Prelude
Dubai International Airport, while ultimately remaining little more than a ludicrous expression of commodity capitalism gone stark-raving bonkers, is undeniably a very comfortable place to kill a few hours between flights.
There are mini-lounges near every gate with enough readily accessible plug points to satisfy any number of bloggers; the coffee comes in cups large enough to bathe a small puppy in; and I even managed to find that great boon to every Bill Bryson-influenced wannabe writer: a domestic newspaper from my destination country (glossing over the fact that it was the Murdoch-owned Australian).
Among the topics exercising said august publication’s finest minds on this particular day were doping in the AFL, a higher education bill that is being seen as a quasi-referendum on the Abbott government, and, most intriguingly, the impending closure of a golf course with its very own animatronic dinosaurs.
And now on to the good bit…
The day comes quickly to Melbourne - dawn in these parts is clearly swift-footed as well as rosy-fingered - but the traffic comes even more so. Our taxi driver from the airport informed us that rush hour starts at 5:30am, a sufficiently early hour to make even the most hardened Londoner wince.
But when the madness dies down a little, and the pinks give way to the brilliant blues that commonly define the Australian sky (although sadly, this being a city notorious for having four seasons in one day, a sort of steely grey was more in evidence today), the endearingly eclectic architecture of the place really comes into its own.
The wide, tree-lined streets cut in half by trams, and often on steep inclines, are reminiscent of San Francisco, while the most eye-catching buildings that are not generic glass and concrete skyscrapers have a definite antebellum colonial feel to them, right down to the dusty red hue and slight illusion of a forward lean.It's almost as though they were bits of cardboard scenery from a school staging of the courthouse scene from To Kill A Mockingbird. Although it is hard, and actually a little disconcerting, to imagine Atticus Finch speaking in an Australian accent.
Our hotel room looks directly over the MCG, with scenic foregrounding provided by Yarra Park, the river of the same name and the train line leading in and out of Jolimont station. The great colosseum of Australian sport is a daunting sight up close, and the kind of suspended animation of a great arena before a big game is very much in evidence.
Melbourne, unlike say Mumbai, has managed to absorb the World Cup without completely losing its mind, but there are still plenty of taxi drivers, baristas and shop assistants paying just that little bit more attention to customers who can provide news and score updates.
Cricket giveth, and cricket taketh away
The less said about the actual game the better, but Sri Lanka’s quarter-final capitulation to South Africa at the SCG deserves a mention if only because it marks the passing of what might be termed their Silver Generation: a trio of supremely accomplished and respected cricketers whose careers will now forever lack the crowning glory afforded to the 1996 team.
Mahela Jayawardene has now played his last deft late cut, his last surprisingly powerful flick through square leg, his last magnificent innings that you don’t notice until he’s reached 45, on the international stage. Tillakaratne Dilshan has made no final announcement, but he has been gone from the Test stage for a few years already, and surely this is the last 50-over World Cup for the innovative and seemingly ageless street-fighter.
And speaking of ageless…of all Kumar Sangakkara’s long list of achievements, the fact that the end of his international career at the age of 37 is seen by many as premature ranks amongst the greatest. Those of us based in England will see the latter pair grace the County Ground and the Oval respectively for at least one more year, but how Sri Lanka get through the short-to-medium term will be worth keeping an eye on.
And finally - good England news shock! The return of Jonathan Trott, for whom I have expressed my admiration more than once in blog form, to the Test setup should be cause for all right-thinking sports fans to break out the bunting, champagne and novelty pastries in celebration. There are some other intriguing selections for the spring tour of the Caribbean, in particular Durham’s Mark Wood and the Yorkshire pair of Adil Rashid and Adam Lyth, but Trott’s comeback is about so much more than cricket - for one thing, his Guerilla Cricket jingle is fantastic. Go well, Trotty.
Next time: India v Bangladesh from the MCG, more Melburnian meanderings, and preparing for Wellington.