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In general, the Barmy Army have been welcomed by Australians, and more crucially their rival supporters, so far this tour. Perhaps not with open arms, but certainly an outstretched right hand.
In some quarters, the press has not been so tolerant of the all-singing, all-drinking mass of red-and-white coloured testosterone that has landed on Australian shores.
Their involvement in the Ashes - and involvement is the pivotal word, certainly from the perspective of those Australians who object to the Barmy Army – was thrust into focus last week in Brisbane when trumpeter Bill Cooper and his instrument were ejected from the ground.
One such article bemoaning the supposedly intrusive influence of the Barmy Army appeared on Friday morning in South Australia’s only daily newspaper The Advertiser.
Far from stopping at the usual resting point of calling the Army a distraction to the main event, Christopher Bantick labelled the supporter group “harmful to cricket” in his article.
Bantick believes the Barmy Army’s overtly partisan antics, though well-meaning, are “English boorishness bordering on hooliganism” and could incite violence at cricket grounds.
“In Britain, it has exploited the singing culture of soccer,” he wrote.
“Initially, many soccer songs are whimsical and even funny, but they grate after a while. They are also used to bait opposing fans. First come the songs, then the crowd trouble.
“It does not take too much imagination to see that Australians who want to go to the cricket and watch the game without the inanities of the Barmy Army will, at some point, express their point of view.
“The fact is that the Barmy Army is comprised of lager louts with money. Their yobboism visited on any cricket venue is breathtakingly arrogant. They set the supporting agenda and bad luck if you don’t like it.”
Ouch. Any member of the Barmy Army who happened upon this article would have reacted with a mixture of surprise and anger.
The crucial point of difference, and a rare one culturally between these two like-minded countries, is in fan behaviour.
Terrace-style football supporting is endemic in football-mad Britain. The authority of football, and all the baggage (good and bad) that comes with it, infiltrates almost every other sport in Blighty.
One only has to look at the multitude of St George's Cross flags which make their way into cricket grounds bearing the names of football teams.
Australians support their teams fervently, but, apart from the odd chant here and there, singing doesn’t get a look in.
This is a commonplace activity inside British football grounds, where fans are segregated. Here in Adelaide, Australian fans situated nearby the Barmy Army have looked on with nothing stronger than bemusement when their counterparts have found voice.
Bantick views the Barmy Army as a bad guest, one who enters a house, disrespects the rules and thinks he owns the place. This is a bit unfair. Apart from their indignation at falling foul on long-standing rules in Brisbane, I have observed the Barmy Army as well-behaved and good fun.
They may be like no other guest Australia has entertained, but if the locals can get past the brashness and sarcasm - and if the Army can stay on the right side of that line - there is no reason the two can’t live in harmony.
In general, the Barmy Army have been welcomed by Australians, and more crucially their rival supporters, so far this tour. Perhaps not with open arms, but certainly an outstretched right hand.
In some quarters, the press has not been so tolerant of the all-singing, all-drinking mass of red-and-white coloured testosterone that has landed on Australian shores.
Their involvement in the Ashes - and involvement is the pivotal word, certainly from the perspective of those Australians who object to the Barmy Army – was thrust into focus last week in Brisbane when trumpeter Bill Cooper and his instrument were ejected from the ground.
One such article bemoaning the supposedly intrusive influence of the Barmy Army appeared on Friday morning in South Australia’s only daily newspaper The Advertiser.
Far from stopping at the usual resting point of calling the Army a distraction to the main event, Christopher Bantick labelled the supporter group “harmful to cricket” in his article.
Bantick believes the Barmy Army’s overtly partisan antics, though well-meaning, are “English boorishness bordering on hooliganism” and could incite violence at cricket grounds.
“In Britain, it has exploited the singing culture of soccer,” he wrote.
“Initially, many soccer songs are whimsical and even funny, but they grate after a while. They are also used to bait opposing fans. First come the songs, then the crowd trouble.
“It does not take too much imagination to see that Australians who want to go to the cricket and watch the game without the inanities of the Barmy Army will, at some point, express their point of view.
“The fact is that the Barmy Army is comprised of lager louts with money. Their yobboism visited on any cricket venue is breathtakingly arrogant. They set the supporting agenda and bad luck if you don’t like it.”
Ouch. Any member of the Barmy Army who happened upon this article would have reacted with a mixture of surprise and anger.
The crucial point of difference, and a rare one culturally between these two like-minded countries, is in fan behaviour.
Terrace-style football supporting is endemic in football-mad Britain. The authority of football, and all the baggage (good and bad) that comes with it, infiltrates almost every other sport in Blighty.
One only has to look at the multitude of St George's Cross flags which make their way into cricket grounds bearing the names of football teams.
Australians support their teams fervently, but, apart from the odd chant here and there, singing doesn’t get a look in.
This is a commonplace activity inside British football grounds, where fans are segregated. Here in Adelaide, Australian fans situated nearby the Barmy Army have looked on with nothing stronger than bemusement when their counterparts have found voice.
Bantick views the Barmy Army as a bad guest, one who enters a house, disrespects the rules and thinks he owns the place. This is a bit unfair. Apart from their indignation at falling foul on long-standing rules in Brisbane, I have observed the Barmy Army as well-behaved and good fun.
They may be like no other guest Australia has entertained, but if the locals can get past the brashness and sarcasm - and if the Army can stay on the right side of that line - there is no reason the two can’t live in harmony.
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