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Category: Ashes 2005

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Buy a classic sport photograph: Freddie’s humble handshake

The sixth of a new Guardian Print Shop series featuring classic sports images from the likes of Gerry Cranham, Mark Leech and Tom Jenkins – yours to own for just £55 including free deliveryDubbed ‘The Greatest Test’ – at least until Ben Stokes’ heroics…

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The Joy of Six: sporting ‘sliding doors’ moments | Nick Miller

Imagine England losing the 2005 Ashes, Sir Alex Ferguson managing Spurs and women’s and men’s football being equalAustralians wishing to hush the buzz of your average Pom (read: most Australians) will never tire of pointing out the only two Tests Engla…

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2005 and all that: an alternative history of the greatest Ashes

How Lou Bega, Ken Livingstone and Fred Flintoff shaped the greatest series

At 12.26pm on 21 July a bomb went off at Shepherd’s Bush tube station on the Hammersmith & City line. Only the detonator cap exploded. The rest of it, mostly a mixture of chapatti flour and cheap hydrogen peroxide, failed to ignite. At that very moment, and just a couple of miles away, England took their fifth wicket of the first morning. Michael Clarke lbw to Simon Jones for 11. While the players ate lunch, a second bomb went off at Oval and a third at Warren Street. Twenty minutes into the afternoon session, so did a fourth on board the No26 bus on Hackney Road. Like the first, all three malfunctioned. By stumps England were 92 for seven, 88 runs behind, and London’s public transport network was pretty much up and running again. Leaving the ground, spectators experienced what Wisden described as “minor transport disruption” travelling home.

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When sport and real life collide: a story about divorce during the 2005 Ashes

The 2005 Ashes was special. The Queen said it was ‘cricket at its best’. The prime minister said it ‘lit up the summer’. For one writer and England fan it was more than that: it was the storied series that shares a summer with his divorce
By Daniel Harris for The Nightwatchman, part of the Guardian Sport Network

People who like sport remember their lives better than those who don’t. Nothing, not even music, tracks things in quite the same way; sure, you listen to stuff as you go, but stuff from different eras and areas, stuff that appears, disappears and reappears into consciousness. Sport, on the other hand, necessarily runs the continuum of existence, each evoking and fortifying the other to sublime, disquieting extent.

Usually, though, there’s concurrence, but no congruence. Irrelevant bits of one mesh with ephemeral bits of the other, sharing only time and soon to be forgotten. But, very occasionally, something epochal happens, and, more occasionally still, is echoed across the way. So, though pronouns and sports writing do not generally marry, here’s a story about getting divorced during the 2005 Ashes.

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