This was supposed to be it. That sporting aberration from Durban was finally going to be put right at the holy ground of the Wanderers.

The magnificent fight back at Cape Town had reignited belief that we hadn’t been sucked into some time machine that was slowly but surely dragging us back to the early 90s. I had really prayed that it wasn’t so. Those early days were too fragile and I just don’t think I have the mental strength in middle age to cope.

So this was going to be it. It had to be.

And boy was I prepared. Thursday morning shortly after dropping my kids off at their respective schools, I developed a horrible headache and had to go home. A quick “not gonna make it today” note to my boss, and I was all ready. Laptop on, competent illegal stream found. Bring it on!

There really was such a sense of positivity around, and the captaincy change also had me feeling optimistic. Then he wins the toss and chose to bat.

I really should have known better. The rule is never call in sick until after the toss and you know whether you’re batting or bowling.

I’m sure it would make for a fascinating PhD dissertation (or maybe not) as to why, but I just battle to watch my team batting. It’s too stressful. Each ball could be the one that sends you into total collapse. I think part of my reticence to punish myself this way stems from those early 90s. A time when Andrew Hudson would open the batting, block 8 balls then get out. Innings after innings. That man lived off his 167 in Barbados for far too long.

About an hour later, my boss was very impressed at my miraculous recovery and sudden appearance in the office. Apparently my note had given the impression I’d be spending the next few days in the clinic. Perhaps I was a little over exuberant. Mental note for next time. Anyway, problem fixed. Some days are better off followed on Cricinfo.

Three days later and I think I probably should be in hospital. My head is pounding after being repeatedly bashed against the desk/wall/door/any random hard surface.

What I am I supposed to say now?

I confess, when I wrote all that tripe about peaks and troughs earlier I didn’t really mean it. I honestly was convinced in my heart of hearts that we were going to win the last two tests. England are losers. They always lose at football. Their rugby team gave me my most entertaining moment of 2015 at the world cup. They may win the occasional test series but every 2-3 years rest assured, the yellow ones who shall not be named, hammer them 5 – 0 and put them back in their place. They always think they’re better than they really are. The Homer Simpson of sport.

I’m not going to go into the details of it all. We all saw it, and it’s too painful anyway. I’m just going to share a few thoughts, and hopefully there will be some solace. If not, there’s always beer.

For someone who is as competitive as I am, I’m actually quite an accepting guy. I can make peace with almost any crap situation. So I accept the loss, accept the series defeat, and move on. Which brings me to the upcoming dead test.

I really really battle to get my head around this. How on earth do I, as a fan approach it? This is one area where I think the Americans have actually got their sport right. When it’s over it’s over. Move on.

Why I must be forced to watch a 5 days pommy gloat-fest I don’t now. And believe me, my compulsion will force me to do just that. What I really cannot get my head around is why people go to these games. I know the captains do their best to sound all professional and try make it competitive but we all know better. It’s like 5 days of watching the football world cup 3rd place play-off. The single biggest insult to human intelligence ever devised.

I remember watching the dead test after losing the bastards in 2009. Was in Cape Town and there were thousands of people cheering AB de Villiers sending poor Bryce McGain over every stand in the ground. ‘Whats wrong with you people??????” I screamed at the TV. “Go home, this is why we have Cricinfo.” I just don’t get it. There’s no consolation in a consolation win.

But such is the lost of a sports fan. If you take victory, you gotta take the pain as well. So I will suffer through the next test, as I must. I will take the punishment like a man and focus my thoughts on positive things, like glories past, and try avoid getting too emotionally involved the the game itself. I promise not to shake my head in disbelief as the selectors undoubtedly continue to turn poor Stiaan van Zyl into the test team’s version of Farhaan Behardien – selected for no apparent ability at this level.

If I take the glory, I must also take the shame. It’s part of the deal you sign up for when you become a sports fan.

Which brings me to my final thought, and with this, hopefully comfort.

There have been glories in the past and they surely will come again.

I will drift back to our test series wins in England in 2008 and 2012, and console myself knowing that we can beat them, that we have before and one day for surely will again.

I will also smile knowing that this is, after all, England. The team that invented the batting collapse and just like in football, rugby, and just about everything else that involves kicking, throwing, or hitting a ball, their success will be short-lived. The Australians will for sure see to that.

And that fall from grace will be a pure joy in and of itself. Why that is so, will be the subject of a future post.

GPF