. I was singing along with every song in the loud bar, and dancing in the main club. It's weird going to a club on your own - my only other experience has been with friends, so you're able to dance, chat and stay with them. Here I had noone - I had to go out and make friends. My plan was to find really drunk people, and get involved with them. And it worked. I had a brilliant time.
At some point during the evening, the DJ announced that the England team were in the building. A few whispers went around, nobody knew what was going on. Then everyone remembered - the VIP section. The England team were in the VIP section? A mad rush for the stairs. Everyone tried to blag their way in. Sorry, no blue wristband, no entry. "But I'm Eoin Morgan's cousin, he's got my wristband in there for me, just let me in and I'll get it off him". Sorry, no blue wristband, no entry.
Later on, Steve Finn came down to see the Barmy Army, who had now congregated quite a few people in the loud noisy bar. I've met Finny a couple of times, and I vaguely hoped he'd recognise me. (Alcohol was playing a large role in my decision making at this stage). Already mobbed by fans, I pushed my way through the throng of people to get to Finny. There was so much I wanted to say to Finny. I wanted to say that I've been working for Middlesex this year on work experience. I wanted to say that we'd met up at T20 finals day, and we'd chatted about my impending role as Pinky the Panther. I wanted to say that we'd met up again, at Fletch's birthday party, where we'd talked about our earlier meetings. I wanted to say all of that. What I actually did was throw my arms around him and shout "Wheeeey Finny!". He sort of returned the compliment with the least passionate hug ever. I don't think he remembered me.
While everyone crowded around Finny, standing nearby was someone who hadn't got any attention, but I recognised as well. It was Sam Robson, the young Middlesex batsman. Acting with more dignity, I went to him, shook his hand, and we had a small chat. I think he was quite pleased and surprised that someone had recognised him! He'd got into the England VIP party by means of being best mates with Finny. I asked if he could get me in, he laughed (I don't know why, I was deadly serious) and we shook hands before he returned with Finny to the exclusive bash.
Much sprinkling was done, as well as raucous singing. People (for some reason) thought I looked like Jimmy Anderson, so kept pointing at me and singing his song. People also kept requesting me to sprinkle (as I'd shown great sprinkling technique), so I probably sprinkled to pretty much every song of the night.
All the way through the evening there were people taking pictures. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but after a quick google this morning, I found they were press photographers. I'd been papped! Here's the article with some of the pictures - and the weird thing is that they only took pictures of the drunkest people. The people I'd been dancing with all evening! My favourite was the guy in the Dennis the Menace shirt and the flag, as he kept hi-fiving me, and we shouted "Come on England!" at each other. Also pictured is the bloke with the whiteboard who kept writing slogans on his board. I have numerous pictures of me with him on my phone. It feels weird that a party I went to, and people I spent the night with, were papped and it was felt newsworthy!
Anyway, this is the article about it all.
At some point in the evening, I stumbled out of the club, fell into a taxi, and somehow arrived back home. I'm going to need to wrap this up quickly, as I have a plane to catch soon and this blog's taken longer than first thought! I'm off to Tasmania now, which I'm looking forward to; but I'm going to miss Sydney. The week I've spent here has been one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and I'll certainly be back!
Until then, "We are the army, the Barmy Army...."
Will
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