WHEN England won the Ashes in 2005, the only surprise from the bacchanalian bender that followed was not so much Andrew Flintoff deciding that the prime minister’s hedge would benefit from a spot of watering as his managing to remain upright in doing so.

The morning-after photos also suggested Freddie and the hedge might even have spent the night together, so how come the 2009 paparazzi managed to snap nothing more exciting than Mr and Mrs Flintoff taking a stroll through the streets of south London, with Rachael, not Freddie, wearing the dark glasses? Theories on why the reaction to 2009 has been more sober range from the feeling that the nation was less enthused by the live cricket being confined to satellite TV (the BBC, having spent all their dosh on ludicrous salaries for radio presenters, declined to bid) to the fact that the bus to Trafalgar Square was replaced by a flight to Belfast in preparation for the upcoming orgy of one-day cricket.

There is, though, a more obvious reason for Ashes fever being downgraded from a distant cousin of the Black Death to something requiring nothing much more than a couple of aspirin. In 2009 Australia brought over an ordinary team, whereas in 2005 England not only toppled a cricketing giant but also ended almost two decades of humiliation.

It all began back in 1989. The press conferences were certainly more entertaining than the cricket, not least the rest day (remember those?) conference at Edgbaston, where captain David Gower responded thus to three consecutive questions.

“How do you feel now that England can’t win it?”

“Ecstatic.”

“How can we save the game from here?”

“Score 800 in two hours and put them under pressure.”

“Should we have had two spinners?”

“No, we only had one on the ground.”

At which point the captain did a Basil Fawlty and headbutted the table.

Four years later, we moved from Gower’s vaudeville to Ted Dexter’s Venus. After an innings thrashing in the second Test, England’s chairman of selectors mused that “Venus may be in the wrong juxtaposition with somewhere else.”

And so it went on.

This summer’s series was different from 2005 in that many half-expected England to win, and retaining the Ashes did not come as a total surprise. The history books suggest that the word should be regained, as opposed to retained, but 2006-07 doesn’t count, in that the boys went to Australia on holiday rather than to play cricket.

They didn’t actually start by sitting around the airport departure lounge wearing shell suits, drinking lager at 9am and checking in at the EasyJet counter, though everything thereafter reminded you of a package holiday booked online at lastminute.com. There has never been an adequate explanation for a touring party expanding to 95 people for the flight from Sydney to Perth, a population explosion unmatched outside a colony of rabbits.

So not only is it appropriate to celebrate the return of the Ashes in the context of one average team beating another average team, it is also incumbent on the powers that be to make sure that this time England’s defence of the urn is treated more like a serious sporting mission than a family outing to Mablethorpe.

For one thing, they cannot call on the Oval groundsman to prepare a favourable pitch, although for the truly defining moment we can probably go back to Cardiff and the last-wicket partnership between Jimmy Anderson and Monty Panesar.

One area in which cricket has changed is in the decline of the proper tailender. It deprives us of the rich entertainment that only the truly hopeless batsman can provide. When Gower was batting for Leicestershire and England, most people in the bar put down their pint to come out and watch. However, when Les Taylor came out to bat for Leicestershire and England, nobody at all stayed in the bar.

Monty had the potential to become as legendary as Les but someone got to him somewhere and gave him a net or two. Even so, Panesar’s batting has only improved in the same way that all that coaching John Sergeant received for Strictly Come Dancing merely saved his partner from having both feet amputated.

So let’s hear no more about who, statistically, were the better team. When you’ve got 35 balls to dismiss Monty, and can’t do it, you don’t deserve to win.