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Where were you when England won the World Cup? Telegraph writers on how they watched the super over
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The first balls of New Zealand's innings were bowled as a group of us packed up to drive home the day after a wedding in Poole. This meant the majority of the drama was enjoyed in the car through BBC 5 Live's phenomenal coverage, during which I provided a bitesize guide on the England side to my fiancée, with the tension continuing to build before we returned home in time to watch the climax on TV. Any remnants of a hangover from the previous day's activities were soon obliterated during the super over. Cue lots of shouting and jumping. It was marvellous and capped off a cracking weekend.
I was pretty much welded to my sofa, with the television tuned to the cricket and my mobile phone streaming the Wimbledon men’s singles final. Towards the end of both, it became like watching an actual tennis match, my eyes flickering from one screen to the other so quickly that it was making me dizzy. By the time England miraculously managed to tie the cricket, I was already a jibbering wreck and could barely bring myself to watch the super over, which shredded whatever few nerves I had remaining.
The Cricket World Cup final fell on the weekend in between my stag do and my wedding, on the day after a party to celebrate my 30th birthday. Unsurprisingly, it felt like another hazy subplot of a euphoric summer and I will never forget watching the entire occasion alongside one of my two best men. A former teammate at Durham University – him an excellent left-arm spin-bowler, me a ropey wicketkeeper-batsman – he had come over from Thailand for the month.
My (now) wife, who hates cricket, granted us special permission to take over the living room and our emotions, no doubt more volatile for the hangover, lurched everywhere until we dissolved into tears as Jos Buttler broke the stumps.
I celebrated England’s Cricket World Cup win in the car with Jonathan Agnew, probably on the A59 somewhere between Liverpool and Yorkshire. In the distant days when July was the month of pre-season football friendlies, the final clashed with Liverpool’s second warm-up match at Bradford City’s Valley Parade.
So the BBC came to the rescue, although my guess is I was still writing about Adam Lallana adopting a ‘Jorginho-role’ in Liverpool’s 3-1 win as Ben Stokes guided England towards the super over. I was homeward bound and tuned into the BBC by the time Jason Roy’s throw was collected by Jos Buttler.
“I think he’s run out. England think he is run out. England are convinced,” ran Agnew’s commentary, the 2020 equivalent of ‘they think it’s all over’.
Being Irish, cricket is not exactly in my DNA. But also being Irish, I am very proud of the achievements my fellow country men and women, so without Ireland participating Cricket World Cup I invested all my fandom in captain Eoin Morgan as I felt I could I identify with him to some extent as a fellow Northside Dubliner who had made England his adopted home. Dublin being so small, I also used to see him on the bus on the way to school in the mid-2000s, so I definitely had an interest in the final!
I did have quite a big distraction that fateful day. I was covering the final of Wimbledon. Watching the epic between Novak Djokovic and Roger Federer, it was easy to identify the English members of the press corps in the cramped media benches at Centre Court because they had their phones propped up on their desks beaming tiny images of Lord's. I also noticed Prince William, who was sitting in the Royal Box at the opposite end of the arena, looking rather distracted and wondered if he was trying to sneak a peek at his phone at the cricket while his wife, the Duchess of Cambridge, only had eyes for Federer and eventual winner Djokovic.
The five-setter finished just in time for the super over which most of the journalists in “the English” section of the Wimbledon media centre watched. I had to ask two colleagues what exactly a super over was. Once England had triumphed, I got an email from the office to say the word count for my tennis piece had been slashed, so I could finally relax!
The collective groan underscored the feeling of deflation in my local village pub when the big screen went black just at the moment when England’s fate seemed to have been sealed.
A blip in the WiFi signal had interrupted the broadcast after the second dot ball in the final over of England’s innings, with Ben Stokes still requiring an improbable 15 runs for victory.
And yet, when the screen flickered back into life, even more improbably, the scoreline now showed England only needed three runs off two balls.
We might have missed the drama of two of the most unlikely successive sixes in world cricket, but as England took the match to the super over, no-one cared. And thankfully the signal, just like England's nerve, this time held to spark a night of celebrations.
I watched last year’s final on and behind my sofa with my wife Judy. There was a lot of whooping and hollering, I can tell you. Judy loves cricket as much as I do. Any tea or coffee orders during play are generally my responsibility while the cricket is on as Judy won’t budge. What a game it was. Judy and I were lucky enough to be at Headingley a few weeks later for that unforgettable Ashes test, too (although sadly not for the final day).
I was in a hot, sticky press room in Brioude, a small town in the Auvergne, for stage nine of the Tour de France. I remember I was trying to write my stage report (Daryl Impey won from the breakaway) while watching the Wimbledon final on my phone and the cricket on an iPad. My yelps must have sucked in a few puzzled interlopers because I found myself trying to explain a ‘super over’ to a German cycling journalist as Jos Buttler broke the stumps to run out Martin Guptill off the final ball.
