Off My Sick-Bed For Some Banter

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England fans in the party stand.

Getting sick in a foreign, tropical country is never fun, particularly when you have a UN missions manager around to remind you of all the diseases you might have.

Malaria, dyptheria, dysentery, dengue fever... After a day spent lying in pools of sweat gripped by a fearsome fever, the list of possible ailments read like a guide on bad ways to die in the tropics.

Fortunately I made it through the night and passed a late fitness test in time to take up my position in the party stand - the polar opposite to my usual position in the press box as far as atmosphere goes.

The press box is like an old gentlemen's club where young lads with dreadlocks are looked at with scorn and bewilderment by most, while the general rule in the party stand is that anything goes and rastas are the order of the day.

With England and Australia being the only two teams with enough support out here to provide an atmosphere without local assistance, this was to be THE game of the Super Eights in Antigua and I wanted to take in all the banter.

Unfortunately our section turned out to be dominated by a bunch of young Aussies in skintight lycra, who as the Englishman sitting next to me put it, 'were the best advertisement for lite beer at cricket grounds in Australia he'd ever seen'.

It was all well and good in the morning when their men were in the field. With Brad Hodge copping plenty of flak from a bunch of locals in front of us (to the point where he actually gave some straight back), the Aussies were happy to back their man up.

"Hooodgey! Hooodgey! What do you think of that (local) fella?"

The response was a small gesture with a rounded hand, beginning near the crotch and ending up just a little higher. If you haven't guessed what I'm on about, let's just say it was not complimentary.

Of course the Aussies loved that, and subsequently lauded Hodgey every time he fielded the ball, but when the coin turned and it came time to show a little class, these guys were clearly lacking.

As Kevin Pietersen came close to, and then celebrated, his fine century, all these guys had to offer was abuse. Instead of applauding a brilliant piece of cricket, the bunch let forth a tirade that only they thought was funny.

And when Pietersen had the misfortune of being sent to our side of the field during Australia's innings they really got going, to the point where a steward that understood their abuse would have chucked them out.

Of course there was only one thing that could make them stop: a woman.

"Shut up, you witless fools!"

The silence that followed was golden, especially once they learned that she was one of several Australian fans who were equally annoyed.

Meanwhile the English fans were quiet throughout the day, except when they had something decent to say. When they did have a word, it just so happened that most people around them had a chuckle as opposed to them being left to laugh at their own jokes.

So at the end of the day it was one-apiece as far as I was concerned - Australia had cruised to victory on the field, while England had given them a jolly good hiding off of it.