England clinch World Cup cricket semi final at the expense of New Zealand.

England clinch World Cup cricket semi final at the expense of New Zealand.

Once again an England team is on the threshold of something very special. After the heartbreak and tears of the England World Cup ladies semi final defeat to the USA, the England cricket team have now reached their first World Cup semi since the early 1990s. It would by easy to become cynical about the fortunes of the national sporting collectives since we've become very hardened to setbacks, the inevitable sense of anti climax, the gloomy foreboding and then the crushing disappointment when it all goes haywire.

But the fact is that a wonderfully motivated England played some of the most mesmerising and ultimately destructive, attacking cricket the good people of Durham are ever likely to see. Sometimes you know it's going to be your day when even the rock guitarist between overs keeps blasting out a classic rock anthem with such whole hearted zest. For here's the thing. This was one day cricket at its  most scintillating, dazzling, colourful and full of the showbiz spectacle that we've come to expect of the game in recent decades.

For those who still remembered the game being played in plain white shirts, trousers and thick pullovers if the rains fell, then this was a rude reminder of the fact the gentle sedateness of the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s is rather like some misty historical and yellowing piece of parchment from another era. Now, cricket is all about gentlemen wearing the kind of coloured clothing that to those who cherish the game's purest traditions must have seemed like a withering insult.

Still, the English cricket team find themselves on the verge of greatness, perhaps dare we say it, World Champions and ready to pick up one of the most important trophies in world cricket. Who cares about the ludicrous sponsors vividly emblazoned all over gully and mid wicket, a rich combination of globally famous logos, blues, reds, yellows, purples and greens splashed gaudily across every piece of Durham grass?

England, for their part, wore all light blue from head to toe, reminding you instantly of a group of men summoned to appear at one of those very bizarre fashion shows where the bold, crazy and outrageous stroll down the catwalk in an effort to strike a memorable pose. Then there were the wickets, stumps and the bails which, to an impartial observer, had to be seen to be believed. There they were, three black stumps with what can only be described as three tiny bulbs of light which only blinked and flashed when they were required to do so.

Opinion continues to be divided about the modern day references to a kind of rampant commercialism which has now completely engulfed sport on every level and in every environment. The sight of Coca Cola and Mcdonalds battling it out for corporate supremacy doesn't seem right to those who believe that cricket should be completely free of any kind of writing on their shirts.

The fact is that England are now in a World Cup semi final and while the likes of Joe Root, Jason Roy, Ben Stokes and Jos Buttler continue to take this World Cup by storm with yet more mature and  accomplished performances, maybe this could be the year when at long last the ghosts of English sport's past will just drift away into obscurity never to be found again.

Finally we saluted the emergence of one Jonny Bairstow, another of those showboating, all conquering, wonderfully swashbuckling cricketers who throw the bat at everything, humiliate the quickest of bowlers and then destroy opponents as if they were born to score a barrowload of centuries. We must have felt that Ian Botham was the last of the breed but Bairstow was indeed the star of the show, a magnificent tour de force, a big hitting, run machine, reckless and rash at times but this was Bairstow at his most stylish and carefree, a joyous batsman designed for the big occasion.

Throughout what became a fairly easy victory over New Zealand, Bairstow flung the bat at everything short with an almost casual impudence. There were the towering lofted drives that must have ended up in a Durham car park, the dismissive sweeps off the back foot that hurried to the boundary for four in no time at all. There were the arrogant pulls which flew through mid off and presumably crashed into the club bar, knocking over a whole row of amber coloured pints of lager into the bargain. Then the thunderous sixes which kept flying and flying into another county.

By the time Bairstow had reached a century New Zealand were already waving the black and white flag of surrender. Defeat was imminent and damagingly comprehensive for our Kiwi friends, England moving forward to a richly deserved World Cup semi final. The next couple of days for England have an amusing familiarity about them, a sense of deja vu of course but then an overwhelming dread that this is not going to happen because it hasn't so far and probably never will.

 And yet there has to be some semblance of optimism, a very real recognition and premonition that things will indeed go wrong. Because here we are at the beginning of July and we all know what happened at the end of |July 53 years ago. Maybe this time. You never know.