The Battle of Freddie's Knee
They say these two Test matches are back-to-back. Or two on the ? Well they're not exactly are they? There's three days in between for Gawd's sake.
That's three days to ferry the Northern half of over to pack around Freddie's knee (in all the build-up, I can't tell whether the match is being held at or Freddie Knee).
Three days to conjure up some climate shaman from West Leeds to summon up dank, muggy, all-encompassing clouds for the Australian innings.
Three days to squirt Savlon onto Harmy's toe, force Michael Clarke to stretch up high for things just out of reach so that his abdominal strain pings a little harder and to pray that and offline (in short, to pray that he comes back as Mitchell Johnson).
Most importantly of all it's 72 hours to indulge in feverish speculation as to the team for Headingley.
says without cloud cover it's a batsman's beanfeast at Headingley.
Given what we've seen from our lads so far, we ain't got a thing if we ain't got that swing.
Teams from other countries seem to have learnt some other arts to their bowling - changes of pace, off-cutters, scrambled seams, etc - whereas our lads scurry up, land it on the strip and hope for the conditions to take over.
Don't get me wrong, when God has provided well and gift-wrapped a Test ground under a dense fug of cotton-wool cloud, there's nowt better than Jimmy and Onions.
The sun peeps through, or a cool wind blows and it's the equivalent of sticking the England attack head first into a welly boot and attacking the free end with some sharp scissors.
There may well be a burst from Fred left in the series, and if Swanny gets it right a bit more consistently he could do real damage. But the first name on the selectors' teamsheet on Friday will be Cloud Cover.
The second one'll be , and if he's not fit - well let's face it he's NOT fit is he?
Apart from , that 74's the best one-legged innings you'll see - but if they decide he's too unfit, then you've got a probable Strauss, Cook, Bopara, Bell, Collingwood, Trott, Prior, Swann, Anderson, Harmison, Onions.
If the scaffolding company say that mighty Fred is fit for purpose, then you'll have Strauss, Cook, Bopara, Bell, Colly, Prior, Flintoff, Swann, Anderson, Sidebottom, Onions.
Harmison's obviously in good nick - although ain't it just typical that the big stubbly streak of you-know gets a few blisters just as his time's arriving. Even given the lad's form, it still feels like a risk picking him.
Is the tall imposing throat-basher going to show up, or will it be the one who has all the slips and gullies calling for helmets?
Then again, you've got the pro-Broad lobby - strangely loaded with otherwise indifferent females - who reckon that the lad's getting his confidence back and his batting's invaluable.
And there's folk like meself who've been impressed with this new boy's swagger already.
I'm slightly concerned that every time the selectors need a cocky so-and-so they run their fingers down the place-of-birth column and if it says South Africa, you're in.
But Trott's exactly what Ian Bell always looks like he's suffering from when he's out there - he just does not dominate. Even when he's acknowledging a 50, he looks like a shy little turtle under that helmet.
He'll be another Ramps if he's not careful. I say get the fella into Strictly Come Dancing quick smart and see if he can't learn to strut his stuff a bit more.
As for Bopara, well he makes look ferociously concentrated.
The lad's got more talent than any other player in the England batting line-up but he has the concentration span of a goldfish (and he catches like one and all).
I'd have Trott in instead of one of them, regardless. Play both of them only if Fred's having a rest.
Of course this is not the time to walk into the Blue Bell as its new Australian barmaid. But that's what Sheila's done this week (all right, her name is Carly, but that's harder to remember).
Every time the poor lass slops a pint it's an "ooh, dear, another poor delivery there from Johnson".
The first (and only) time she dropped a couple of pint-pots there was a Benaudesque holler of "Put him down!".
Every time she has a little stumble behind the bar, someone pops up with "that's where you want these Aussies, in the corridor of uncertainty".
She's borne it all with great dignity and managed to feign sympathy throughout Monday when England's bowlers were about as threatening as watery sunshine. "Still no one out?" she cooed every 10 minutes. "Never mind."
You might say the same about the nemesis himself, Mr Ponting.
The boo-boys are getting a bit tedious but Ricky's been ignoring the booze for ages, hasn't he? It all adds to the pantomime I suppose. And he's doing well, and getting loads more respect, by rising above it.
Warney did the same four years ago and won .
We just love a brave loser on this side of the world. Funny how he never got a sniff of the same award in 2007 eh?
Flintoff could be well on the way to winning it again this year. You can see him tottering out of his oxygen tent and into his wheelchair before being lifted onto his crutches so he can tonk the Ashes-winning boundary at The Oval, the way things are going.
Then again, when you have to pick 14 players in order to accommodate the vagaries of his knee, maybe, and whisper this quietly, just maybe it's time for Fred to spend a week with the physio and leave the well people to get on with it.
I'm Derek Robson. People call me Robbo. Legend has it I was raised in the furnace and smog of Teesside. Some might say I took the hard road. I like to tell folk I had trials for Middlesbrough, for Hartlepool and for burglary (not guilty). I've always loved sport. My job is to say it as I see it - whether it's in the bar of the Blue Bell or on this blog. You won't find me calling a spade a soil-redistribution implement.
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