F
rom the summer that was, to a winter still a world away and a rare lull — with all respect to the Hundred — in cricket’s mad schedule that affords us all time to soak in what has just gone.
It has been the most extraordinary seven weeks, a men’s Ashes series that could not possibly live up to billing, yet somehow did, quite literally from the first ball to the last, from Zak Crawley’s jaw-dropping wallop for four, to Stuart Broad’s fairytale goodbye.
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