thank you Ashes.

I've just discovered the beauty in the controversial sport: cricket. Like licorice, you either love it or hate it or care nothing for it.

My fondness for cricket is conditional. I believe that it belongs in Australian summer. Were it not for my Sister's passionate devotion to it, I wouldn't know it was remotely alive the rest of the year. The past few days since The Ashes commenced, the house has been awake later and full of moans, laments and repremands by couch coaches.

There's nothing more heartwarming (with hint of jealousy) than watching the Mother and Sister converse eagerly about LBW's, wickets, the wisdom of declaring so early, the intimidation of England's fielders huddled around our dear (poor in form) batters and Ponting's form as captain. Since Father's been away for 3 weeks, the females of the Fong residence have condensed and bonded sufficiently to make us all glad that Father was out for a little...well I think anyway. When you remove one part of the family equation, the remainders try harder to balance. Ultimately, however seasonal the Ashes Series is, the bonding established is the securing sort of reinforcement, requiring heart-breaks and hurts to fight harder to tear us apart. The walls of absence are quickly eroding. Thank you Ashes.