’Twas the summer of twenty-nineteen,
And a very big summer for cricket.
It’s the year of cricket’s World Cup –
And have you bought a ticket?
Well, I’ll tell you, we all had high hopes –
For a fine one-day team now had we;
And, despite a few shocks on the way,
We had gained a superb victory.
So, the white ball was one kind of game:
We’re good at big sixes and bases;
But how would we fare with the red?
The Aussies are here – it’s the Ashes!
Well, the Aussies had one called Steve Smith:
He was leaving our bowlers for dead;
Had plundered a shed-load of runs,
But then he got struck on the head.
He was out for the Headingley test,
And we really were wishing him well –
But, while he was having a rest,
We had better make quality tell.
The series we’re losing one-nil,
So Headingley was a big game:
If we were to lose it, we knew
The Ashes we could not reclaim.
The Aussies, they did not bat well;
They only made one-seven-nine.
The first day, so far as could tell,
The match was progressing just fine.
Now England are having to bat –
The pitch looked the best under heaven.
In no time at all – fancy that,
They had us for just SIXTY-SEVEN!
The Aussies extended their lead,
Their score rose to two-forty-six.
The target looks daunting indeed –
It looks like we’re in a right fix.
It’s certainly gonna be tough –
We must give it our all, do or die.
But, openers gone for fifteen,
Supporters are starting to cry.
But Denly and Root start to settle,
For they’re a right couple of joes,
Beginning to show them our mettle.
There’s plenty of time –so who knows?
Joe Denly did well for his fifty,
And Root for his seventy-five.
Now Bairstow is looking quite nifty,
To just keep our slim hopes alive.
Then just when we’re seriously thinking
There could be a victory shout
Three men, in a matter of blinking,
Have managed to get themselves out.
With almost a hundred to get
Three wickets are all that remain.
Ben Stokes is still out there – and yet
Our hopes might have gone down the drain.
Then Archer and Broad come and go –
It looks like the end is so near.
We’ve suffered now blow after blow –
There’s barely a sign of a cheer.
Our last batsman in is Jack Leach –
A great bowler he, in his prime.
But batting, their total to reach –
He surely is wasting his time.
We’re still needing seventy-three
With just the one wicket to fall.
It’s clear that there just has to be
One winner – that’s not us at all!
But Jack is a fighter, you know,
Already some history for that:
‘Gainst Ireland he gave it a go,
With ninety-two runs from his bat!
The ball hits the pads of the batsman.
“Not out,” says the umpire. “My view.”
“That’s plumb!” shout the Aussies, united.
Too bad – they have used their review.
Then Stokesy calls Leach for a quick one –
The fielder is ready for that.
“Go back!” shouts the star to the rookie:
Too late – he’s not grounded his bat.
The ball’s been returned by the fielder:
They’ve just got whip off the bails.
You wouldn’t believe it – Nathan Lyon
Has dropped it! His simple chance fails.
So Leach has to face the tight bowling:
TWO runs now to win, one to tie.
He strokes it well, down for a single,
Ben facing and he’s on a high.
The ball is directed towards him:
ONE run now to rescue the match,
To keep England’s hopes for the Ashes,
Alongside the World Cup’s big snatch.
The ball flies from bowler to batsman,
Who smashes it now with great power.
It sails in a flash to the boundary:
We’ve done it – our miracle hour!
The ground now erupts in emotion:
“Ben Stokes, you’re our hero!” they say.
“I’ll tell it one day to me grandson.
But he won’t believe me – NO WAY!”