There is this friend of mine. You know him - a former England captain, steeped in the game.
England need 37 to win at Headingley with Harry Brook and Chris Woakes at the wicket and he fires off to our WhatsApp group - that's five of us who have played and loved the game all our lives.
"I'm due at a late lunch with friends down the road, don't wanna go, wanna go, don't wanna go, wanna go..."
To which comes the old dressing-room response: "Don't go. In fact, don't move a muscle…"
"Christ," I chime in, "I'm moving muscles (if you call them that). I'm pacing the house as if waiting for the end of the world."
And the reply bounced back, "Which it is, if we lose this game."
Silence for a few minutes and then:
"I'm on my way!"
He heads out for lunch.
Brook and Woakes battle on - 25 needed.
Brook cuts Todd Murphy for four.
"I'm gonna walk the dog."
"No. Stay there!"
"Can't, sorry. I'm pacing the house. May as well pace the park".
Twenty-one needed.
I decide against the park and turn on the upstairs TV.
Brook skies his wild attempt at a pull/hook and is caught by Pat Cummins. Oh Harry of all hope, what have you done?!
"FFS."
"Just stupid."
"No one move!"
Mark Wood climbs into a Cummins bouncer and it flies into the bleachers for six as if sent by the angels who first carried forth Lord Botham on the same field in 1981.
Twelve needed.
Then another bouncer offered by Cummins - wider, higher, harder to hit, but admirably resisted by "Woody": a splendid fellow and a hero of this Test story every bit as much as the chap in Toy Story.
Then a calm single.
"Go, Woody!" What a single can do to settle the nerves. (That, again, from our man steeped in cricket.) His father played for England many times, captained England, in fact, as did he. There must be a television at the lunch.
His father played a lot of cricket against West Indies, but he might not have seen a better stroke than the next one. Wood, off the back foot and deep in his crease, drives a full ball from Mitchell Starc through extra cover with such conviction and timing that the boundary rider barely breaks from his blocks. It is a shot straight out of the Caribbean. Had it been played by Conrad Hunte, Basil Butcher or Rohan Kanhai, we'd have taken it for granted. But from Woody, well….
"Wow!" From the writer of "Just stupid".
Having skied an attempted hook and breathed a sigh of relief (Alex Carey, sprinting back, blocks Scott Boland, who is edging forward from third) the scores are suddenly level and Woakes crashes a full ball from Starc past point to win the match in some glory.
"Never in doubt," said the former England captain in the last message of the chain.
Five grown men - ageing but forever young of cricketing heart - living it, breathing it, loving it.
That's the Ashes, right there, front and centre of all our lives.
In Mark Wood we believe. He is the climate of optimism: there is something elemental to him, like the sun, the wind or the rain. He is the fastest England-born bowler we can recall and evokes a little of the Harold Larwood in us: a good man sent to do the hard yards in the theatre of our dreams.
Richie Benaud thought Frank Tyson the fastest he saw through the air; Jeff Thomson the fastest off the pitch. If you watch film of Larwood during Bodyline in 1932-33, you will be surprised at how far back the wicketkeeper, Les Ames, is standing. The defining image of Bodyline is the Australian batter Bill Woodfull reeling back, having been struck over the heart by a fierce short-pitched ball. Later, Bert Oldfield, the wicketkeeper, was hit on the head. At 28, Larwood was at the peak of his performance, "investing his work", said Wisden, "with plenty of devil". Much the same can be said of the 33-year-old Wood, from whom a blow to the heart or head is an equally frightening thought.
Larwood was 5ft 8in in his socks, with a classical side-on action. On his day, he was too good even for Don Bradman. Wood touches on six feet but is not the tall, bang-it-in type of modern-day fast bowler. There is great strength in his shoulders and back but a worrying pressure on his hips, knees and ankles when he leaps and lands upon delivering the ball. On song, he has a beautiful rhythm, bounding in like a kid in the playground, before exploding into his action with a thrilling combination of power and panache.
Some balls he bowled in this match flew over Jonny Bairstow's head and bounced once before the boundary rope. He was recorded at 95.6mph in his first over of the game and averaged well above 90 throughout it. They say Larwood was around the 95mph mark in the age of no helmets, towels for thigh pads, and gloves with rubber pimples as the only defence. Imagine…
But what about this climate of optimism? It is, of course, what Bazball is really about. The annoying thing about the term is that it is not self-proclaimed; is disliked by the coach, after whom it is named, and suggests something of show rather than substance. Worst of the lot, it allows a target of comment for the opposition, a point made all the more irritating given it was invented by the English media.
The point of the cricket encouraged by Brendon McCullum and Ben Stokes is that it frees the mind from the spectre of failure. Those of us who watch on condemn statistics telling us that 13 of the last 24 England wickets have fallen to the pull or hook shot. When Woakes swatted at Starc's short ball in the denouement and was dropped by the running Carey as described above, there was loud cursing at the screen all across the land. Doubtless, the same happened when Brook fell that way too. Stokes, in contrast, would almost certainly applaud them both for taking it on.
After Wood's breathtaking 24 in eight balls on Friday, he passed Stokes on the way back to the dressing room. Needless to say, he was greeted by a smile and pats on the back. Indeed, so moved was the captain that he embarked on something of a blitz himself.
Now that England have beaten Australia in this way - a truly exceptional thing, given the mistakes the team is making - confidence will flow as easily as the rivers run. It is a hard thing to get the onlooker to buy into the carefree. We are not in the dressing room for a start. We watch, we marvel; we grumble, we despair. We have not "bought in". We simply bought a ticket. For that, we want to see the return of the Ashes. Yes, we like to be entertained but we can do winning Boycott's way just as easily as Botham's.
Botham was Bazball, though he too would not have liked the term. David Gower was thereabouts the same but no one understood. Yet, it was these two who papered over so many cracks in English cricket. One supposes Denis Compton and Ted Dexter were of this ilk, if in the age of black and white.
Obviously the current England batters could rein themselves in a little; think more of application to circumstance and wait their moment. But it's an all-or-nothing ethos that drives the team, only everyone else that doubts it. I'd worry most about the catching, which has gone somewhat pear-shaped. We could bang on forever about Ben Foakes over Bairstow but either way, Joe Root will be at first slip and he's shelling them aplenty. Weird, given he has taken more catches in an England shirt than anyone without gloves on.
There is a nice story about Woody to share. Supporting the charity Chance to Shine, which is bringing cricket back into state schools, he won a cooking competition at the annual Chance to Dine dinner in the Long Room at Lord's. So thrilled was he at the announcement - "And the winner is… Mark Wood!"- that he leapt into the arms of the host and joyfully asked if he could come back the following year to defend his trophy. Yes, is the answer Woody.
As I say, the climate of optimism. It was easy enough to choose Wood as the Player of the Match at Headingley for seriously impressive fast bowling and considerable nous with the bat in both innings and in very different ways. He might have earned it for nothing more than his commitment. He didn't jump into Michael Atherton's arms at the post-match presentation; in fact, he appeared charmingly shy and unsurprisingly tired.
So it is that the gospel of the Ashes has us in its grip. Three Tests in and the narrative is alive and in fine health for both young and old to play out in their dreams. And in their WhatsApp groups. Just don't move a muscle.