Test 1 Day 5

I don't know what to add. As I was saying to Deeply Depressed in Brunswick in the comments, at least a batting collapse by its very nature brings things to an end, a bowling slump on the other hand just goes on and on and on and on. It was like a spell had been cast over the Gabba, like being in a nightmare where you run and run and don't cover any ground, like the ball was a one cursed and doomed never to go to hand.

Over the last day or two Kerry O'Keefe has kept trying to split the honours between the teams and divide the "momentum" of this match, but when you reach a point when it seems kinder to everyone involved to look away and the Barmy Army are so loud even Jim Maxwell is goaded into an "oh shut up"...

I'd forgotten about Cardiff and in retrospect I look fondly on that match's in-built drama, running down the order and staving off a loss down to the last ball. At least it went somewhere and had something at stake.

Yeah, no, it's a loss.

Test 1 Day 4

When I said after day one that I had been dreading "total awfulness", I specifically meant, according to my notes, "toothless bowling, England spanking out boundaries". Should I have spelled that out and thus averted the dread's fulfillment?

I have been in bed with a cold the last couple of days and have a dim enough view of the world as it is. Shane Watson told Quentin Hull he thought Australia's bowling performance was "solid". Well, it was certainly back-to-back something. From my imperious position propped up among the pillows that something was "boring". Especially since it was all a rerun of the previous day with the two sides changing places, up to and including dropped outfield catches from hapless brown-haired fast bowlers. Is it Mitch or the pitch?

Play up young men! Amuse me! And so to bed.

Test 1 Day 1

Good, right? I should say I thought that even before The Hat-Trick that Stopped a Nation, partly because I was so dreading total awfulness that the fact we looked at least competent at all times yesterday registered as a genuine win. That's a bit sad.

But also, isn't it Ben Hilfenhaus who won the day by playing up to the "1st ball" hoo-hah and getting a wicket at least thereabouts? It certainly made me let my breath out. That stuff is a bit superstitious, but I was at the Gabba on the 1st day 4 years ago and the English nerves and despair were certainly palpable, bedazzling and convincing.

I enjoyed Siddle as well of course. I've seen that particular "Come On!" before, specifically from Warnie taking out Herschelle Gibbs with a Gattingesque ball in the 1999 World Cup second semi-final against South Africa (this game is my only, my only source of traditional cricket insanely-detailed-historical-reference nerdiness, please let me keep it). It's the cry of the doubted bowler returning from injury, channelling the cry of the doubted team.

I was sure I'd made the Wild Thing comparison with Siddle before, that "I am a stomping roaring monster" thing, but I can't find it so at the risk of repeating myself:

Other notables: Greg Chappell spotted in the crowd wearing, I swear, pince-nez.

Speaking of shameless dandies, I also got around to watching the new Warnie show on the internet last night. Awkward. I sat through most of it, though I was forced to skip the "Bumble's Bits" (or whatever) segment, in which David Lloyd simulates being a painful old bugger cornering you in a pub, for fear of stabbing myself in the face with a fork.

Well, ready or not, here it comes.

I have been reaching for the "awkward adolescent" cliché when thinking about the current transitional phase of the Australian team: spottiness, all odd angles and unevenness, etc. It's probably the non-physical traits of adolescence that are more pertinent: paralysing self-consciousness and self-seriousness, for example. But the comparison is very hard on adolescents and the team is growing down rather than up. I don't know, I just don't know what to do with them when they're being like this. I am in knots of anxiety about this coming summer, and those knots are only tightened by the pull of Pollyanna-ish hopefulness. Maybe the awkward adolescent is me.

Wikipedia tells me that Pollyanna had something called "The Glad Game", which consisted in "finding something to be glad about in every situation". I was at the WACA on 31 October for the T20 game against Sri Lanka that started the cricket season, and let me tell you that the WACA purveys some of the finest hot chips I have ever eaten. No really, I made lots of notes about the chips. For example I find there's a point in a bucket of chips - about half way or two thirds through - when you start to feel remorseful and not needing any more but you still finish them and then feel a bit sick. These chips however were somehow both delicious and clean: as wicked in terms of fat and salt as you could want a chip to be, but untroubling of digestion or conscience. Magic chips. Like the magic chalk circle that somehow managed to restrict the batting rather than the fielding in Australia's first innings. But also the enchanted scene one wanders through when leaving the WACA to get back to the city, with the floodlights streaming over Queens Gardens.

Lovely! That's my story for the moment. The sports section today is all about Hauritz being dropped for the new guy but I really don't know what to do with that either. When things aren't going well, the shuffling around starts and it's never a good look or feel, but I'm not qualified to offer an opinion and honestly hasn't there been enough opinion in the last few weeks? So, so much opinion. That's the other thing that happens when things aren't going well. Let it begin, I think I am ready after all.