Thursday 25 July 2013

Ashes 2013: the hush at Lord's as England's Joe Root reached his century against Australia proved that silence is golden

Huge applause followed Tim Bresnan and Joe Root through the Long Room and on to the pitch.

Peter Siddle was thrown the ball by Michael Clarke, but as he started stampeding in there was suddenly no sound. For whatever reason, anticipation and delight equalled silence.

It was rather lovely actually. It did not last very long – just the first couple of overs, before intense concentration meandered a while — but it returned just before tea as Root neared his century.

It remained until Root became the youngest Englishman to score a hundred at Lord’s against Australia, and returned again as Ashton Agar and Steve Smith helped him on the way to 150 – with a push towards square leg and a scurried single.

While a frenzy of gluttony was gathering at the Food Village behind the Media Centre, those watching could close their eyes and tell from the noise of the crowd who was facing – a tense hush for Root, chatter for Jonny Bairstow.

It was similar to the silence that stalked Graham Gooch at the Lord’s Test against India 23 years ago as he crept towards the then magical 365.

As we’ve become less reserved as a nation, our sport has become more raucous. We make more noise, and the organisers organise more noise on our behalf.

During London 2012 music was everywhere – NME called it “the most music-oriented Olympic Games ever”.

It thudded through the speakers at ever venue – between goals at the wheelchair basketball, between races at the swimming, during penalty corners at the hockey. The Chemical Brothers’ Galvanize haunted every waking footstep.

The only silence was forced, during the Paralympic football, blind jumping events and goalball, so that the players could listen out for sounds and instruction.

The general noise levels were a deliberate ploy by Locog, to try to attract a younger audience – it worked. And there was an unforgettable atmosphere everywhere.

But it is not just the Olympics – during Twenty20 cricket, snatches of song play at every wicket.

The Indian Premier League is obsessed by noise. Even during the first Test at Trent Bridge, James Pattinson and Brad Haddin were bombarded with a high-decibel version Land of Hope and Glory as they walked out to bat after lunch on the final day.

This forced jollity is generally a good thing – it gees things up and keeps the hair standing on end but, for those who would rather watch sport in companionable silence, the din and the chanting must be a living hell.

As the much-missed Christopher Martin-Jenkins wrote about the Barmy Army, “Come friendly bombs and fall on them”.

People go to sport to enjoy themselves. There is a feeling of common humanity that comes from watching something together and noisily getting wrapped up in it.

When Mo Farah won the Olympic 5,000m the noise of 80,000 delirious spectators reached 140 decibels – so loud it messed up the finishing-line photograph.

The silence at Lord’s at the weekend did not interfere with any photographs. But it was equally, quietly, enjoyable.


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