Cricket in a new light.

I've not played cricket since September. I've not really thought a great deal about it since then. I've not even watched any cricket since then. On Thursday morning, I woke up to the news of Phil Hughes' death. I didn't see it coming, even though I'd read that he was in a critical condition. You just don't think that someone will actually lose their life playing cricket, a thing that has no association with death.

Since Thursday morning, I've spent a majority of my time watching cricket. I've been thinking about the one thing that me and Phil Hughes have in common: a deep love for the game. I don't even know if this is the correct response to his death. But even in the depths of winter, it suddenly seems so poignant that I should enjoy and experience, what is for me personally, beautiful: cricket. 

I've watched Brian Lara's 400 against England, an innings crafted, for the viewer, like a Rembrant painting. I do not apologise for hyperbole in this case.

I've ordered the Ashes 2013 DVD, so that I can re-watch Phil Hughes' final Test 50 at Trent Bridge, something which I had the exceptional privilege to watch first time in the flesh.

I've even watched the highlights of Brendon McCullum's 153 against Pakistan yesterday. Whilst this is an exceptional cricketing feat, I don't exaggerate when I say I really don't watch anything.

During this time, I've been thinking about the utter sadness that has surrounded Phil Hughes' death. It is a travesty that he has died, aged 25. I've also been contemplating how wonderful the cricket community is. It is truly "universal", in the sense that nearly every cricketing fan and player, from every single cricketing nation will have been touched by this in some way. It is a community in moments like this, thankfully, rare as they are. 

You might think that given mine and others sadness, the last thing I would want to watch would be cricket. Yet for some reason, through all of this, where I am finding hope in a young man's death, is through a sense of a mutual understanding with that person - through mine and his love of  cricket - as I recognise, perhaps for the first time properly, what a remarkable sport it is.

I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains. - Anne Frank

The Liechtenstein Manifesto

I'm going to be honest with you, dear reader. This is an unabashed, unashamed, entirely cheeky, rather forthright plug. A recruitment drive, if you will. You see, I've had it up to here *points to forehead* with being an army of one. We've entered an age of multi-culturalism, pluralism – the destruction of the nation-state and of increasing globalisation. So in a sense, what I'm about to propose to you is really just good old progressive thinking in line with all that. What I'm saying involves what some might regard a bit of a de-sacralisation of a way of life. But I'm willing to offend strong feelings for this cause. So here goes:

 I want you to renounce your patriotism to England.

Specifically, I want you – and I recognise this may cause you to close down this tab – to renounce your support of the Three Lions, the English national football team.  Take a deep breath.  I think I can provide a sustainable alternative, a realistic international footballing reality. I'm not talking about video games, this is very real. I'm not even being one of those knobby people who supports Germany/Spain/Real Madrid/”Barca” because they play “great tika-taka, rah” and "Xavi is just amaze". If that is hipster-ish and annoying, my proposal is original, if somewhat masochistic.

I want you to join me, in my army of one. I want you to become an English-speaking supporter of the Liechtenstein national football team. I've come to something of a Socratic revelation. It was ponderous, treacherous and disheartening at times. I've realised that Robert Frost was referring analogously  to his support of the ‘Stein in his poem “The Road Not Taken”. It says of the two roads (England and Liechtenstein):

“I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

A genuine Liechtenstein away following: in its entirety. 

It has made all of the difference. You see, as an England supporter, I would have to watch us beat (to take a recent example) Estonia 1-0, with a late Rooney free-kick. I’d hate the game. It was boring - England had many chances, though they struggled with a spirited Estonian showing. England snuck past them, underachieving, somewhat desperate, and perhaps worst of all: dispassionate. 

Here’s where the Frost quote comes in.

On Saturday evening, I watched Liechtenstein win 1-0 against Moldova. Now, this game primarily consisted of no real chances, dangerous chances at any rate, for either team. The game was settled by a (genuinely) wonderful free-kick, scored by one of Liechtenstein’s greatest players, and the Stein’s second top goal-scorer, former Darlington midfielder, Franz Burgmeier. Liechtenstein barely had a shot on target. They had 29% of the possession. Yet they gave an impassioned, fighting, characteristic performance. Not only that – I loved it! I've watched most of the games since 2013, and it is the first competitive away win I've seen the tiny Alpine nation record – it was the first away victory in their European Championships Qualification history. To have followed their journey in development, in their increasing organisation – to this seemingly minuscule pinnacle – was undoubtedly more entertaining, more intimate, and more exciting than watching the bores at Wembley, feeling rubbish.

That’s the beauty of supporting Liechtenstein – you expect them to be properly crap, not just England, slipping-past-Andorra-with-a-team-of-Premier-League-players “crap”. When Liechtenstein over achieve in the slightest, it’s monumental. The England team don’t overachieve, so it’s irrelevant. With Liechtenstein, I can guarantee you a surprising positive result at least once a year, especially under current form. I can’t even remember the last time England did better than expected. Beating Germany 5-1 in 2001?

I suppose that underlines my point – Liechtenstein aren't even like San Marino. They actually do the odd interesting thing relatively frequently; they’re beyond mere whipping boys. It’s amazing how fun watching a team defend for their lives against Sweden can be (2-0 to the Swedes). Even the individual flashes of brilliance are there - and are ten times more enjoyable than a Raheem Sterling run, assuming he’s not too tired, even for that. I experience pure surges of joy at the moment – for the most recent addition to the squad, Dennis Salanovic. He’s the first Liechtenstein player in recent history to have the balls to actually run at defenders (he won the free kick against Moldova). He is a joy for the five touches he gets, playing alone up-front every game – and he plays for Atletico Madrid B at club level. This is the like that ‘Stein have not seen for years – in the prime of Mario Frick, the principality’s greatest ever player, without question.

Liechtenstein's Wembley: Nicer, and not in London.

Finally, I think the case from a viewing perspective is perhaps the strongest. Can you imagine watching games on pixelated, buffering  internet streams with Lithuanian commentary? It does sound terrible, I accept, but you do get used to it. Crucially, I’ll let you into a secret – Adrian Chiles does not present the television coverage of the Liechtenstein national team and Andy Townsend has never once uttered the words “Well Clive, I just don’t think Liechtenstein can match Germany in terms of individual talents”. Case closed.

I guarantee you players who are obscure, defenders who are foolhardy, fans who don't chant, dreams that are small, and (occasionally) fulfilled. Plus you can always support England in the major competitions, if you still want the depressing feeling I've been describing.  Liechtenstein guarantee they won’t go past the qualification stage – it is company policy.

And one  final thing - we Stein fans haven’t had to endure a 48 year wait since the last time we won a World Cup. Welcome to the smallest footballing family.