Farewell

Time to say good-bye, I'm afraid.

The Big Ashes are finished, won by England as we thought they might be, even though the margin was not the 3-1 I too optimistically forecast.

The Baby Ashes are over too, won by Australia with extraordinary elan considering that they had just been knocked off their perch at the top of the world rankings as well as losing the Ashes.

Those Aussies have no worries, as I am sure they have said to themselves. Any side that can rise from defeat with a smile and a straight bat, forgetting their captain for the first four matches while he was back home to win as convincingly as they did in the one-day series can do anything.

Did you hear any complaints about tiredness? Did they, by word or deed, suggest that a seven-match one-day tournament just before the Champions Trophy was a step too far? Did they ever complain about anything?

I bet they did but it was always in the privacy of their own team room. By the end I was a convert.

Now it is England who have to put things right. I suspect they need a new coach, a new captain; a cure for Kevin Pietersen's knee and support for his spectacular batting from someone like Jonathon Trott; a new wicket-keeper, although I admire the work Matthew Prior has done to improve his glove work; another spinner to help Graeme Swann; a new Andrew Flintoff.

Freddie is still not properly appreciated. Two writers in particular are vying to do him down, to imply motives he never had, to suggest money is his only motive. And what if it is?

He has stretched body and soul to breaking point for England and decided that now it is time for a little me time. Why not?

I suspect there is an element of snobbishness in this damnation of Freddie from men whose only danger is choking on their silver birth spoon. I know who I would rather have in my team; the man with the courage to buck the conservative trend.

Good luck, Freddie, for you have chosen a difficult and dangerous path. I hope it is a success for you and for those many who will follow.