The vital facial fungus factor

STRANGE, isn't it, this odd sense of foreboding in the air? Sports fans may be the world's supreme optimists, but anyone who's looking forward to the forthcoming Test series against Australia does so in the certain knowledge that we're going to lose 4-0. And that's the optimist in me speaking: for how England are going to rescue two draws from the six-match series is anybody's guess.

First to be blamed, no doubt, will be the selectors. As these august gentlemen sit down this morning to choose their side, they know and we know and they know we know that certain things can be taken as read. Gower will not be picked because 'he hasn't made enough runs'. Atherton will not be picked because he has made too many runs (runs scored by out-of-favour batsmen being cricket's equivalent of British Rail's 'wrong sort of snow'). And Alec Stewart, the man who became famous for addressing his dad as 'Manager', will be picked even though he hasn't made any runs at all. I haven't read Nostradamus, but if he didn't write anything about a savage and bloody defeat in 1993 at the hands of moustachioed warriors with the mark of XXXX on their battle dress, then he must have been napping.

And that, of course, is another advantage the Australians hold. As well as being better led, better prepared and better players, they also boast dramatically superior facial fungus. Sadly, the role of moustaches and beards in sporting achievement has tended to be ignored before now, but a mere glance at Australian teams of the past shows just what a crucial part they have had to play. Dennis Lillee's moustache alone is deemed to have taken at least half of his 355 Test wickets, and Greg Chappell's more moderate growth could have been worth anything up to 2,000 of his Test runs, not to mention 50 catches at slip.

Allan Border, who is no fool, has retained at least a moustache, often spreading out to a full beard, for the whole of his long and distinguished career. And his most capable lieutenant, David Boon, has a growth that would not shame the villain in a Victorian melodrama. How he manages to stop himself twirling it between overs is a tribute to his immense powers of concentration.

You'll have noticed I haven't yet mentioned Merv Hughes. 'Pogonaphobia' has been defined as the fear of beards, but as yet no word has been coined for the particular emotion a tender-hearted batsman experiences as Merv roars in with the new ball. And yet some would say that his moustache goes too far. With a hairstyle whose severity marks him out as either a hard man or a complete twit who's trying too hard, Merv runs the risk of teetering over into self-parody. Robin Smith's performances against him, for instance, are those of a man who has seen the moustache, but cannot take it seriously for a moment.

Smith's moustache, of course, is one of England's main hopes, and could make all the difference between defeat and humiliating defeat. Otherwise, though, things look bleak. Gooch's effort is more bedraggled than ever, while the rest of the team can scarcely manage a sideburn between them. Andrew Caddick may look a lot like Sir Richard Hadlee - but where's the face fluff?

In the end, we may even be forced to resort to the famed moustache that won the Ashes in 1981 - but let's hope we never get that desperate. What we need is a new hero, and fast. Aspiring country cricketers should cease shaving now. Otherwise - well, has any team actually lost six Tests in a rubber before . . ?